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Shu's superiors used to say he was suited for life in the GDF.
The work of a Global Defense Force agent is inherently solitary. He's not supposed to be memorable enough to stand out where he's stationed; he's not supposed to form close bonds with the temporary teams he's put with (though whenever he's lost one, in the past, to aliens or to whatever else, there's been an emptiness in his chest all the same); he's supposed to be able to go anywhere he's needed, without question, no matter when he's called. For as long as he's worked for the GDF, Shu's been able to do all of that without a single problem; he supposes that a childhood spent moving from place to place and never staying long enough to really be close to anyone primed him for it. It was a way of life that he didn't even process himself living.
Until this assignment, here in Hoshimoto city — until SKIP — until Yuma.
Shu's superiors used to say he was suited for that kind of life. The words echo, somewhere, in the back of his exhausted mind, like a cruel, heartless joke.
There isn't just one word that encompasses the feelings pressing at Shu's chest, only growing stronger with every shaky breath he manages. He's so frustrated at his own powerlessness, at his complete lack of an ability to protect Yuma the way Yuma has protected him, all this time; he's worried sick, and strangely grateful that he's worried, because it means that he hasn't given up on hope that Yuma will return safely to Hoshimoto; he's relieved to be alive, and acutely aware that if it wasn't for Yuma, he wouldn't be. And underneath all of that, still, is the selfish, uncontrollable, painful longing that Shu's refused to engage with until now, for fear of losing what the two of them have.
But now, in this moment, with a GDF-issued blanket around his shoulders and a now-lukewarm cup of coffee in his hands, Shu can't not feel it. His fondness for Yuma goes beyond that of mere coworkers, or even of friends, and he's known that, he knows that — but it's never been this much. This affection has been something he's been able to manage, at least, to contain to an occasional lapse in judgement or blush when Yuma smiles at him, to disguise as the same endearment he's developed towards Chief Ban, Rin, and even YouPi. It's never been something he can put into numbers or scientific terms, or something he can turn into analyzable, concrete data — but Shu's been alright with that. Even when Yuma had vanished, during what felt like the four longest days of Shu's life, he'd at least been able to bury himself in work; most of the time, Shu is more than content to simply have Yuma near him.
And — and he doesn't want to do so much as think it — because Yuma hadn't wanted to tell him, or perhaps couldn't tell him, and so even though Shu all but knows, he just, he can't —
So he swallows, hard, even managing to take a drink from his mug of (mediocre, but better than nothing) coffee without his hands shaking, and thinks about Arc.
Just... Arc.
The first time Arc had saved him, Shu hadn't been able to close his eyes without seeing the beautiful rainbow he'd left behind. There are still nights when he dreams of that gentle hand, of that dazzling, warm presence (and oh, Shu's mind is a traitor, because suddenly, it's conjuring images of that sparkle in Yuma's eyes, and how it always fills him with that same warmth). He's had to actively restrain himself from writing poetry about the Ultraman in his own diary (and he always has to remind himself to tack on and the others after writing Yuma's name there, doesn't he). And at some point, Shu, too, came to trust Arc to show up and save Hoshimoto city (and he can't think about trust without thinking about Yuma, about how the words it all starts with a little trust had made something in him shift, about how all the trouble he got in over his unsanctioned satellite usage was more than worth it for the look on Yuma's face).
...It's impossible.
He still won't think it. He is not too weary to respect Yuma's wishes.
What Shu does allow himself is this: Hiize Yuma and Ultraman Arc are both incredibly precious to him. Knowing both of them has changed him — he's become kinder, thanks to them. The GDF does not prioritize kindness; it's too risky, in a line of work like his. But Yuma, and Arc, have shown him the power of trust, of empathy, of imagination, just — just by being who they are. An existence without either of them, let alone one where both are gone, is unthinkable.
But. But — and this is the truly awful thing, he thinks. If losing Arc meant Yuma would stop putting himself in danger — if it meant Yuma would just be in one piece, standing by his side, smiling and safe... well, a large part of Shu would be so, so relieved. He doesn't want to lose Yuma. He can't lose Yuma.
But Yuma had said it himself. He doesn't want to lose anyone, so he has to keep running forwards. That's who Yuma is, and as much as it makes his chest ache, Shu loves it all the same. He takes a shaky breath, already feeling his eyes growing watery; he takes off his glasses, wishing he had a proper cleaning cloth on him.
Perhaps he isn't suited for this kind of life — perhaps he was always meant to be just like everyone else at the GDF. Shu doesn't have any experience in emotions like this; it's so new to him, and so overwhelming to even begin to deal with. He can't deny the urge to bury all of this back inside himself and never, ever think about it again.
But he doesn't want to go back to the way he was. He doesn't want to stop learning from Yuma, to stop saving people by his side, to stop watching him do things with his imagination that Shu's always thought were impossible, even before he — before he knew. He doesn't want to stop doing everything he can for Yuma, even if that means he feels like he can't do anything for him. He has to trust Yuma — and with every beat of his heart, Shu does, he does.
(He doesn't wipe at his cheeks, or try to hold the tears back. It's far easier to just... let them come.)
He's always thought Yuma was strong, carrying all of that loss, all of that pain, and still running forward and helping others without the slightest regard for himself. This love is a fraction of that, Shu knows. But, once again, it seems that he'll have to take a page out of Yuma's book, and carry this pain forward with him. There will be work that must be done. There has to be a place for Yuma to come home to. Making sure of that is what he can do for Yuma, right now.
His coffee has long gone cold, but Shu drains it in one long swallow, before standing up to brew a fresh pot. He'll need the energy if he's going to keep running.