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1.
When Ash leaves, Eiji is alone.
Every experience he's had in America so far has been new, out of his comfort zone — but this feels eerily familiar. The chemical smell of hospital sterilisation, the crinkle of rough sheets between his fingers, the feeling spreading in his chest. Although, the last one feels a bit different than before.
Eiji had never really missed anyone before America. Never gotten homesick, never felt the ghost of a person lingering at his fingertips, never felt someone's absence more than he remembered their presence.
Eiji thinks of his old self as selfish now that he looks back on it. His loneliness was so self-contained and pitiful — he only missed comfort and stability, missed what he knew. On school trips, he missed his own bed; on training camps, he missed his mother's cooking. In hospital, he missed feeling anything but numb. It was less a clench of the heart, and more of a cavernous hole opening in his stomach.
In America, Eiji's heart learned to ache. For his family, for his sister who had masked her tears with a scowl; for his mother whose warm embrace closed all distance between them — for his father who was more a concept than a figure.
Most of all though, his heart strings tangled and squeezed for a boy who believed he was destined for chaos and destruction and nothing else. Eiji wished that Ash could see himself the way Eiji did, for what he truly was. Ash always said that Eiji was good at seeing the good in people, but that wasn't true, Eiji only saw what was there.
Ash was simply young, and simply just a boy. It was so easy to see. But Ash convinced himself with extended metaphors and purple prose that he wasn’t human, that he was beyond loving, that he was too complicated for Eiji to understand.
It’s easy to think of Ash as too self-sacrificing, too stubborn for his own good, too tangled in his own self-hatred to let himself be selfish. But when Eiji thinks about the hole in his gut, he somehow understands, knows that he would have taken it over and over and over again. He wouldn't mind digging his fingers in and ripping it wide open if it meant that Ash would be safe. After all, it would hurt so much less than the hole swallowing his heart.
Eiji doesn't know where Ash is. Eiji usually doesn't know things around here, though not for lack of trying to find out. He doesn't know when he started thinking about Ash in past tense.
Eiji misses Ash.
He has always been good at sleeping in unfamiliar places, Eiji guesses that being adaptable has always been a strength of his. But every day when he wakes up and looks to the side, only to see a blank wall and no sign of Ash, he wonders if he will ever get used to this. He hopes that he doesn't— if he lets himself forget what it was like to be with Ash, it will be as if he didn’t know him at all.
And that’s what scares him most.
He doesn’t want to go back to Japan with nothing but stories of the green-eyed monster that took his breath away, he doesn’t want to puff his chest and inflate his ego because knowing the Ash Lynx was his one era of heightened fame. He doesn’t like the idea of Ash, he doesn’t like the concept of Ash, he just likes Ash. He would rather one more day, even just one more moment by his side than to spend eternity stewing in memories and what-ifs.
He wants nothing more but to pull the cord out of his veins and run to Ash’s side, grab the back of his tattered jean-jacket and drag him back to safety.
Yet here he is again, so feeble and helpless. He can only watch the liquid in the IV drip fall languidly, as if taunting him with how excruciating slowly the seconds pass by. It feels like an infinity and more since he last saw Ash, and the words foreign to Ash’s tongue but familiar to Eiji’s ears still echo in his brain like an unfading reverb.
Ash sounded final in his goodbye, and Eiji hated— hates it so much. Pure anguish rattles down from the nerves in his brain to the soles of his feet every time he recalls the croak in Ash’s voice as he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. It felt so permanent.
Eiji hates it when things can’t be changed. He believes in hope and second chances, it was a mixture of whim and uncertainty that brought him to America, after all.
So he starts to write a letter.
2.
Sing comes to visit him in hospital before he's discharged, looking disheveled but triumphant. Eiji’s heart hurts as the young boy leans back on his heels scratches his head. He should be tired from rough housing and games with friends, not beaten up by a drug war.
When Eiji asks what happened, Sing spares him the details.
“Ash is okay.” Is the part that sticks out to them both, though the question of why he isn’t here hangs in the air like an oppressive fog. When he sees the pity in Sing’s eyes, Eiji knows how pathetic he must seem, hanging onto every shred of information about Ash, but he can’t seem to bring himself to care. He can’t hide his desperation when it is devouring him from the inside.
But he can’t just scream and cry to the heavens and expect Ash to materialise out of thin air; he can’t just throw a tantrum and bang his fists on the floor, hoping that it will yield results. It is all the more sobering as it is frustrating to realise that he isn’t a child anymore.
But Sing still is.
The topic shifts and Eiji shares stories about his childhood in Izumo, visits to the beach, bickering with his sister, eating crab with the family. When he looks up at Sing there is a hidden melancholy in his eyes, the kind of longing that bubbles under the surface, unable to break free.
"Sing, talk to Lao. He's your brother." Eiji says, gently resting his hand on Sing's, "You don't have to be tough for him, he just wants you to rely on him."
You don’t have to put up a facade for family when all they want is to protect you.
Eiji knows what it's like to be an older brother, it comes with an unspoken responsibility imposed by both outside expectations and yourself — to be strong, to protect, to take it all without complaint. Lao must have felt helpless watching Sing struggle alone without being able to do anything, unconsciously stripped of the role of the older brother, he must have felt aimless and worthless.
Eiji understands. When he lost his ability to fulfill his duty, he ran away from it all — cowardice that made him unfit as a brother. Eiji regrets the insurmountable distance he put between himself and the ones that loved him, but he knows that he still loves them and that they are still waiting for him. If they could ever forgive him, maybe he would learn to forgive himself too.
Sing looks up wearily, "Lao...is an idiot, he—"
"We all are." Eiji smiles sadly, he can see the conflict raging in Sing’s head through his eyes, "We are all stupid because we love."
The boy looks down at the floor and runs a hand through his hair, his knee shakes and his other hand still underneath Eiji's trembles slightly. He looks so small.
Sing brings both hands to his face and takes a deep breath in.
"Okay." When he looks up, his eyes are tight at the corners and red around the edges.
Seeing his pained expression, Eiji wants nothing more than to pull him into a tight embrace, to tell him that everything will be fine and rub circles in his back. But Sing has grown up too fast and Eiji is a big, fat, stupid idiot.
"After you go talk to your idiot, do you think you could give this to mine?"
Eiji hands him an envelope, Dear Ash written in his best cursive on the front.
Sing takes one look and understands.
"Sure. See you, Eiji." He says as he turns to leave.
With a hand on the doorknob, he suddenly pauses and looks back. Taking advantage of his hesitation, Eiji spreads his arms open wide and smiles.
Sing gapes at him in a mixture of shock and embarrassment, but he shuffles over anyway. Eiji wraps his arms around the younger boy and hugs him like an older brother would, gives him the kind of hug that's always accepted begrudgingly but enjoyed all the same.
"See you, Sing."
3.
Ash still hasn't come to visit. Sing said he would deliver the letter when he saw Ash, but Eiji has no way of knowing if he's received it.
So he sits and waits and imagines what it'd be like if Ash came to Japan with him. It is a dream that feels so warm and beautiful yet so distant and unreachable. He wonders why solitude makes happiness feel unattainable.
Eiji is starting to feel especially lonely when Ibe comes to see him. At first he thinks that seeing his mentor is a blessing sent down to him when he is feeling most troubled, but he soon realises that the growing emptiness in his stomach was only the prelude to what bad news Ibe brings.
"You ready to go back?" Ibe asks, the tension in his voice palpable. Eiji can tell that he's just trying to make conversation, as if leading up to something big, but he finds that he doesn't know how to answer.
How can he be ready for anything? How can he go home like nothing happened and embrace his family like he'd only been gone for a week-long vacation? After all, nothing is the same anymore.
After all, he is only half a soul.
He opts to nod weakly. Ibe mirrors his movement without meeting his eyes and grips the armrest like a lifeline. Eiji knows that Ibe doesn't believe him.
"I talked to Max the other day…" Ibe starts, running a hand over his face. Suddenly the bags under his eyes are darker and more defined, and Eiji remembers that his mentor is not that much older than him. Ibe exhales and the creases in his face fold and deepen like he is about to wither away. "...about Ash."
Fear burns hot in Eiji chest— Sing said that he was okay, what could have happened? As if sensing Eiji's panic, Ibe immediately rests a firm hand on his arm.
"He's alright," He continues, "It's just that he might be going away and...I don't think he will be coming to see you."
Oh.
Things you already know inside can still hurt you, it seems. The gnawing feeling in Eiji’s gut suddenly burst explosively, a malignant infection blooming all through his insides.
It's funny, how Eiji has always been the one doing the leaving, and now that the karmic retribution has come crashing back into him, he hurts and hurts like nothing before. He should have expected this, his just desserts — he can’t fault anyone but himself. Ash will leave him, just like Eiji left his family to rot in the dust and dissatisfaction.
Eiji is not fair, Eiji is selfish. He doesn't want to let go of Ash, doesn't want Ash to not want him. But at the same time, he knows Ash — Ash has always tried to push him away when he doesn't mean it, always put Eiji’s safety first instead of his own.
Eiji knows Ash, sometimes better than he knows himself. Pole vaulting, futures, family — it's always been filled with insecurity and trepidation, but with Ash, Eiji has never been more sure. When Eiji looks into his eyes and takes his hands he feels like he knows one thing for certain; he knows love, and he doesn't know how to let it go.
But Eiji knows Ash, and he knows that Ash doesn’t love himself like he loves Eiji.
“Ibe-san…” He grips the bed sheets tightly as if they’d do anything to stabilise the collapse of his mind, “Do you think Ash is leaving because he wants to?”
Ibe looks at him sorrowfully, blinks twice, and pauses as if searching for words — it all hits him with a horrible wave of deja vu. Since when did Eiji become fragile all over again? He’s been patched up twice and yet he’s still a porcelain tea set teetering at the edge of the cabinet. Perhaps he looks just like he feels, perhaps he shattered long ago.
“Ei-chan,” Ibe’s eyes crinkle slightly at the edges and Eiji suddenly feels seventeen again, clutching a fiberglass pole, staring up at a bar that used to feel like second nature and is now an insurmountable barrier, "I’m not sure what he’s thinking, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a part of it is to protect you, but I think he needs time to think about it all. I think he’s scared to jump into a new world without tying up loose ends.”
Eiji knows this already, but hearing it out loud makes it seem all the more real, as if the end is rushing towards him like a bullet train. His mentor looks at him patiently, grips his arm tightly. He wonders if Ibe still feels like he owes him something. Eiji can’t imagine why, when it is Ibe who gave him almost everything he has now.
‘You can be more proud of yourself’ was what Ibe said to him on that snowy winter’s afternoon. Eiji wonders if he ever took it seriously, but one thing that was for sure was that he didn’t forget. He thinks about who he is now, and while he could be stronger, smarter, kinder — he finds that he is okay with what has become of himself.
He is allowed to accept who he is and what he has achieved. He is allowed to see his own merits and value them over his short-comings. People are allowed to treat themselves with respect.
When he thinks about Ash and how irreversibly entangled they are with each other, his heart begins to overflow, emotion pushing against the valves and washing his blood away. He thinks that at the very least, Ash deserves more than this.
“Ibe-san, if you’re able to see Max again, please tell him this,” when he speaks again he finds that his voice does not waver, “Tell Ash to read my letter, tell him consider the ticket, and tell him to come to the airport.”
He's not sure if he deserves it, but he's allowed to want more than a half-hearted goodbye.
4.
It is too quiet in JFK Airport. Or maybe it’s too loud. Eiji looks around at all the smiling faces and people bustling around with their luggage in hand and tickets in their pockets. It is all a cacophony of silence, as sincerity and platitudes alike become white noise to his ears, he loves and appreciates the ones around him but the one he is waiting for isn’t here.
Alex, Bones and Kong stand behind a pillar and wave to him discreetly; Sing gives him a salute from the balcony above, Max and Jessica give him hugs and shoulder pats and his heart aches with how much he doesn’t want to leave.
The sun is just dawdling above the horizon when a blonde haired figure in a white overcoat steps onto the sleek, airport tiles.
Eiji can only stare. You came, you actually came.
Ash looks weary and disheveled, his features are rigid and tight and Eiji knows that he is tired.
"Eiji, I didn't want to come see you because I knew it would make this harder." He starts.
Eiji can’t hear any of it, the speech Ash tries to give sounds pre-prepared and robotic, it all dissolves in Eiji's head as he searches in Ash's expression for any sign of feeling.
Who is this stoic figure, this marble faced creature, willingly kissed by Medusa’s gaze?
He can't help but interrupt.
"Ash, please come with me." Involuntary tears choke the words in the back of his throat, but he doesn't want to cry, he doesn't want this to be a tearful goodbye or a goodbye at all. They look at each other pleadingly before Ash spits out a reply.
"I...I can't, you know I can't, Eiji." He covers his face with a shaky hand, "Someone like me is destined to bring danger, I—"
Eiji won't hear it again. Everything bursts to the surface and he can’t stop himself from yelling.
“You only take a defeatist attitude when it comes to yourself! How come fate only comes into play when it's about your life? You would never give up on anyone else, you have never given up on me! Why the hell don’t you treat yourself the same?!”
Ash looks taken aback.
"You know it's not the same! I don't deserve this, you do! Eiji you deserve to go back to Japan and live a normal life — I'm a fucking monster, how can I be by your side and act like we're the same? Please Eiji, being with me will just bring you pain, why can't you see that?"
Eiji closes his eyes and shakes his head.
"If you leave, let it be for yourself. Don't leave for me, because you know I want you by my side and you know that I do not care what happens! Ash, I do not know who I am without you anymore, but if it takes leaving me to find yourself, then I don't mind!"
He opens his eyes to meet Ash’s and sees that his stone-cut facade has crumbled at the edges as the blonde boy bites his trembling lip, "But if you leave because you think it's for my sake, then just know that you are wrong!"
Ash opens his mouth to speak but no words come out, they are underwater, they are fish without gills — they can only stare at each other in a stalemate of anguish and confliction.
Eiji can’t stand the pained look on Ash’s face, he never wants to see his expression contorted in devastation again. He digs his fingernails into the back of his hand and takes a deep breath.
“I’ll wait for you forever.” He says, voice soft and croaking, “When you’re ready, I will be there.”
He will always be there to meet Ash in the middle. As long as they are both still here, still alive, he will be grateful for it all in the end.
“When I’m ready…” Ash looks down at his own hands with a whisper.
They don’t embrace, they don’t even touch — they both know that it would be too much to bear. Ash does not cross the threshold of proximity that would inevitably draw them together like magnets, nor does he linger.
When he leaves, no one stops him.
It is dead silent in JFK Airport, Eiji can only hear the dust rising and falling as it is kicked up by the soles of Ash’s shoes. His heart is squeezed to a strangle but he is glad, so very glad that Ash has made a decision for himself.
He doesn’t wave, doesn’t call out, because Ash’s back framed by the evening sun feels more like a goodbye than words ever could.
5.
Goodbye America, goodbye New York.
But I won’t say goodbye to you Ash, because I know that we will see each other again someday.
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Five years later…
The sun is up bright and early, enveloping the apartment in its benevolent light. Eggs sizzle in the pan and the kettle squeals as the water boils. There’s a song stuck in Eiji’s head, a cheerful tune that he can’t remember the name of for the life of him. He hums it anyway, scraping under the eggs with a spatula to free them from the pan.
Footsteps thump on the floorboards behind him and Eiji smiles.
“Fifth time really was the charm, huh?”
The blonde man pushes his long hair back groggily and yawns, “You woke me up five times?”
Eiji raises the spatula slightly again to pick up an egg and Ash immediately swoops in, wrapping both arms around Eiji’s middle. Eiji laughs and slaps his arm playfully, “I tried to wake you up five times.”
Ash lets out a sleepy groan and buries his face into the crook of Eiji’s neck.
“You might need to try one more time.”
Eiji rolls his eyes and plates the eggs, “Here, I made this for you. I’ve got to go to work!” He pats Ash’s hand to tell him to let go.
This, however, has the opposite effect, as Ash lets out a low whining noise and only tightens his grip around Eiji’s waist. Although, Eiji cannot say that this annoys him. He spins around in Ash’s arms and cups the other man’s cheeks between his hands.
“I’ll see you later though, okay?” He smiles and plants a wet, sloppy kiss on Ash’s forehead.
In an instant, Ash lips curve into a dopey grin. It’s like daybreak, like the morning dew catching the sun’s light, as the brightly lit apartment suddenly looks dull in comparison. No matter how many times Eiji sees it, his chest flutters with happiness and love and everything in between.
“Okay,” Ash acquiesces and pulls Eiji in one more time and mumbles into his ear.
“See you later.”
(And he does.)