Work Text:
The moment Sae steps off the plane, the icy chill of the Japanese winter greets him. It bites at his skin, forcing him to tug his coat tighter around his frame.
His boots hit the floor with a practiced rhythm as he strides through the airport terminal, but everything feels overwhelming. The airport is buzzing, cluttered with the voices of foreigners and locals, luggage wheels clattering across the tiles, and the noise of loud reunions and farewells.
It feels suffocating. But he's back, and that's what matters.
If this place still counts as home.
Sae keeps walking steadily across the terminal, measured and unhurried, unfazed by the sea of travellers around him. His gaze flits over the souvenir shops, lining the terminal like vultures. Bright, glassy windows filled with pointless junk; tourist traps.
He scoffs inwardly. Ridiculous. Lukewarm junk for lukewarm people clinging to nostalgia. Sentimentality has never been his thing.
Yet he finds himself turning when something tugs at the corner of his vision.
His steps slow, then stop entirely.
An owl plushie. Round, cream, and brown, with button eyes and tiny wings that flop when you touch them. It looks so soft it might as well melt under your palm.
It stares out at him from behind the glass, surrounded by other stuff that doesn't matter at all.
His hand is no longer gripping the suitcase handle as tightly; his fingers twitch unconsciously.
The image flashes uninvited into his mind– Rin, six years old, wearing owl pajamas; legs kicking against the couch cushions as he rambles about some dumb wildlife documentary he watched before, pointing out owl facts with that excited gleam in his eyes.
"Nii-chan," Rin would say, small hands tugging at his sleeve for attention. "did you know that owls can spin their heads almost all the way around? So cool, right?"
Rin used to love owls.
Still does, maybe. But it's not as if Sae would know.
He hadn't asked in years, after all. Not since–
He inhales sharply through his nose and tears his eyes away from the display, jaw tight. It's foolish. Weak–there's no use in digging up the past.
He forces himself forward in the terminal. The escalator's ahead. Taxi. Home awaits. Just go. Get out of this place. Forget it.
But by the time he reaches the first step, he's already turning back, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as if that'll keep his heart from doing what it always does.
In the end, he ends up buying the damn plushie.
When he steps outside into the chill again, the plushie clutched awkwardly in one hand and the suitcase handle in the other, he stands motionless for a long while, feeling utterly stupid.
He bought it and all, okay, but... what the hell is he supposed to do with this?
Walk through the door, and what? Hold it out like a truce?
He pictures it unwillingly: Walking through the door back home, silent and awkward, holding out this stupid plush like a peace offering. No words, because he's never been good at them. Just a soft thing in his hands, meant to carry everything he's never been able to say.
In his fantasy, Rin stands stiffly in the hallway, eyes narrowed for a moment before they fall on the owl. Maybe–he let himself foolishly imagine–he'd blink, confused. Maybe he'd hesitate before reaching out. Maybe he’d smile. That hesitant voice that would come as he would maybe silently thank him under his breath. Maybe–
He'd wrap his arms around him, like he used to, back when he wasn't burdened by the pressure of catching up to the brother he's always looked up to, before all the distance crept in.
Something jumps in Sae's chest at the thought–dangerously warm and fuzzy, a flicker of hope.
But then the image twists into something else entirely. Rin's eyes widen, not with surprise but with betrayal.
His own voice echoes coldly in his ears:
"You're not necessary in my life anymore."
And then, Rin's face crumbles, stricken, as if something inside him shattered irrevocably.
The fantasy crumbles in an instant.
He stops dead in his tracks, trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat, teal eyes locked on the beady eyes of the owl.
Its wide eyes stare back, innocent and soft, and almost kind. Unjudging. Pitiful.
It makes him sick.
What the hell is he thinking?
What's he expecting? That Rin would forget everything because Sae bought him a memory in stuffed form from some cheap shop in an airport?
It's stupid–all of this. Rin wouldn't want it; he wouldn’t even accept it. Maybe he'd look at it and think Sae was mocking him.
Now all Sae can picture is Rin yelling at him and glaring at him with those cold eyes that hurt more than any sharp retort.
"Do you think this fixes anything, ha, kuso aniki?"
Maybe, he wouldn't say anything at all.
This isn't like him. They don't do soft things anymore. He doesn't deserve to want things. Not after what he said. Not after how he left.
Not comfort, not forgiveness, not the now impossible dream of Rin's face lighting up with surprise if he were to show up–awkward and silent, holding out this dumb, soft owl.
Delusional.
He's so fucking delusional.
His fingers curl tightly around the plushie, the soft fabric pressing against his palm.
A moment of hesitation follows–then the decision is made.
With a sharp exhale, Sae walks towards the nearest trashcan and drops the plushie inside with more force than necessary, watching it disappear into the plastic abyss, the soft thud of it hitting the bottom echoing in his ears.
And just like that, it's gone.
A wash of cold relief crashes over him, immediately followed by a dull ache in his chest. Not quite pain; it feels emptier than that.
"Tch."
He shoves his hand, now empty, back into his coat pockets, forcing his feet to move forward. He grips the handle of his suitcase tightly.
"Quit being lukewarm." He mutters to himself, bitter.
And walks forward, without ever looking back.
...
Behind him, in the cold, forgotten dark of the trashcan, the stupid owl plushie lies alone. Quiet, still, soft. Waiting.
Like it still believes someone will come back for it.