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“Kenjirou,” Ayaka starts, and suddenly he’s extremely interested in the fairytales on her bookshelf, “I don’t think this is going to work out.”
He's been expecting this conversation: tried to ignore the despair pooling in his stomach every time Ayaka's mouth turned downwards in the weeks since their reunion, each time she stiffened in his embrace. He supposes he should've started thinking of excuses sooner.
Thing is, he's fresh out; 5 years of doing nothing but will do that to you. Kenjirou spent so long fighting against the inevitable that it turns out when push comes to shove, he's just too tired to shove back. Chump.
He instead follows her script — “Why?” — then shifts slightly to stare down any sunlight streaming through the library window.
“You’re-” Inhumane? Soulless? Monstrous? “different. We’re different people now.”
Kenjirou leans back in his seat, listening to the wood creak exhaustedly underneath. Close enough.
“I can't accept the things you did to get here. I don't understand them, I don't think I ever will, but-”
There's a pause, then the squeak of a chair leg scuffing the floorboard, as if she can't choose between staying put and shaking a response out of him. Kenjirou tries very, very hard to tear his eyes from her reflection.
“Point is, I can't do this anymore. I don't think you can, either.”
Now this, he disagrees with; he can play kemari with feelings or truth or whatever the hell until the Daze freezes over and they all die finally, thank you very much. Not that he can fault Ayaka for not wanting to keep up. Not that he can fault her for wanting him to be the same way.
“I could.” change, he doesn't say, but Kenjirou hasn't really done a lot of changing, has he? It's all been backsliding for him ever since she slid away, — wow, when did he get so candid? — maybe even for a bit before that. It's easy to think of himself as someone naturally toeing the line between decent personhood and not, that it was simply a matter of time before he did something she found detestable. It feels more realistic than whatever type of victimhood the kids are clinging to, anyhow.
Ayaka has no response to that. Her reflection sighs, raking a hand through her hair, “Let's not.”
“Yeah, alright. Let's not.” he stands, “Let's give up.”
Oh, god, does he want to be bitter right now. He has no room for it in his system, but wouldn't it be nice if he did?
Window-Ayaka sits up. Her eyes narrow, pupils pierced by sunlight, “Don't tell me that's actually how you see this.”
It's not.
“That's what it is, isn't it? We tried. Didn't work out.”
He shrugs, “I tried, at least.”
It's really, really not.
Ayaka stands and steps towards him, brows furrowed.
“Kenjirou. Kenjirou, you can't be serious.”
Can't he?
“This- this isn't-” she cuts herself off, evidently realising that she thought too highly of him. Kenjirou turns to face her now, desperately aware of her fragility, watching as she wracks her brain for an explanation.
Something ugly wells up within him at the sight.
“I didn’t ask for this, okay?” Ayaka's voice rises a little, confused, strained, “I didn’t want you to-”
He’s grabbing her before he knows it, fingers bunching around her collar, mind endlessly thrumming, Please, for the love of god, don’t leave me-
“I KNOW THAT.”
And it’s over. Kenjirou’s brain catches up to his senses, finally seeing the disappointment in her eyes.
He drops her; sinks to the floor, hoping the Daze will take pity on him and swallow him whole.
“I know that.”
He forces as much wateriness into his voice as he can muster. It’s not enough to save him.
Above him, Ayaka sighs. He watches as she dusts herself off and holds her hands up, surrendering to annoyance.
“I wanted to be mature about this. I wanted you to understand.”
I do understand, Kenjirou wants to say. I understand you perfectly, and that’s the worst part. I went to all this trouble to see you again, and now that I can you want nothing to do with me; and I can’t even blame you for it.
“Okay.”
He wants to laugh, because what else is he supposed to do? Isn’t it funny that the Snake wound its way not only into his skull, but his chest too? Isn’t it funny that its scales imprinted themselves onto Kenjirou’s beating heart, and now he can’t love properly without a hiss rising in the back of his throat?
“I don't know what I expected, to be honest.”
Ayaka sounds tired, so tired. At least that makes two of them.