Work Text:
Michinaga wakes with a start. The first thing he notices is dampness by his eyes, the second is how raw his throat feels.
Fucking pathetic, he thinks to himself with as much bite as he can summon at god knows what hour. He’d reach for his phone and check the time, but that was left in the DGP lounge a lifetime ago along with his street clothes, keys, and wallet. It’s not like he can exactly waltz back in there given the circumstances of A) being eliminated, B) being labeled a "thing of fiction" by production, who wanted him to hurry up and die again (though that might not be a problem anymore? It's hard to tell when some guy in a suit is babbling about "fiction" and "reality" constantly), and C) waging war on the Desire Grand Prix. Whatever, the battery on that ancient thing probably died by this point anyways, and the charger was temperamental on the best of days, so it's no great loss.
Tracking time by sun position is a bitch though. Not to mention he’s gotten the distinct impression that the sun moves differently here (if it is even the same sun). Michinaga’s an early riser by nature of his work, usually up and moving well before Daichi or Beroba try to find him for their own amusement. But all bets are off if his brain screws him over in the middle of a sleep cycle, replaying that night until his nerves alight and send his body into a full adrenaline panic attack.
It’s so stupid. If he has time to be upset, he should be angry instead. Grief freezes him and makes him helpless. Anger keeps his feet moving forward, keeps him fighting when anyone else would tap out, keeps him determined to burn this whole world to the ground. Michinaga would take anger any day.
The curtains by the window (that’s really just a hole in the wall) block out the sky. No way to judge what time it is from the comfort of an old mattress then. Michinaga knows he should get up and check, but the lingering pain from the unremembered (but easy to guess) nightmare has left him numb. He doesn’t feel like moving just yet. He rolls over, expecting to hit the opposite wall.
He barely turns halfway before hitting something solid. He tries to blink the sleep from his eyes. No, he didn't hit something solid, but someone solid. Tohru.
Tohru’s smiling softly at him. But no, Michinaga scrunches his face, willing his brain to work. That can’t be right. Tohru isn’t here any more, and when they talk now, he’s never solid, only a wisp that part of him knows isn’t really there, just a hallucination, but that the other part of him knows he’d die without. So why-
“We have time before the next round,” the other whispers. “You can go back to sleep, if you want.”
The realization strikes him like lightning. Right. This isn’t Tohru, but a Jyamato taking on his form and memories. Probably as part of a scheme of Daichi’s, that Beroba endorsed. The figure here is a monster. One that heard him fitfully sleeping and still managed to sneak into his room, into his bed without him noticing.
“What are you doing?” Michinaga asks.
Not-Tohru keeps Tohru’s expression positive, though more muted now. Like the very warranted question isn’t warranted at all. He gestures lazily with one hand at the two of them.
“This used to happen all the time.”
Michinaga lays back down and focuses. Not-Tohru is next to him, squished at his side to fit on the twin bed mattress, and god, it was just like this in high school, wasn't it? Two latch-key kids racing to each other's homes (Tohru's if they're tired cuz it's closer, Michinaga's if they're up to no good cuz his parents get back later), crashing in their bedrooms where they can pretend they're the only people who matter. Putting off homework, forgetting about teachers and delinquents and cliques and high school entirely as they curl up together, chatter about nonsense (worries, fears, aspirations, dreams), and just breathe. Michinaga would pull out his cracked phone so they'd have to press closer to both see what's on the screen (a music video from one of Tohru's favorite bands, new rules and expansions for an rpg Michinaga will convince him to play, dumb posts and memes that made little to no sense but kept them laughing for hours). All little moments that were insignificant, but with his head resting on Tohru's shoulder, careful to mind the space between his hair and the other's neck but close enough to hear Tohru's rhythmic breathing and steady heartbeat, Michinaga would always think, This is enough.
Their positions on the bed now perfectly mirror an amalgamation of those crystalized moments. Michinaga’s head is barely on the other’s shoulder, and he can feel a facsimile of Tohru’s heartbeat, almost clock-like in its precision. One of Not-Tohru’s hand ghosts over a divot at Michinaga’s upper hip (“Touch me again and I’ll kill you.” “The little shriek you do is adorable though. Who knew you were ticklish?” “It’s cuz your hands are always cold, smartass.”). The other hand rests next to his, fingers brushing but not touching (never touching) yet close enough to still feel residual body heat.
Then the Jyamato snakes his hands lower than Tohru ever dared to.
Michinaga's blood runs cold. "This never happened."
"No," Not-Tohru agrees with Tohru's voice, "but you wanted it to, right?"
A million thoughts run through his head. Did Tohru himself know or was it a guess the creature wearing his face made? Michinaga never said anything but he also never lied. There's a lot two guy friends, especially when they're just kids, can get away with without crossing lines, isn't there? But did Tohru want to? Did he not? Why apply to the same company? Share an apartment, the smallest fucking apartment known to man? Trade lunches and sweaters and jackets and secrets and drinks and dumb jokes and petty barbs and stupid little presents and anything and everything? How much did it mean to him? Did it mean anything at all?
The Jyamato takes the silence as an invitation. He flexes fake hands and fake fingers (Tohru's hand with the small scar that Michinaga can draw from memory and digits Michinaga would recognize blind) and smiles (like Tohru would when he got praised at school or work, grin a tad lopsided). He takes a sharp intake of breath (that he doesn't need - it's a mimicry like the rest of the act, meant to play on Michinaga's precarious mental state and make him loyal to Beroba's cause, make him useful to this Jyamato in particular, make him monstrous in general) and reaches (with vines disguised as hands, Tohru's hands but not his because Tohru was human, never a fucked up thing like the monster impersonating him, like what Michinaga's becoming) and grabs (and it's still not Tohru because Tohru is dead and how dare this thing pretend otherwise when Michinaga was there, when Michinaga watched the light leave his eyes, felt his body disintegrate under his fingertips) and-
Michinaga pries Not-Tohru's hands off him. He keeps the fingers crushed beneath his own for a moment, taking solace in the idea of breaking them.
He doesn't turn around but keeps his eyes firmly glued on the shitty dresser in front of him. Beroba has a half dozen of the same, identical outfit for him stored in there, like it's some kind of uniform for her fucked up little game. Or more like she found the perfect outfit for her favorite doll. He hates that it's something he might have actually worn if he a) gave a shit about looking nice and b) had money to burn on clothes that didn't need to be construction-site-safe.
Michinaga can feel Not-Tohru following his line of sight, and he wants to scream at just how much Beroba, Archimedel, and Daichi have dictated his life. He drops the foreign fingers unceremoniously.
"I'm getting up," he says through gritted teeth.
An implied, "I'm getting dressed so get the fuck out." A thick, unspoken, "Don't try that shit again." A silent warning, "You may have some memories but you aren't reading them right."
Not-Tohru moves away, the bed creaking as he gets up. "I'll see you on the balcony later then. Let's crush those Kamen Riders together."
It’s Tohru’s voice but not his words, Michinaga reminds himself. Tohru is gone. He mentally repeats that simple fact over and over again as the imposter’s footsteps get further and further away.
Tohru is long gone, and Michinaga is left alone once more.