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Mugen is never homesick. The lurking of the sea is fresh on his skin, lies deep within the roots of his hair, in his eyes and his scowl. He’s never had the chance to miss the sea because it’s there with him, wherever he goes. He’s escaped the shithole he’s been raised in— er, raised doesn’t seem like the right word, maybe beaten, shoved around, worn down into the man he is today—and it follows him, five steps behind, close and far away. He can pretend he’s forgotten the faces, the sights, the sounds of Ryukyu.
It’d been a deep-rooted desire of his to break free from Hell and he’d done it by the skin of his teeth. Everything else, is easy. At least, he thought so. Being on your own, unbound to anything or anyone at all is the best feeling in the world. Not having a home, an ideology, something to believe in, or even a designated path is a blessing few are granted in this world. Mugen had all of that and he felt like the king of the world. He dealt his sword in a wild manner that no one could uptake, was ruthless and swung on the vine of greater risks, was a fugitive here and there, was everywhere. Probably lingered in the back of somebody’s mind—somebody he probably never knew and would never get to know—as an unnatural creature who wasn’t to be reckoned with.
He liked it like that. It left food and comfort to be the remaining tidbits he yearned for. And even that, he could manage without for some time.
But Fuu walks into his life and fucks his example of routine in the ass. She's the one to blame for this nonsense, for Jin, for their journey, and he doesn’t care that he owes his life to her or her to him. He's been dealt the shittiest cards in his life, what exactly makes him so rooted to his word? He’ll never know. It’s easier not to ponder on it, he doesn’t have time to bundle himself up in aimless shit like that.
It’s been months of traveling that’s dulled the edge of this knife. It’s having those idiots—Jin and Fuu by his side for so long, for having this new consequence resting on his shoulder. It’s having a blind woman, Sara, tell him he’s never been loved in his life. That happiness and joy are meaningless words to people like him. It’s the breaking point.
He’s been fine for so long. The hollowness which has carved a trench inside his chest and holes inside his stomach, it’s something he’s come to terms with. Like it’s just another one of the pigmented scars on his body or the blue bands around his wrists.
Never been cared for, never been loved.
The reason why he stayed in the villages for as long as he did. The reason why he picked up a challenge, a duel, a judgmental stare so easily and made his mark on the people in question. The reason he spent nights with a new woman lying by his side, the reason he told them his name. He'd have made his mark, with the swish of his blade or the bitter phrases that fall from his mouth, and he’ll exist in the back of their minds. Someone will have a fuzzy idea of him, the discombobulated pieces of his mind.
Then, he’ll turn the other way and boast himself for not needing anything except himself and his sword.
But this emptiness. This loneliness. Piling onto the hidden darkness. It’s the worst hunger he’s felt in his entire life. The reason he’ll put his life on the line and let himself die. This want, teaching him how to die.
Mugen has known betrayal to be a consequence of friendships. Nothing lasts forever and it dilutes his agenda. After Fuu and Jin leave, he’ll be more pathetic and desperate and disgusting and alone.
Powerful rage swirls within you. I cannot tell whether or not it is sadness. It is as if you have never once been loved.
Maybe she’d been right about that. His greatest fear lies dormant within the void carved into his belly—the yearning he’d crumble for. Pathetic. He deserves to be trapped in Ryukyu and suffer.
Mugen, the man who hasn’t been shown love, compassion, or kindness in a single day of his life. The vagrant who could not recognize joy when he was standing face to face with her.
Jin takes mercy on him, saves Mugen countless times when he’s about to drown in his own blood or whatever. And Fuu, Fuu. She throws herself onto him, shields his wretched, broken body from Sara's callous yari .
The mangled emptiness. It held its head low, creeping away from the slats of light. The realization, someone like Mugen, could be loved and cared for.