Archive of Our Own

Days blend together on this new world, without conflict and terror keeping his adrenaline high and his focus sharp. Sometimes it feels like he blinks and suddenly day has turned to night, or summer to fall, and he has no idea what happened during the hours or days he must have lived through. It happens often enough that Ryuga occasionally wonders if he’s grown stupider, like the transition to this world has robbed him of more than just the freedom to use his own name.

There are good days, and there are bad days. The good days are good to the two of them, where either Ryuga’s mind feels clear and he isn’t consumed by doubts and his energy lifts Sento up, or Sento is the lucid, dynamic one, and he is generous with his smile and affection and makes Ryuga feel present and secure. Ryuga loves these days, and in the beginning he thought there would be more of them as time went on, as they adjusted and carved out a life for themselves.

Bad days have a tendency to creep up on them, however, and once a bad day has its hold on one of them it’s hard to break free. Today is a bad day. Though, Ryuga thinks while staring at the calendar, he’s pretty sure it’s gone on long enough to become a bad week. It’s not like he keeps track of dates, but it’s been ages since he started watching Sento with worried eyes, growing more tense by the day.

Sento can be obsessive about projects. Or maybe that’s not the right word—it’s more like his projects consume him, preoccupying more and more of his mind until his world shrinks to just himself and his workshop, ignoring food, sleep, and Ryuga. When it gets really bad Ryuga wonders if he stopped existing somewhere along the line.

He was like this before. Ryuga remembers watching Sento mutter to himself while pouring over documents and blueprints and research, trying to find something to give them the edge in the war, or something to defeat Evolt for once and all. He assumed this compulsion to take the burden of the world on his shoulders was something else that would go away, now that everything is over. If anything, it’s gotten worse. Ryuga is used to being wrong—he lives with a narcissistic super genius, after all—but being wrong about this stings, like a wound that refuses to close.

He should keep trying to break through to Sento. But after days of trying to distract his partner, Ryuga is worn down. There’s only so much effort he can give when it’s just the two of them in a world that doesn’t belong to them. So when he drags himself to Sento’s workshop he can’t bring himself to do much more than to watch listlessly, leaning against a wall, for who knows how long. He’s still foolishly holding out hope that Sento will look up and actually see him.

Eventually he has to admit that isn’t going to happen. Ryuga sighs, straightens, and tries to sound less downtrodden than he is. “You hungry, Sento?” he asks like he has several nights in a row. “I’m gonna get dinner, what do you want?”

After an excruciating minute, Sento glances over briefly. It’s more than Ryuga hoped for, but then he’s disappointed when Sento says, “Sure, sounds good.” He wasn’t listening.

“I’ll just get your favorite then,” Ryuga says irritably. “Just grab whatever’s the least moldy out of the garbage behind a convenience store, right?”

“Right,” Sento says, though by now Ryuga can’t be sure if that’s in response to his question, or if Sento is back to muttering to himself as he works. Sometimes Ryuga can carry on half of a conversation for entirely too long before realizing Sento’s responses aren’t actually responses at all.

He doesn’t know why he keeps saying outlandish things in an attempt to break Sento’s focus. It hasn’t worked once. “Maybe I’ll roll it in some dirt for good measure,” he grumbles, then he leaves.

-

Some weeks ago they had a day that started out as a bad one. Ryuga was mistaken for the other version of him, the privileged and boring one with black hair and living parents and a booming career and Kasumi. Most people don’t know a thing about pro fighting so he isn’t often accosted by fans of his other self, but whenever he is it puts him in a foul mood. He fled back to the dusty warehouse he still struggles to think of as home and began pacing a line on the floor and grinding down his teeth.

Because he was the one having the bad day, Sento was around to try and pull him back. Unfortunately, Sento is terrible at it. He tends to internalize everything, and he demonstrated that he still blamed himself for Ryuga being stuck pretending he isn’t Ryuga Banjou by being an ass and apologizing for it.

“Shut up,” Ryuga snapped at him.

Sento watched him, chin resting on his hand, shitty instant coffee growing cold in front of him. They couldn’t afford a coffee machine, so the powdered stuff is what they’re stuck with.

“If you could have his life,” Sento asked, “would you want it?”

Ryuga stopped his pacing to stare at his partner. “Are you stupid?” he finally asked.

Sento wrinkled his nose. “Being stupid is your job.”

“Then stop saying dumb crap like that,” Ryuga said, and he spun around to continue his pacing, but his furious energy seemed to drain out of him as he walked. He stopped, turned back, and added, “I’m not leaving you.”

Sento blinked, clearly surprised. Ryuga didn’t—and still doesn’t—understand why that was surprising. He thought he made it clear long ago that he plans on sticking by Sento through thick and thin.

Or maybe Sento was surprised because he hadn’t realized that asking Ryuga if he wanted to be the other version of himself was the same as asking if Ryuga would leave him, if given the chance. The life the other Ryuga has is what Ryuga thought he wanted, back when he was younger and fraught with arrogance. Maybe the inferior Ryuga is satisfied with it, but the Ryuga who saved the world can now see how hollow that dream was, compared to what he has now.

Then Sento stood, and carefully crossed the room, giving Ryuga ample time to leave if he wanted. He didn’t move. When Sento got to him, he touched Ryuga’s arm, then his face.

“Would you want to start fighting again?” Sento asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“No,” Ryuga replied automatically. He knew Sento meant going back into the ring, but his mind immediately jumped to fighting for his life against insurmountable odds. Then, considering the question more, he frowned. “These days I’m so used to not fighting professionally I’d probably get myself blacklisted for dirty fighting by accident.”

Sento laughed. Sento’s laugh always brightens the world, so Ryuga let himself look at him more closely, let himself relax. “You would do something like that, wouldn’t you?” Sento said, teasing.

Ryuga shrugged. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“A terrible fate, truly,” Sento said, and Ryuga obeyed his compulsion to kiss him; and just like that, a bad day turned into a good day. It made Ryuga hopeful that it would happen more often, or that maybe Sento was getting better at getting out of his own head. They could survive in this world, together.

-

There are times when Ryuga feels like his body is made of fire. Not on fire or overheating, like how it felt using Cross-Z Magma at first. Like his body is fire, burning and destructive; but also delicate, ephemeral, liable to burn to ash and be scattered by the wind at a moment's notice.

He reaches for Sento when this happens, needing an anchor, though he’s never been able to adequately explain why he suddenly needs something physical to hold on to. He can’t find the words. It doesn’t help that his every emotion is amplified tenfold when he feels like fire, and what he feels for Sento is love—new love, bright and overflowing. He needs to express his love to Sento in these moments, but he can’t exactly say it. He tries to show it instead. The problem is he tends to lose the ability to think whenever he starts to kiss Sento, the fire burning away everything but passion and heat, and he becomes consumed by the feeling of Sento’s body pressed against his, and—well. Needless to say, they don’t often make it to their bed.

One day they were crashed together against the wall in the room that serves as their kitchen, still mostly clothed and breathing heavily in the aftermath. The only reason Ryuga was standing was because Sento was leaning heavily on him, and he always managed to find a reservoir of strength whenever Sento needed him. Besides, holding Sento is something he’s always loved to do, and it’s one of the few things he’s good at.

Sex had not extinquished the fire that consumed him all morning. He felt better, yes, but he was unable to stay still and peaceful for long. While Sento was trying to catch his breath Ryuga started kissing along his jaw and down his neck, his soft skin hot under Ryuga’s mouth.

Sento gasped, which turned into a breathy laugh. “Again?” he said, his grip on Ryuga tightening. “Already?”

“Shut up,” Ryuga said with his mouth pressed against Sento’s throat. If asked he could not tell anyone exactly what Sento said to him, but he knew it was something annoying. Then he added, his voice lower, rougher, “I want you.”

Sento inhaled sharply, and Ryuga was positive that would be the end of that and he’d be able to go back to not thinking, but then something changed and hesitation began rolling off Sento in waves. Alarmed, Ryuga pulled back. Sento had never been hesitant before. 

“Banjou, look—” Sento started, and stopped, his gaze turning to the side. Then he glanced back at Ryuga and grinned, amused. “What’s that face for? You look like your brain is about to short circuit.”

Ryuga did not think he was making any sort of face. “What?”

“All I wanted to say,” Sento said, gentler now, “was that while this is great and all—I think I’d like things to be a little more romantic sometimes, you know?”

“Romantic?” Ryuga repeated. He was beginning to feel very, very stupid.

“As in not screwing each other on every available surface like a couple of teenagers.”

It was as if someone had come up behind him and drenched him with a bucket of water, extinguishing the last embers of his earlier fire and leaving him as Ryuga Banjou once more. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Sento said, reaching up to brush some of Ryuga’s hair out of his face. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t like it?” Ryuga asked.

“Wow, Banjou, way to hear something I didn’t say.” At Ryuga’s weak glare Sento’s expression softens. “I like it this way, too. I like—you know,” Sento said, and he started to look embarrassed. He always got this way when trying to talk about their sex life. It’s cute. “It’s... good when it’s like you can’t get enough of me. I just, ah, would like to not be so haphazard all the time?”

“Got it,” Ryuga said, feeling reassured that he wasn’t pressuring Sento into sex he didn’t enjoy. “I’ll be more mushy and romantic and stuff.”

Sento rolled his eyes. “Can’t wait.” He smiled. “Why don’t we clean up? I want to take a shower.”

“...Together?”

“Sure,” Sento said. “We can see what happens.”

Ryuga was pretty sure sex would not be happening again. The mood had been thoroughly ruined, but he was surprised to learn that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He hadn’t thought that Sento might want something different, something that would involve Ryuga not giving into the fire that sometimes consumes him, and he was glad Sento spoke up. He swore to himself that he’d pay more attention next time.

“Yeah, alright,” Ryuga said, and then he figured there’s no harm in trying to be more romantic already. He pressed a kiss to the tip of Sento’s nose before stepping back to pull himself together enough for the walk to the bathroom.

“Ugh,” Sento said, “you’re weird.” He wiped at his nose with his sleeve.

“Jerk,” Ryuga said, though he knew Sento was only acting like that because he was embarrassed. He grabbed Sento’s arm and tugged him along before he could make more of an ass out of himself.

-

Ryuga wakes in the middle of the night and stares at the beams and pipes crisscrossing the ceiling, confused. He’s not sure what woke him. He went to bed alone and Sento is lying next to him now, but Sento is dead to the world, so it wasn’t him getting into bed. He doesn’t feel like he’s chasing the edge of something unnerving so it probably wasn’t a nightmare. Did he wake up for no reason? That’s annoying.

One good thing about this streak of bad days, Ryuga thinks idly as he rolls onto his side, is that Sento is actually going to bed. There were some nights a few months ago when Ryuga would find him passed out in the workshop. Thankfully, that has not been a regular occurrence. Sento is still not getting enough sleep, but with him ignoring Ryuga’s existence at every opportunity, he supposes it has to be enough.

As soon as he thinks that, rage flares in his chest. Why should he force himself to be content with being ignored, just because Sento is bothering to drag himself to bed each night? Without Sento, Ryuga is no one and has nothing. He wanders through each day trying to get enough odd jobs to keep them afloat until the day Sento decides to come back to Earth and start paying attention to Ryuga’s struggle and to contribute to their spotty finances. This is a shit partnership if Ryuga is scrambling for cash while Sento only seems to care about him when they’re sleeping.

He breathes around this rage, willing it to calm down. It’s not helpful. He just needs to wait, which is one thing Ryuga has always been desperately terrible at. Waiting sucks.

Sento is a clingy sleeper. He denies it whenever Ryuga brings it up, claiming that Ryuga is the clingy one, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Ryuga often wakes up with an arm or a leg thrown over him, or sometimes with Sento practically laying on top of him. Tonight Sento had his arm over Ryuga’s chest until Ryuga rolled over. He likes waking up to Sento touching him. And he thinks if Sento is convinced Ryuga is a clingy sleeper, then he’ll prove him right out of spite. He scoots closer and wraps his arms around Sento, holding him close.

“You’re such an asshole,” Ryuga grumbles to Sento’s sleeping face, and then all his anger vanishes. It’s replaced with a deep sadness. If this world were a kind one, Sento would wake up right now, make some shitheaded comment about Ryuga being wrapped around him like an octopus, then they would waste the rest of the night talking, to make up for the week Sento has missed.

Sento remains asleep.

-

The last real conversation they had took place during a rare bad day that turned into a good day. Ryuga had been feeling off for a while, distracted and inert. Apparently Sento sensed why, and he was as irritable as Ryuga was listless. They’d had an argument, and when Ryuga was tired of arguing he wandered off when Sento was mid-sentence and ended up sitting on their bed, his head in his hands. He sat like that for a while before Sento came into the room.

Sento said nothing at first. He sat next to Ryuga and clasped his hands together. From the corner of his eye, Ryuga could see him staring at the ground. They’d argued about money, but those arguments were never actually about money. Ryuga’s aching head could not think enough to try and figure out what thing Sento was really mad about, so he had to wait until Sento brought it up.

“You were recognized again,” Sento finally said, “weren’t you?”

Was it that obvious? Ryuga made a grumbling sound, then lifted his head. “So what?”

“ So , I don’t know why you keep acting like you don’t care that there’s another you running around when you clearly do care. Enough for you to end up like this.”

“It sucks when people think I’m someone I’m not,” he said defensively. Sento should know this. He was around back when people thought Ryuga was a murderer.

“I think you’re jealous,” Sento said like an accusation. 

“Why the hell would I be jealous? And of him!”

“Because he has your entire life, Banjou,” Sento said, glaring at the floor. “He’s got your career and doesn’t have to hide out in an abandoned warehouse and he’s with your girlfriend. You really want to tell me you’re not jealous about Kasumi?”

He remembered, unwillingly, the day Kasumi died in his arms. It was his fault. He’s never been good at thinking things through, and he made some bad choices that resulted in him walking straight into Evolt’s hands, and she paid the price for his impulsivity.

He also remembered the day his parents died. She’d been there, watching him, at that point just some girl who lived on the same street as him and went to the same school. He was too absorbed in numb grief to notice. She made him lunch every day, putting it in his shoe locker for him to find when he finally dragged himself to school, and one day he caught her doing it. They kept in touch when he moved in with his grandparents, and he talked to her often because it felt like she tethered him to reality. 

The Ryuga of this world has never gotten to experience the grace of Kasumi’s kindness at the lowest point in his life, and the Kasumi of this world has never been able to show just how compassionate she can be. “She’s not my Kasumi,” Ryuga said.

“But she could have been,” Sento insisted with surprising bitterness. “You can’t tell me things wouldn’t be easier for you if he didn’t exist.”

“She’s not my Kasumi!” Ryuga repeated. “And I don’t give a shit that he exists. He can do whatever he wants, I don’t care, I just hate it when people think I’m him and expect me to act like he would!”

“You sure don’t act like you don’t care that he exists.”

“It sounds like you’re the one who cares,” Ryuga said, then something dawned on him, and he sat straight up. “Wait—are you the one who’s jealous?”

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re damn right it’s ridiculous, because I don’t—” The I don’t want to be with her anymore died in his throat, because it felt too cruel to put out into the world. He tried a different approach. “I’m glad that other me exists, because Kasumi deserves to be happy. And if he makes her happy—and he better—then that’s all I need.”

Sento was silent for a moment. He didn’t look too happy. Ryuga started to wonder if he said something wrong, but his mind was too fuzzy to figure out what it might be. “You could have had everything,” Sento said slowly, “but you’re trying to tell me you’re happy if she’s happy?”

“I have everything,” Ryuga said, a twinge of anger piercing the fog in his mind. “He only exists because I want her to be happy, and I want to be here. Stop being weird and jealous about someone I’ve never met.”

Sento gave him a weird look. “What do you mean, he only exists because you want her to be happy?”

“Because he does? Because—” Ryuga never had to put this thought into words before, so he had to sit with it for a second to think about how to explain it. “You and me, we made this world, right? I told you I’d find you again, and I did. But Kasumi doesn’t deserve to be alone just because I—because none of this was her fault. So another me exists, just for her.”

“Let me get this straight,” Sento said, “you think that you influenced the way this world turned out?”

“Well, yeah. It makes sense, we were the only ones there at the weird beam desert.”

“It does not make sense,” Sento said, petulant, looking like he forgot the original argument for the moment. “This is a world without Sky Wall, so the ways it’s different are because Sky Wall never existed. You’re only here because of your alien DNA.”

“Yeah? Then why are you and your boring human DNA here?”

“Because Sento Kiryu could never have come to be on this world.” A sour look passed over Sento’s face.

Ryuga crossed his arms, glowering. “You’re not the only person who wouldn’t have existed without Sky Wall. You know that, right? There’s gotta be kids somewhere who were only born because their parents were suddenly stuck in a smaller country.”

Sento blinked at that, but then he looked resolute. “That’s irrelevant. I was always at the center of everything. And so were you, I guess.” God, the ego on this guy was as irritating as ever. “Because of your alien DNA and how I never could exist and the roles we played in this story—of course we’re the only ones who made it over unchanged.”

“You can’t say we didn’t affect how this world turned out,” Ryuga insisted. “It was all Mars magic bullshit, anyway.”

“It wasn’t magic! It was all based in science, which my father’s research clearly showed. Though,” Sento added, sounding more and more perturbed, “I guess to a simpleton like you, science would look like magic.”

“Explain exactly how Pandoa’s Box works,” Ryuga said, “scientifically.”

“I could, but I don’t exactly have Pandora’s Box to study it, and none of my notes came over with us—”

“Uh-huh. Sure. That’s why.”

Sento glared at him, and Ryuga started to wonder if pushing this argument in this direction was a good decision. He was starting to feel more alert, however, and was invested in proving his point.

“If you’re the reason that other Banjou exists,” Sento said, in that tone of voice he uses when he thinks he’s backed Ryuga into a corner, “then what effect did I have on this world, hm?”

“No one else remembers the old world,” Ryuga replied automatically, because it seemed obvious to him.

“...And why would I want that?”

“Crap like that is what you’ve always wanted,” Ryuga said. “You’ve always wanted no one to suffer but you, and always took on too much burden, and wouldn’t listen to me or Misora or anyone else when we yelled at you for it. So no one remembers.”

Sento opened his mouth, probably to disagree, but then he faltered. His eyes slid away from Ryuga and he stared hard at the wall. He seemed to be thinking it over, and he didn’t like whatever conclusion he came to one bit.

When Sento finally spoke, he did so slowly. “Are... are you sure you aren’t jealous of that other Banjou?”

“What the hell, Sento?” Ryuga asked, because he’d forgotten that was what they were originally talking about. “Of course I’m not jealous. He should be jealous of me.” Sento, clearly not expecting that, laughed, then covered his mouth with his hand to smother his laughter. Ryuga smacked his arm. “Rude,” he told Sento. “You’re not the only one allowed to have an ego around here.”

“Yes I am. I called dibs.”

“No you didn’t!”

Sento smiled at him, and Ryuga, his head now clear, smiled back. He felt better, having reminded himself of what’s most important to him right now during that stupid argument, and it looked like Sento felt better, too. Or at least he felt more secure.

Then, oddly, the smile slid off Sento’s face, though his eyes hadn’t lost focus. Concerned, Ryuga reached over and put his hand on Sento’s knee. “Something wrong?”

Sento looked at him a moment more, then shook his head once. “No,” he said, smiling again. “Nothing.” He put his hand over Ryuga’s, and Ryuga decided to take advantage of it and brought Sento’s hand to his lips. “Uh. What are you doing?”

“Being romantic.”

Sento’s cheeks colored pink. “You remember that?”

“Duh,” Ryuga said, rolling his eyes. “You think I’m gonna forget something like that?”

Sento rapped the knuckles of his other hand on Ryuga’s head. “Keep rolling your eyes and they’ll get stuck that way.”

“You do it all the time!” Ryuga said, starting to sulk, because he was sure this meant his attempt at a romantic gesture was rejected.

“That’s because I’m better at it,” Sento said. He leaned in closer, putting his hand on the back of Ryuga’s neck. Wait. Does this mean it worked? “I’m a genius, after all.”

“That makes no sense,” Ryuga tells him. He glanced down at Sento’s lips.

“Yeah, I know.” Before Ryuga could say anything else, Sento kissed him and pushed him down onto the bed.

-

Ryuga is alone in the bedroom by the time his alarm goes off. He fumbles his phone before he manages to turn it off, then he lays flat on his back and glowers at nothing. It takes some time before he can convince himself to get out of bed. He’s got a long day of trying to scrounge up odd jobs ahead of him and he is not looking forward to it.

Sento is, predictably, in the workshop. Somehow Ryuga’s master plan to hold on to him when asleep didn’t pan out, which he really should have expected by now. On a normal day the first thing Sento would do is throw something at him for being clingy. But today is yet another day where Sento can’t look beyond himself, and Ryuga doesn’t exist. 

There’s still leftovers in the fridge, which Ryuga sticks in the microwave for a random amount of time while he makes himself some instant coffee. Then he carries his food, burning hot in some places and freezing in others, into the workshop to watch Sento ignore him while he eats. The meal Ryuga picked out for Sento last night is on one of the workbenches, half-eaten, and he has to wonder if Sento left it out overnight or if he pulled it out for breakfast.

“We’re about to run out of money, you know,” Ryuga says, and he has a hard time pretending to be casual when it’s true, and worries him so much he may explode. “If I don’t get any work today, I dunno how we’re going to eat. Sucks, huh?”

He watches Sento carefully for any sort of reaction. Sento is busy typing on his computer, then he rolls away in his chair to a nearby workbench, where he picks up something. Ryuga gets no recognition whatsoever.

He stabs his food, suddenly furious. “It would be nice to have some help,” he practically snarls. He shoves food in his mouth and keeps speaking around it, which is something that would normally drive Sento insane. “You’ve always managed to make more money than me, but I guess that’s not important anymore.” He glares at Sento’s back. “Guess I’m not important anymore.”

Ryuga lets that accusation sit while he eats more, though now the food tastes like cardboard. He’s positive Sento will not say anything because he hasn’t all week, then Ryuga is surprised when Sento’s quiet voice says, “You don’t need my help.”

“What?” Ryuga says, and the shock of Sento answering almost makes him drop his coffee. Then he registers what Sento said. “Bullshit. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“We’re squatting, Banjou,” Sento says crossly. It’s the first time Ryuga has heard Sento say his name in forever, and it nearly makes him fall to pieces. “We’re fine.”

“We’re not fine,” Ryuga insists, and he doesn’t just mean financially. “You’ve been checked out for a week! I can’t do anything without you, Sento.” His voice cracks with his own vulnerability. “If you need me, I’ll—I’ll always figure something out, but—I can’t do this alone.”

There’s a long pause while Sento sits, his back to Ryuga and his hands still. He turns his head slightly. “...A week?”

Despair floods his heart. Sento still isn’t paying attention, is he? He’s answering, but he’s not hearing what Ryuga needs him to hear, and Ryuga doesn’t know how to say it any better, and he wants to punch something. At least the feel of knuckle on bone still makes sense to him.

Frustrated and angry, Ryuga throws what’s left of his breakfast into the trash with more force than necessary. He’s wasting food and money they don’t have by throwing it away like this, but he can’t bring himself to care. He slams back the dregs of his coffee and drops the paper cup into the trash, too. “I’m leaving,” he snaps at Sento’s back. “At least one of us has to make sure we don’t starve.”

He storms out of the workshop, yanks his jacket off a hook on the wall, and pulls it on so carelessly he hears threads snapping. Then he wrenchs open the side door and slams it behind him. From somewhere inside the warehouse, his imagination supplies him with the sound of Sento calling his name.

-

Once upon a time Misora told Ryuga something that he thought was preachy, naive bullshit. “Sometimes people don’t have a choice,” she said, “even when they do.”

He’d asked her why Sento kept fighting, kept getting his ass kicked, for a thankless and seemingly pointless sense of duty. Ryuga laughed at her answer.

But he remembered it. It was one of those things he kept close to his heart, and he’d take it out sometimes, to poke and prod at it like it was one of Sento’s weird experiments, and wonder if he believed it yet. Just like he did with Sento’s lame hero speeches, or his own understanding of his changing feelings. Misora probably forgot she said it long before Ryuga folded it into his collection of things to mull over on sleepless nights.

Eventually, he understood it.

He didn’t have a choice, that day on top of Pandora’s Tower, but it felt like one. It felt right. He felt like a hero, for once in his life.

“Thanks for everything,” he told Sento, and he could not imagine a better way to die.

-

Living in the new world was a baffling experience at first. There was so much to get used to, and so much they needed to do in order to survive, and so much planning had to be done if they were going to have a future here. Ryuga felt like his head was spinning constantly. He was glad Sento grasped things like yen almost immediately.

But the thing is, Ryuga did not expect to be here. He did not think he’d make it to the new world, that he’d be able to experience a world at peace, and he felt almost like a new person. Every day and every new thing they got to experience was a gift he didn’t think he deserved.

He did take some things with him from the old world, both good and bad. He thought, at first, that they’d be lighter here, that he could carry his burdens easier, but some weighed more heavily than he wanted.

First, the bad: Evolt was dead and gone but he still lurked in the corners of Ryuga’s mind, a specter of everything he wanted to forget. Sometimes Ryuga felt like Evolt was trying to claw his way out of his chest, to devour him and start manipulating and hurting and killing people once more. Sometimes he felt like his body didn’t belong to him. Not entirely.

Sento notices whenever he gets like this, of course. Ryuga has often felt his eyes tracking him, while he floated through his daily routine, the rote actions losing meaning as he lost connection with his body. He’d talk about it if he knew how to explain what was happening. So he kept his mouth shut, let Sento wonder and worry, until the disconnection from himself turned to fire, and he needed something to hold on to, and he crashed himself into Sento until he felt like Ryuga again.

Then, the good: The way Ryuga evolved over the past year stunned him whenever he thought about it, and it was all thanks to Sento. This man burst into his life, believed him when everyone else thought the worst of him, and continued to believe in his potential until Ryuga became a hero in his image. He lifted Ryuga higher and higher and let him become someone who could be proud of himself. He owes Sento a lot. It’s a debt he thinks will never be repaid, but he’s going to try his damndest. 

He dedicated his life to Sento’s cause forever ago, though it was only because he dedicated himself to Sento. It took him a while to admit to himself exactly why Sento in particular inspired him as much as he did, and it was somehow less terrifying in this new, peaceful world, where no one knows who they are and no one can judge him. That did not, however, make it easier to ignore.

It distracted him. He bumbled through the early weeks in this world, making stupider mistakes than he normally would, and Sento started grumbling about muscleheads and talking to brick walls and other silly insults. It was on a rainy day when it burst out of him, when they were staying in a garage-turned-bachelor-pad that belonged to someone’s son who grew up and moved out years ago. It was small and dusty, and Sento did not like the look of the water damage on the walls, and he was talking about mold and lung disease when Ryuga interrupted with, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Sento turned to him, at first confused, then alarmed. It was strange. But Ryuga couldn’t dwell on it—was incapable of thinking about it, for that matter—because he felt like his heart would explode if he didn’t say what he needed to.

“Sento,” he started to say, “I think I—” and then Sento put his hand over Ryuga’s mouth, silencing him.

“You—” Sento said, a wildness in his eyes that morphed into shyness almost immediately. “You don’t need to say it. I already know.”

“You do?” Ryuga said, his voice muffled by Sento’s hand. 

Sento snorted and pulled his hand back. “Of course I do. You’re terrible at hiding things.”

He was too surprised to be embarrassed. “You could’ve said something!”

“You could have, too,” Sento said. He glanced at Ryuga, and his voice became quieter. “And—I shouldn’t have to say anything anyway, because you should already know how I—well—you know.”

His heart soared so high he felt like he could fly if he wanted to. “Guess I do,” Ryuga said.

“Good. I didn’t think you were that dense.”

Sento could not hide how bashful he was feeling. Captivated, Ryuga closed the narrow distance between them, ignoring the dusty, second-hand futons they were supposed to be cleaning, and took Sento’s face in his hands. “Sento,” he started, then he stopped, not quite sure of what he wanted to say. He settled on, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Sento’s eyebrows shot straight up, and he started to smile. “Then why are you still talking?”

-

It’s dark when he gets back, and cold, and he’s tired to the core. Loose change jingles in his pocket along with a few wrinkled bills, and Ryuga tries to not think about it too much. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

The door is unlocked, and the workshop is blazing with light when he steps inside. Sento is at one of his workbenches, which doesn’t surprise Ryuga, though this time Sento is hunched over it. He must have fallen asleep in the middle of his obsessive working, which means now this series of bad days will get worse.

Then, movement. Sento, his head still flat on the table, picks something up and flips it over in his hand, once, twice, almost like he’s fidgeting with his stuff like Ryuga sometimes does. He’s awake, then. And... not working?

Ryuga lets the door slam closed behind him, and Sento shoots straight up in his chair and spins to face the door. “Banjou,” he says, then his voice seems to fail him.

This is not what Ryuga thought he’d find when he came back. He walks over to the workshop, wary, becoming increasingly on edge until he stops several paces away from where Sento is sitting. He knows he should say something, but everything gets jumbled as usual. He can’t tell if he wants to yell at Sento for checking out for a week, or if he wants to spend the rest of the night beating up the old punching bag in the corner until his hands are numb and bruised. Neither sounds like the best idea, so, frowning, Ryuga pulls the box they keep their money in off a shelf and starts putting away what he earned today. He tries to count it as well, but the numbers slip from his mind.

“Banjou,” Sento says again, and Ryuga feels like every cell in his body is on edge. “...I didn’t know it’s been a week.”

Ryuga sighs heavily. “Sure. Of course you didn’t.”

He can practically hear Sento wince. “I didn’t mean for it to take this long. I intended to only take a day or two to myself, I didn’t think—”

“Hold on.” Ryuga closes the nearly empty box of bills and turns to face Sento, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. “What do you mean, you wanted a day or two to yourself?”

“I had some stuff I needed to think about,” Sento says, and he’s starting to sound defensive. “It’s easier for me to think when I’m working because then I can block out distractions, and—”

“You were ignoring me on purpose?” Ryuga interrupts for the second time, so completely dumbfounded and hurt that he couldn’t care less about how rude he’s being. 

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Sento says lamely. “I needed to think, that’s all.”

“If something bothers you that much, you should talk to me about it! You shouldn’t ice me out! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Sento seems to deflate. He lets out a slow breath. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it makes Ryuga feel a bit like he’s deflating, too. An apology. An honest, genuine apology, from Sento. For something he actually should apologize for, at that.

Ryuga is not sure if he forgives him yet. He takes off his jacket, giving himself another second to think, and tosses it carelessly over the back of a nearby chair. Then he crosses his arms and leans against the table. “Tell me what was so important you ignored me for a week.”

And Sento is quiet for a long, painful minute as the crease between his brows deepens. “What you said to me, the other day,” he says slowly. “When you said I’m the reason our friends don’t remember the old world.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“That’s... kind of horrible, isn’t it?” Sento stares at the ground, fidgeting, looking like he’s buzzing with anxious energy but making an effort to stay seated and retain some semblance of control.

Ryuga blinks in surprise, and studies Sento more closely. It seems like he means it, though he is clearly still trying to hide his vulnerability by not making eye contact, as if Ryuga doesn’t know him well enough by now to notice when he does this. “Why would it be horrible?” he asks in genuine confusion.

“Why wouldn't it be?” Sento replies, bitterness seeping into his voice. “If your hypothesis is correct, then I took away everyone's agency. I didn't give them a choice to remember or not. Instead I changed their lives in a way I thought would be an improvement.”

And now Ryuga is even more confused. “I don't think you did it on purpose,” he says.

“That makes it worse!” Sento shoots out of his seat, marches a few steps to the center of the room, and half turns away from Ryuga, wrapping his arms around himself, hiding his face from view. “My subconscious vision of what a better world looks like is one where I control everything? How can I be a hero if that's true?”

“That's not what happened!” Ryuga snaps. “You wanted people to not suffer anymore, and this is just how it was done.”

“If we had any input in how this world was created, then—”

“No. No, shut up.” Ryuga presses a hand to his forehead while he gathers his thoughts. Sento turns slightly to watch him, frowning deeply. “Do you think,” he says, “that everyone wants to remember? Do you think Kazumin wants to remember dying? Or Gentoku? Especially when it didn't happen in the life they have here? That would mess them up!”

“I doubt they imagined they'd forget when I told them the plan.”

“So what? Neither did you!”

“You see how that makes it worse, right? I should have seen this possibility coming. The fact that I didn’t is a failure on my part.”

“Sento—ugh!” Ryuga clenches his fists and paces a half circle as he tries to calm his temper. “You need to stop saying stupid shit that makes me want to punch you.” Sento gives him one of his usual looks, one that started in the first days of their acquaintance, one that clearly says Why am I stuck with this moron? Ryuga grits his teeth and adds, “And stop making me defend you, because I'm supposed to be angry at you right now!”

Sento's shoulders hunch in, making him look smaller. “Yeah,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, okay.”

Great. Wonderful. Ryuga regrets everything he's said so far as he watches Sento retreat into himself. This whole situation is just so unbelievably stupid. They shouldn't be having this argument, Sento should not have been so bothered he ignored his partner for a week, and they don't even have enough money for dinner so they’re stuck with the cup noodles Sento despises. Ryuga doesn’t even want to be angry anymore. He’d much rather have Sento back for good.

“Goddammit,” he mutters. He just—he doesn’t know where to go from here. He wants to go back to the normalcy they’ve carved out in this world, but what does he say to get there? How does he get Sento to stop worrying about things that don’t matter anymore, and how does Ryuga get him to stop looking so damn despondent? Ryuga bangs a fist weakly on a table, and glares at the floor.

He feels Sento’s eyes on him. After a beat, there’s a sharp intake of breath, and Sento says, “I’m doing this all wrong. This isn’t how I wanted this to go.” He glances up and watches Sento rub his face. “Banjou. You were right, I should have just talked to you instead of retreating into my work. And I understand if you’ll be mad at me for a while.”

Ryuga feels—he’s not sure, but it’s something that’s on the edge of overwhelming. Maybe a bit of relief mixed with resentment? Or longing? He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, frustrated, because he can’t manage to find any words.

“I can try and make it up to you,” Sento says, watching him carefully. “Since you were so diligent about dinner, I can go get it this time.”

Has he seriously not paid attention? “We don’t have any money, Sento.”

“What? Of course we have—ah. Maybe I should have started with that.” Sento reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, but substantial, wad of bills. “After you left this morning, I went out myself. Got a nice repair job. There’s a business nearby that’s trying to float their HVAC until next year because they don’t want to replace it yet. It’s idiotic, but they paid well.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Ryuga asks, staring at the money in Sento’s hand.

“Forgot, I guess,” Sento says with a shrug.

“How the hell did you forget?!”

“I had other things to worry about.” Sento frowns. That’s when Ryuga notices he’s trembling, just slightly. It dawns on him that Sento is trying to act like he isn’t upset, and it’s probably because Ryuga told him to stop saying things that made Ryuga want to defend him. He’s trying to not seem pathetic. “I got home hours before you did,” Sento continues. “I wasn’t sure if—you know, if you’d be back tonight.”

He’s not doing a great job at not looking pathetic.

“See, this is why I needed you,” Ryuga says, because he still hasn’t forgiven Sento yet. “You leave me alone and we slowly run out of money, but you go out for one day and earn more than I did all week.”

“There’s no guarantee I’d make anything at all, much less this much.” He looks at the money in his hand, sighs, and shoves it back in his pocket. “But I see what you mean. If you only had to worry about yourself it wouldn’t be so bad.”

If Ryuga had only himself, he’d probably still be sleeping outside and stealing showers from gyms with overworked employees that don’t care to check for membership. “Just stop, Sento,” Ryuga says, frustrated with how much Sento continues to downplay his impact on Ryuga’s life in conversations that matter. 

Sento’s shoulders sag as he gives up on faking bravado. “I’ll... go pick up dinner now,” he says. He takes one step, then stops, and looks at Ryuga. “But—Thanks. For not giving up on me.”

The desperation in Sento’s eyes shines brightly, like tears he’s fighting back, and Ryuga nearly lets him go. He nearly lets Sento walk right by him, nearly lets him leave, and be alone when he looks so unmoored Ryuga knows he needs connection to ground himself. If Ryuga lets Sento go when he’s like this, things will not get better.

Ryuga catches Sento’s arm. Sento turns his desperate face to him, and it’s not enough. He tugs Sento closer, wrapping his arms around his faintly trembling body, and Sento sinks into him like he’s forgotten what comfort feels like and he’s trying to soak up as much as he can. Sento’s heart beats wildly against his chest. Ryuga needed this, too. He needed to touch Sento, to hold him tight.

Eventually, Sento’s heart calms. He shifts, just slightly, and that reminds Ryuga of something else they haven’t done in a week. He turns his head and plants a light kiss on Sento's temple. Sento laughs, quiet and breathy, just shy of the hysteria that often follows an emotional roller coaster. “If you kiss me,” Sento says, sounding like he’s trying to make a joke, “then I won’t be able to leave.”

Ryuga jerks backwards. “Leave?!”

“To get dinner.” The corners of Sento’s lips turn upward. “Did you seriously forget already?”

He did, but he’s not going to admit it. “I’m not that hungry,” Ryuga says, though it’s mostly a lie. Now that he’s not consumed with worry, he’s starting to feel the hunger pains that come from eating only vending machine chips for lunch. He pulls Sento close again. “Stay.”

“You’re kidding, right? Your stomach has been growling this whole time.”

He’s about to deny this unfounded accusation, but at that moment his stomach gurgles. His body is a goddamn traitor, he thinks to himself. He sighs in defeat and releases Sento.

“I won't be long,” Sento promises. He puts a hand on Ryuga’s arm, lingering a moment, then heads for the door.

But something isn't sitting right with Ryuga. He should be more content, shouldn't he? He should be satisfied now that Sento is finally paying attention again. But he doesn’t want to let him go, not when he just came back—and then realization strikes him upside the head and Ryuga feels stupid for not thinking of it earlier. There’s no reason for Sento to go alone.

Sento is just starting to pull on his coat when Ryuga says, “Hey, Sento, wait up!” He snatches his jacket off the back of the chair and hurries to join Sento by the door.

“You’re tagging along?” Sento asks, one brow raised.

“Of course,” Ryuga says as he puts on his jacket. “You’ll probably get distracted by some weird science thing and pick up something gross again.” He smiles brightly, and it feels like a weight falling off his shoulders after a week of never smiling. “You’re useless without me.”

Sento laughs, and this time he sounds like himself. “You sure you aren’t talking about yourself? How many times did you come home with something covered in chocolate sauce because you were confused by what the clerk was asking you?”

“That was only one time!” Ryuga protests.

Sento grabs Ryuga’s wrist and pulls him through the door, grinning. “How about you stop me from getting distracted, and I stop you from making embarrassing mistakes, and hopefully we make it home with something edible. Sound good?”

“Deal,” Ryuga says. He throws an arm around Sento’s shoulders, using Sento’s warmth to shelter himself from the cold.