Work Text:
Dear Lys:
I don’t even know why I’m writing this, if I could just upfront tell you. But this, as many other things, is hard for me, you know? Sometimes my wiring gets me to be better at expressing in tricky, multiple and novel-like words what I could just wait to tell you tomorrow when you wake up.
I’m a mess. You very well know that. Just this letter is the proof of this: I should be working on my essay to finish soon and be able to go to sleep, but I’m writing this letter to you instead, and I’ll go to sleep later, and as soon as the alarm clock goes off, as every day, I’ll regret it.
Because I’ve got about the thickest skull you’ll ever get to witness. Because I’m entirely and absolutely a mess.
And it’s okay when my messes just affect me, but lately, all my messes have been affecting you, and there’s a part about it that doesn’t let me focus on anything else right now. Most of all because I don’t feel like I’ve paid it back to you.
And when I just think that you haven’t demanded me to make it up to you... that’s when I realize how much I truly and utterly adore you.
Because...
That day, when you asked me to grab your keys for you and take them with me for our afternoon date, I fell asleep, and I knew I was going late to uni and for that I forgot them. And you’ve been working a lot these days, and even if I could see the tiredness in your face I still forgot them, because no matter what, I always forget keys, always, to desperate extents.
And you looked tired, I know I frustrated you because last thing you wanted was to spend an extra hour having to take charge of that, and instead of scowling me, of reproaching me about how I forget things time after time and that it seems as if I didn’t give a fuck about what you ask from me...
You sighed, shook your head, drove me back home, trying to hide the tiredness behind humming songs and a small smile, picked up the keys yourself, and then, went back to your office to shut it, and even afterward you took me for dinner.
Or like that other day, when 3 people of your staff, the cashier included, reported sick, and I, trying to make up for the previous harm done, said I could make the cashier for you, and help you manage the café for a day. And even if you know I’m a mess, a dyscalculic mess, you still trusted me, and even if you trusted me with something as important as the café is for you...
I messed up. Because that’s all I know to do.
I not only got distracted several times, but I undercharged, I stocked things you had already bought, and my calculations made absolutely no sense: if you were tired from a busy day at the labs, you had to come back here to sit for 3 hours fix up my bad calculations, my bad stocking.
And I was taking money out of my wallet, ready to give away to you from my recently paid article all the money that was amiss, because I know a loss is a loss no matter how wealthy you are, and you simply stared at me, tiredly, calmly, and said: “it’s done, let’s go back home.”
And it’s not over there, because next day, when I forgot my homework at home because that’s how much of a frustrating, forgetful mess I am, you drove back for it and met me at uni to give them away, with those tired eyes, yes, but a gentle smile on your face, and even so, you stayed a bit to hug me and comfort me when I was angry at some mates commenting on how much of a mess I am and how it is surprising I’ve even got a degree at all having these habits.
And how did I pay it back to you?
You had to get this deal signed, it was very important for you, you talked to me a lot about it, and you were so keen to invite that man and his wife over to have a nice dinner with us and get to a good agreement with him, and so from the day before you bought all sorts of Johtonian ingredients because you wanted to make them a special dinner, and you spent all day long taking calls from your Holo caster both from the labs and the café because you decided to stay at home so you could prepare this cake that took hours to make.
And I wanted to help you. And you were skeptic about it, of course, but by a moment you decided to trust me, even if after the stupid café incident you had no reason to, and you left the timing of the oven up to me.
And I got distracted.
And not only did your preparation get all burned, but the curtains of our kitchen also did, and we both went back to it to a smoky smell, to fire, and Gyarados turned it off, yes, for the kitchen to be all soaked now.
And I saw it in your eyes, Lys, I saw it so clearly: that spark shone, the desperate spark of anger, of utter frustration, of exasperation, of maddened incredulousness, and even your face got a little red, I could see the vein that jumps in your forehead whenever you are about to snap showing up, you heavy breathed, and I was so ready to hear it from your voice, what I knew I deserved to be yelled:
“Hikari, you are a fucking mess, look at what you’ve done! You’ve sent to absolute shit hours and hours of my efforts and this is why you can’t be trusted anything because you act like an idiotic kid and how in the world do you pretend to get anywhere having such awful habits and ways and being so stupid and fucking up so idiotically? Get off of my sight, you ruined everything!”
But instead... you took a deep breath, a very, very deep breath, shook your head, and with a trembling, yes, but calmed voice, said:
“You clean this up. I’ll go buy a cake. We still have got the time.”
And you left... probably to calm yourself, to actually get another cake, and I’ll be honest... even if I had no right to, I cried a bit, because I felt so utterly wrong for what I did to you out of my stupidness, and if I was expecting you to look down on me and lecture me on how I’ve got to change and stop being so careless as soon as you got home...
You placed the shameful cake over the table, got to our room to change, and once the cleaning was done, you resumed the preparations as I changed.
At dinner I noticed you were nervous at first, I really did, and even with our bought cake, it went amazingly well, and you even held my hand, lovely, before bringing up the topic about the deal, not in a performative way, I really, really sensed your warm touch looking for mine reassuringly.
And you don’t know how nice that was.
Because I deserved to be yelled at, to be snapped at, because I’ve been a pain in the ass with this stupid brain of mine, but instead of telling me all I’ve heard my whole life about how I should do better and how I should care and grow up and get a hold of my mind, you stayed by my side to fix it, lovely, so lovely.
In each of those moments I could feel your desperation, yes, but I could also feel your utter love. That patient love you only save for me, because we both are better at condemning than at forgiving, yet you decided to forgive me every little time, even if I was too ashamed to even apologize.
And that’s why I write you this letter, to thank you.
Thank you for loving me even when I’m like this, even when my brain doesn’t work enough dopamine to get me right, even when I can’t keep up masking the perfect facade of a perfectly functional adult. Thank you for loving me even when I’m frustrating, when I don’t sleep well, when I forget, when I miscalculate, when I’m too inflexible and too impulsive and too all over the place. Thank you for loving me even when I’m driving you insane. Thank you for loving me even when I mess up in the silliest of ways.
I know nothing can make up for all the time I’ve made you waste, but... I prepared you this little lunch the letter is attached to, for if you’re having a busy day, at least you don’t have to worry about what you’re going to have for lunch. And when you get back home I’ll be waiting for you with a good back massage because I know you need it.
I know that food and favors aren’t enough to make up for it and that they don’t change the fact that I’m a mess... but I promise that far beyond this, I’ll try to be better, even if you don’t demand me to.
I love you, Lys. I really do. Thank you, and I’m sorry. Please, enjoy your meal!
Yours truly: your (messy) petite.
When Lysandre opened his suitcase, he wasn’t expecting to find such a neat lunch saved inside, with such an emotional letter attached.
And to think that Hikari maybe didn’t even sleep in order to pull this act off without him noticing as she was pretty much oversleeping as she always did when he left home that saturday...
That was why he didn’t even understand the source of such concerns.
Of course Hikari was messy... she tried her best, Lysandre knew it very well, and he had seen himself the works and results such a brilliant mind like hers could produce... but he knew her ADHD got in the middle of all that brightness many times.
And it was frustrating, yes, burdening, of course it got on his nerves, but he understood that sometimes it was far beyond her power, and that she never made it on purpose.
And when he felt like snapping, like reproaching her... Lysandre would remember she had offered him all the kindness no one else had before, that even if it was hard sometimes, she looked at his flaws and struggles with compassionate eyes, that her arms were the place where he felt safe, that not even the mess of her brain could compare to the harsh mess the world was, that she was his calm place, the eyes where he wasn’t afraid to be reflected, and for all of that he knew the last thing he wanted to do was to snap at her and end up mistreating her out of a perishing angry emotion.
Because he knew what it was like to feel like you can’t handle your brain, to need help and understanding, and instead, be blamed and spat at: of course he wouldn’t shame Hikari for something that had given enough shame to her her entire life.
As he took a mouthful from the lunch, getting amazed by how delicious and well cooked it all was, Lysandre laughed at himself, laying back on his chair: when did he even become this patient? When did he even acquire this control over his emotions and actions when all his life this had been his main struggle? To rule over his moods and what he did out of them?
Maybe it was Hikari and what she did to him. Maybe it just took to look at her eyes and hold her between his arms to want to do better, so much better.
So, he took out his Holo Caster and wrote a text:
“How could I not love you, ma petite? You don’t have to doubt it, nor thank me, nor even say “even”. I love you. Just like that. There’s no ‘even if’ for you. Just love. Keep it in mind, always.”
And so she truly knew that her efforts, even if sometimes didn’t pay, were more than enough...
“Thank you for the delicious lunch. I was needing it so much. I know I can always count on you. Je t’adore, ma petite, always.”