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Ash is crying when Eiji says it the first time, or at least the first time Ash takes notice of it. Maybe Eiji's said the sentiment before, but Ash never thought on it much. He knows that Eiji doesn't understand the world like Ash does, and it's something Ash is grateful for, really. He doesn't want Eiji to know the truth of the world. The ugly truth.
"They hurt me," Ash is saying, sobbing to Eiji, nearly hysterical. "So many people hurt me. Everyone. Everyone always hurt me."
"Those weren't people, Ash," Eiji says. His voice is quiet, but dark. "Those were monsters. They're not like you and I. They have no compassion or morals. Anyone who would do that to a child, to you? They are not human."
Ash wants to scream. At Eiji's naïveté, at the world. At a world that's hurt him in so many ways, so many times. At a world that has people—yes, people—people like Dino and Foxx and Marvin and Kippard and his coach and so many forgotten names, so many cruel people in it.
Because regardless of what Eiji thinks, those were people. They were all people. Eiji just doesn't understand quite what evils people are capable of.
Ash doesn't want Eiji to know.
Or, maybe, Eiji just doesn't want to admit to himself what people are capable of.
Ash lets it slide, that day, continuing to sob his feelings out on Eiji's lap. He thinks of how few people's crotch he could cry into without them being turned on by his tears, by feeling his breath against them. How few people wouldn't use this opportunity to thrust up against him, rub into him.
Those were people, too. People just like Eiji. People unlike Ash.
The moment passes, and by the time Ash is done crying, it's far too late to mention his concerns to Eiji. Instead, he stews on it for a few days, letting it consume him.
There's a lot to be swallowed by. A lot to swallow.
Ash has never considered himself a person. After all, as a person he'd be the lowest of the low. He'd be a horrible person, pathetic. Worse than your average street whore, and a murderer to boot. He'd be everything that's wrong with the world.
As an object, though?
As an object, as a toy, Ash is beautiful.
As an object, Ash is the cream of the crop—so to speak.
As an object, Ash is almost holy. He's something to be admired, something with the highest price tag among merchandise. He's of a different caliber, almost more precious than what money can buy. He's wanted. He's needed. And he's the best at what he does.
He's far better at being a toy than he could have ever been as a human.
The people who hurt him, though? Those are just that—people. They're as human as anyone else. The issue is that others, those like Eiji, can't fathom such horrifying acts—people like Eiji don't want to be the same species as people like Dino.
But they are. They always have been. People are capable of great evil, and there's no amount of dehumanization that can absolve them of that fact. If they were demons, monsters, then perhaps it was unavoidable. They were always going to hurt someone. But the truth of the matter is that ... they didn't have to. They could have simply not hurt anyone. Not hurt Ash. But they did. They chose to.
And that's what makes them people. That decision—that free will. A toy like Ash? A toy doesn't need a free will. A toy never had one to begin with.
Eiji says it again, later. Another day. Ash is less hysterical this time, and he thinks maybe he'll bring it up. Maybe he'll explain.
"I don't understand how anyone could do what has been done to you," Eiji says. "They're not human, to be capable of such things. No one should be able to do something like that."
But they do, Ash wants to say. They still do. He wills himself to speak, to explain to Eiji just how fucked up the world truly is.
Just like last time, though, Ash can't say the words, and the moment passes. He draws into himself, more reserved than he usually is around Eiji. It's not Eiji's fault—in fact, Ash prefers it this way, he thinks—but Eiji just doesn't understand. He doesn't know the evil of the world, and he doesn't know that humans cause so much of it.
Ash can't bring himself to disillusion his lover. Not about this.
At least, not yet. But when it becomes one of Eiji's go-to phrases when comforting Ash, to tell Ash how different these monsters were from people like them, Ash knows he needs to speak.
"Monsters," Eiji says again. "They're demons. Inhuman. Inhumane."
Inhumane, maybe, but not inhuman. Ash knows that he should be grateful that Eiji is willing to comfort him at all, that Eiji hasn't given up on him yet. But instead, he finds himself holding almost a sort of resentment.
They're people! he wants to scream. They're the same as anyone else. Anyone could do the same, if they chose to. That's what makes it so horrifying.
Ash clears his throat. He's going to speak this time.
"I don't know," he says, which isn't quite true. He does know; he's just afraid to say it. "I think they're human, in a way. I think they still are."
"Humans—people"—Eiji shakes his head—"People would not be capable of such evil acts."
"... But they are," Ash mumbles. "People are capable. And people do it. They do things like that all the time. But they're still ... people."
Eiji shakes his head again, but Ash puts a soft hand on his lover's cheek.
"Listen," Ash whispers. "I want you to understand this, okay?"
Eiji blinks, Ash's brown-eyed daydream full of wonder, and he closes his mouth. He listens to Ash.
Ash swallows down his fears. This is Eiji. Eiji. Regardless of what Ash says, regardless of how he might disagree with Eiji, he won't be hurt for it. He won't be punished just for disagreeing. Not anymore.
"It makes sense," Ash starts. "What you're saying, it makes sense. I know that you don't want to be compared to them. But I think it's important to know that they are human, and that humans do terrible things like that. Even to ... to other humans." Ash isn't quite ready to admit to Eiji that he doesn't fully view himself as human. "If we don't think of them as human, then it's easy to say that we'll never do something like that, right? But the fact is, anyone can. Anyone can h-hurt someone else. Anyone can ..." Ash trails off.
Eiji's eyes are huge and watery, not quite overflowing with tears but definitely full of emotion. He's quiet, though. He doesn't interrupt. He lets Ash talk.
"Anyone can do something horrible," Ash whispers. "And we need to know that, so that we don't do the horrible things. I know it's hard to admit that there are people so evil out there, and that you want to be different. But you are different, not because they're not human, but because you choose to be good. That ... That's what's different, Eiji. They chose to hurt me. It wasn't predetermined, or unavoidable. They aren't demons who were put on this earth to hurt innocent children. They're just people who could have avoided this, but didn't bother. That's what makes you different."
"You, too," Eiji says quickly. "You're different than them, too, Ash."
Ash smiles softly. Eiji saw through him that quickly?
"I'm different," he agrees. "Just ... not the same way." Ash whispers the last part, like this is his confessional.
Eiji seems to ponder this. He doesn't speak for a moment. Then, "But if you are not human, are you not absolving yourself of the same responsibility that you give them?"
Ash hesitates. "I ... I don't have a choice," he tries to explain. "I never did."
"You do now," Eiji insists. He leans in closer to Ash, and reaches out but stops short of taking his hands. "You have a choice now. And if you didn't have a choice, then it wouldn't be your responsibility to choose to be good. But it is, right? It's on you to make your own decisions now."
"That's ... difficult," Ash manages.
"It is," Eiji agrees. He leans back a bit, giving Ash space maybe. He smiles at him. They're sitting together on the couch—Ash thinks maybe they had been paying attention to the TV before something set him off. "Just as it is difficult for me to accept that the people who hurt you are just as human as I am. You, too, are just as human as them or as I. It's important to know, because it's the truth. And it will help you stay responsible for your own actions and make the right choices as you move forward in life."
Forward.
Ash never thought he would even make it this far.
"Maybe," he whispers. "I never was able to think of myself as a person before. As human."
"I know." There's sadness in Eiji's voice, and his eyes are so shiny that they're almost golden in the light. "I hope that we can change that."
"You have been." Ash reaches for Eiji, now, crossing the invisible barrier that Ash knows he sometimes puts up between them. "You've been changing a lot of things about me. For the better."
"And yet I love you as every iteration of yourself," Eiji promises. "You don't need to change for me. I hope you know that. But I would like to help you change for you."
"I want to change." Ash's hand meets Eiji's. "I want to change, to change my view of myself and to be good."
"You're already good." Eiji smiles, though his eyes are still sad, and he squeezes Ash's hand just softly. "You've always been good. You'll see that one day."
"I'm starting to," Ash says, almost too quiet to be heard if Eiji weren't inches from him. "I think I'm starting to."
"And I'll think on what you said as well, okay? That those who hurt you are as human as we are, and that we make the decision every day to not be like them. Because I think you are right, in a way. It is not some fate that makes them different than us, but the choices we make."
Ash can't help but notice that Eiji includes Ash in his we, in his us, as though Ash really is just as human as anyone else. It does something to his heart, and Ash can't tell if it's good or bad yet.
But that's okay. He has time to learn.
He's been living in a world of fiends and felines, where people were either pets or those who owned them. But now, with Eiji, he can live again in a world that's never quite been his to claim. The best-laid plans of mice and men may go awry, but at least Ash is one of the people able to keep making those plans. He has a choice, now.
With Eiji. He's happy to be able to choose Eiji.