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It was a lazy late summer afternoon, one of those rare days where Akira didn’t have anything pressing to take care of. No missions, no requests from Cock Robin, nothing at all. On days like those, Mithra tended to become his shadow; following from place to place, observing, and being a bit of a nuisance—like a new puppy that required constant entertainment. Today however, Akira was indulging him, and much like a dog, Mithra’s head was stationed in his lap.
A gentle breeze rolled through, twisting and twirling the long tendrils of the willow tree he was laid up against. The weather was hot enough that you could enjoy sheltering under the shade in the manor courtyard, but not so much that the heat was oppressive. Mithra found it was still too stuffy after centuries in the North; Akira on the other hand, believed it was the perfect temperature compared to the blistering summers he had grown up with.
“Do you miss your world?” Mithra asked as he listlessly played with Akira’s fingers.
Akira blinked, notably caught off guard and paused stroking Mithra’s hair with his free hand. “I mean, of course I do. I think of my friends and family all the time. I wonder about what they think happened to me, if they’re looking for me or waiting for me to come home.” He muttered.
“Would you leave?”
“I’d miss everyone here but…I’d have to. I can't just stay here if I had the chance to return to my original life.”
Mithra let out a sharp sigh and hesitated, looking off to the side. “What if you weren’t ever able to go back?”
Akira softly patted his head. “You’re inquisitive today.” He said with a chuckle.
“Do you think you’d be able to live the rest of your life here?” Languid green eyes stared up at Akira, they were filled with an intensity he didn’t often see outside of missions.
His voice began to waver. “I’ve been here long enough, I’m sure I could probably figure out a way to grow old in this world…” Akira trailed off, he felt his throat growing tight and the telltale sign of tears forming as his lip began to quiver. “That would be sad though, wouldn’t it? You’d have to watch me become an old man and eventually I’d die, but it’d only be a small portion of everyone’s lives. I’d never see my parents again…and I don’t want them to worry about me forever…”
“Akira?”
Akira didn’t respond, he didn’t even meet Mithra’s gaze. His eyes were jammed shut as silent sobs passed over his body with a shudder, face contorted as he did his best to hold back. Mithra squinted as a few hot teardrops landed upon his cheek. He pushed himself up off of Akira’s lap and leaned in close.
“You’re making a strange expression.” Mithra whispered.
Akira felt a large calloused palm cup his cheek with an uncharacteristic gentleness as Mithra’s thumb wiped away his tears. Akira placed his hand over his and opened his eyes. The Northern wizard was boring into him with creased brows and a wide frown. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was utterly annoyed by the situation; Akira had figured out by now though that he was just concerned, if not also a bit confused by the sudden outburst of emotion.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so upset. I just haven’t thought about home like that in a while.”
Mithra awkwardly scratched at his neck, expression softening. “You know, Bradley is weak and not nearly as cool as I, but he possesses a great fondness for old folk. The children adore the twins, Oz and Figaro for whatever reason, and despite appearances, they’re quite elderly. Certainly everyone will look out for you, no?”
Akira smiled, eyes still puffy and red. “It’s nice to think that I’ll have a whole manor full of caretakers!”
Mithra tilted his head and nodded. “This world isn’t so bad, I’m here, after all.”
Akira laughed at the bluntness, stifled by a few residual hiccups. “Yes, I do suppose there’s no one quite like you back in my world, Mithra.”
“I often forget just how short human lives are.” Mithra mumbled.
“I think wizard lives seem terribly long.” Akira retorted back. They grew quiet, other than the occasional sound of sniffling. “How about you? What would you do if I found a way to go back?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Is that all?”
“It would be exceptionally bothersome.”
Akira ruffled Mithra’s hair and chuckled. “Why? Because I wouldn’t be able to put you to sleep?”
Mithra ducked away and grabbed Akira’s wrist, lowering their hands into his lap. “Well, yes, but also…It would make me…” He was growing fidgety, irritated, curling and uncurling Akira’s fingers like a toy to distract himself.
“It would make you…?” Akira leaned in and tried to look up at Mithra’s bowed head, but his eyes were totally elsewhere. ‘It would make you lonely. Are you worried that I’d leave you?’ He wanted to say. He didn’t need Mithra to tell him, he knew at this point—in fact, he basically cracked the code the first time he heard him reminisce of Tiletta. If anything, Mithra needed to hear it outloud for himself.
“I don’t know…it doesn’t matter.”
Mithra sank in on himself, like the words were clawing desperately to burst from his chest, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it—or perhaps, he still hadn’t figured it out yet. Mithra’s eyes reluctantly met his before he hastily sprawled out and returned to his spot in Akira’s lap without another word. He wrapped his arms around his waist and nestled his face into his middle.
When Akira was just beginning to learn more about everyone for the Sage’s journal, getting blown off like that would have hurt him deeply, filling him with doubts that he wasn’t trustworthy enough to confide in. Now, he understood that the thought of returning to his world distressed Mithra just as much—maybe even more because he can’t verbalize the emotions he feels.
Someday, he hoped, they’d be able to have a real conversation about this; for both his and Mithra’s sake. He needed to come to terms with and acknowledge his own loneliness first, but with enough begrudging self reflection, he believed Mithra had it in him. Akira shook his head in amusement and brushed a crimson lock from Mithra’s forehead as he craned down to press a soft kiss to his temple.
“How about we cross that bridge when we get there then?”
A muffled, “mmf”, into his stomach was Mithra’s only reply.