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"The moon's really pretty tonight."
Eiji says this every time it's full. Ankh remembers reading about this phrase somewhere, but can't for the life of him remember what it was or why it was significant. Eiji always seems pretty pleased with himself, though, so he supposes he'll let him have this, even if it looks the same as usual. Still, Ankh stares up at it. The sky seems so empty with the lights of the city clouding it. Though his vision was duller without human eyes, he knows this is because of something called light pollution, because when he had asked the search function in his phone what happened to all the pinpricks of light he could just barely see, it had told him about it.
He wanted to see that same sky from 800 years ago. This one is certainly nice to look at with eyes that can properly see the twinkle and glimmer of the stars, but it will never be enough.
"I've heard humans have been to it."
"Ah…yeah, the Americans were the first ones to get there. I don't think anyone has been up there again in a while, though."
"You've never been," Ankh says. "For all your worldly travels."
"Of course not. You have to go through a lot of specialized training to go to the moon. You should look that stuff up on your phone." Eiji gestures to his pocket.
"You won't tell me?"
"It's not that I won't, I just don't know a lot about it." Eiji shrugs. "Why, were you thinking of going?"
Maybe he was. But it feels like if he admits it out loud he'll be making a stupid mistake, so he just shrugs right back at him. Eiji gives him that half-amused look he sometimes gets when he's caught on to one of Ankh's more peculiar mannerisms, and Ankh firmly ignores him. "That phrase. I've heard it before."
"Huh?"
"The moon."
"Oh." Eiji leans on the windowsill. "There's this famous novelist. He taught Japanese, too, and he thought that the best way to translate 'I love you' from English to Japanese was to say the moon is beautiful." He laughs when Ankh's face scrunches up. "He said it was because men weren't accustomed to speaking directly. I don't think I've ever heard anyone say it like that, though! I just always think it's pretty when it's full."
Speaking directly is certainly not something Eiji has difficulty with, that's for sure; he's never shared his Greeed partner's penchant for pointed silences, half-truths, and avoided questions. Ankh nods, taking the explanation as satisfactory, redirecting his gaze back up to the moon for one last glance.
"Just don't stay up all night gawking at it." Ankh moves away from the windowsill and climbs into his nest, ready to retire for the night.
"I won't! Jeez, Ankh, what do you take me for?"
An idiot. That's always been the answer to that question. It was true then, that night in the attic of Cous Coussier, and it's true now, as Ankh watches Eiji sleep under a frayed blanket he'd been given by a fellow traveler. The embers of a recently-doused fire still glow under the ash. Ankh stretches out toward it, but he knows that absolutely no sensation awaits him. Not warmth, or the smell of smoke, or even the pop of the fire as it slowly dies out. Even hearing things is harder in this state than it's ever been, though Eiji is so friendly and so chatty to everyone he meets that Ankh doesn't have to worry about ever going for very long without managing to pick up bits of conversation here or there.
Sometimes he'll stop and stare directly at him, for just a moment, and every time Ankh swears he catches a breath he only really vaguely remembers the motions of being able to take before he realizes that, as always, Eiji is looking through him—it's just a split second of awareness, the sensation of "something being there" alerting him to stare at what ultimately seems, to him, like empty space. It's been long enough, happened enough times, that Ankh really is amazed Eiji hasn't figured out what that sensation means.
Though he supposes even if he knew, it wouldn't matter either way. Just knowing he's there wouldn't mean either of them could do anything about it.
What would he even want to do, anyway? Grab Eiji by the face and shake him once for every stupid mistake he's made on this world trip of his? Haul him off by the arm every time he's accosted by scam artists who don't realize how well-traveled this otherwise dim-witted-looking tourist is? Touch him, certainly. Ankh knows that he wants that much, even if he hasn't thought much further ahead than that.
It may be true that Eiji no longer needs to reach out to him. But he still wants to be the hand that Eiji wants to reach out to. There's a morbidly smug feeling Ankh gets every time he sees Eiji reach for his shattered medal, run the pads of his fingers over the jagged edges, struggle with smiling for a moment or two before summarizing the day's travels as though Ankh is listening.
But it always dies, quietly as a baby bird trampled underneath its stronger siblings, stifled by the lonely, cold knowledge that no matter how hard they reach out to each other, as they are now, they'll never manage to do it.
He tries to brush his knuckles against the open palm of Eiji's hand as he sleeps, but as usual, he can't even manage that much.
The light pollution isn't as harsh out here, in the woods. There are some cities here and there, clogging up the skyline, and Ankh still can't see all the stars. In fact, there are very few he can see, although if he had human eyes he's sure the sight would be stunning.
There is one thing he can see, though, hanging in the sky the same way it does every night, glowing gently even through Ankh's muted, grainy vision. The thought leaps to him unbidden:
The moon is beautiful tonight.