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It’s been a long day. Which is a pitiful thing to say in the early afternoon — especially one so bright and busy, with perfect weather — but Han’s patience is beginning to wear down to a precarious thread.
And the weight that hangs in the balance isn’t any one thing in particular, although the heaviness of the mission on his shoulders is certainly one of them. Every little thought and sensation swirling around in his brain seems to snag the line.
It’s all the new places they visit, from the wonderful and the strange to the ordinary. The bustling cities and markets, the dingy backroad slums, the stretches of rural nothingness. It’s the constant moving from place to place, never staying put for too long. The roar of the motorcycle engine, feeling the bumps and hills and turns, weaving through traffic, the harsh wind against his face. It’s the way his structured routines have been kicked to the curb. It’s the missed meals and nights of poor sleep.
But mostly, it’s Ryuji.
While Han can’t deny that he’s begun to harbor a certain fondness for Ryuji over the course of their travels — Ryuji is a good person at heart, sweet and honest and fantastically unique, and he seems to actually care about Han in a way no one else does — it doesn’t change the fact that every conversation between them ends up feeling like a battle.
Ryuji’s teasing and temptations are relentless. His stubborn noncompliance is infuriating. Sometimes it’s for the sake of his unshakable old-fashioned values, but Han swears that sometime he’ll argue just for the hell of it. Trying to change his mind is like pulling teeth. Trying to go anywhere with him is like walking a dog that won’t stop yanking at the leash.
It’s always something with Ryuji. This time, Han is only half-listening to him blabber on as they make their way through the midcity crowds. He’s trying to convince Han of something, probably — go here or do this or lighten up, won’t you?
Han walks stiffly, with his head down, keeping his sights on the ground and only peeking up as much as he needs to. He knows he should have his guard up, but the little glimpses he’s getting are already making him feel dizzy and overwhelmed. It keeps building and building as they continue on.
Everything is moving at different speeds, too fast and too slow, the people and the landscape passing by in parallax. He restlessly tugs at his collar as his chest constricts.
Try as he might to slow his breaths and keep himself under control, his motions are starting to lose their carefully curated grace. His steps are forceful and his jaw clenches tight. Pulling at his jacket doesn’t make it any easier to breathe, but the action becomes reflexive.
Ryuji glances at him and he stills his hand.
All he wants is to keep some semblance of normalcy, but the buzzing energy in him won’t stop building, and the pressure increases the more he tries to stuff it down. All it does is add more to the pile: keep your head up, your hands still, your mouth shut.
The more he tries to keep it inside, the more it bubbles up. His hands flinch, so he balls them tightly into fists. His head jerks to the side and he clicks his tongue, so he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek and keeps his head firmly locked forwards.
Ryuji scoffs out a laugh. “Don’t fucking tsk at me, man. Get that stick out of your ass.”
He smacks Han on the back. It’s meant to be a friendly gesture, but Ryuji is always rougher than he intends to be, and Han feels it rattle painfully through his chest. Han stops in his tracks.
“C’mon, lighten up,” Ryuji insists with a sweet smile.
All Han can do is breathe, raggedly. Inhale, exhale, struggling to keep them stable and slow. Hyperaware of everything around him and inside him, and yet unable to process any of it. He can't even force himself to keep walking. Ryuji pauses by his side, and the crowd parts around them.
He puts his hand on Han’s shoulder. “Hey…” Although his voice and touch have turned unusually gentle, it still grates on Han’s nerves.
“Stop! Just — stop!” Han cries out, as everything he was trying to keep inside suddenly boils over. People start to give them a wide berth, backing away with wide eyes, whispering.
Ryuji is staring in that same startled way, laced with pity. He draws back and retracts his hand. But Han’s skin still buzzes with conflicting signals from the brief contact, and burns with the piercing gaze of the crowd. Even the soft drape of his clothes feels deeply, keenly wrong.
His head keeps spinning. Disoriented by the noise and chaotic flow of the city around him, he stumbles his way to the nearest building’s facade and huddles against it, his head pressed into the wall.
He vaguely hears Ryuji call out, “Woah, wait —” as heavy, hurried footsteps follow behind him. But everything becomes a blur as Han’s control starts to slip.
It would be easier to give in and let himself feel, to weather the storm until it passes, but he can't keep himself from struggling uselessly against it. Like water in his hands, the tighter he holds on, the more it slips away from him.
He slams his fist into the wall as he fights back tears. His eyes are squeezed shut so tightly that he's seeing stars. His jaw is clenched until his head throbs and his ears ring. Every part of him tenses as he tries to wrench back his composure, but it just mixes into the static sludge of sensation, a drowning pressure.
Ryuji is saying something, “Talk to me, come on, what's going on—?” but Han can only hear the distress and rising intensity of his voice. Louder and louder.
Hot tears are starting to drip down as he loses the will to hold them back. Quiet sobs shake his chest. His thoughts are careening, crashing and burning, screaming. His breaths come shallow and uneven. He digs his fingers into the brick wall until he feels his knuckles sting, scraping off skin.
“Han,” Ryuji says, quieter but insistent, and Han can at least recognize the call of his own name. Maybe it's the pure surprise of Ryuji getting it right this time that briefly pulls Han out of his stupor.
He feels Ryuji grab his sleeve — carefully, just the edge of it, like he's trying to avoid touching Han directly — and gives it a firm tug, guiding. Han has given up the fight, so he follows, on legs that feel like they're about to buckle.
He looks up with his head still down, but he only catches a few blurry glimpses. Ryuji leads the way, mean-mugging any gawking onlookers and shoulder-checking anyone that dares get too close to Han.
He sits them down on a bench overlooking the river. There's not as many people here, and although Han’s chest is tight, the quiet stillness makes it feel a little easier to breathe.
“It's okay. You're okay,” Han hears Ryuji whisper. He’s not looking expectantly for a response, just talking into the empty air, hoping some of it gets through.
And that's when the last of Han’s inhibitions dissolve as he truly lets go.
He sobs openly, loudly, not caring if anyone sees the tears and snot dripping down his face. He rocks back and forth, despite how long it took to train himself out of that habit.
It finally feels like a real release — and like pulling the cork on a bottle that's been shaken past its limits, it comes out explosively. An animalistic sound tears itself from his throat and echoes across the water. It sears all the way down into his chest, in a satisfying way, like the soothing burn of strong alcohol. He almost laughs with the relief of it, hiccupping through sobs.
His hands sink into his hair, and he pulls roughly at the strands, letting the pain ground him. He digs his nails into his scalp, then pounds his fist against his skull, but Ryuji takes his wrist and pulls it away.
Without thinking, he sinks his nails into Ryuji’s arm instead. Ryuji doesn't pull away, doesn't even flinch, he just sets his other hand gently and reassuringly onto Han’s, even as it claws into his skin.
The sympathy in that little gesture brings another wave of sobs over him, shaking through his whole body. Ryuji holds steady as Han rocks and shouts and cries and claws. He stays quiet, with only the occasional murmur of reassurance — although all Han can understand is the warm, deep rumble of his voice. It sounds muffled at first, like he's underwater, but gets clearer and clearer.
“Just let it all out. You'll be alright. I'm right here for you.”
Eventually, Han feels himself begin to tire out, the storm slowly passing. He softly, almost silently cries, as his nails weakly graze Ryuji’s arm, before it falls from his grasp. He lets out one final sound that comes out as barely a whimper, and is left with only the last bitter dregs of anxiety clinging to him.
His chest burns as he finally takes full, deep breaths. His face is hot, streaked with tear tracks that are cooled by the wind. He's sure he looks like a mess, with his red, puffy eyes and smudged liner, but he can't bring himself to care much.
The bloody scrapes on Han’s knuckles seem to match the crescent-shaped bruises and trailing claw marks on Ryuji’s arms. Ryuji’s hand is still resting on Han’s, but when he catches Han looking, he quickly pulls away. It leaves behind a strange sensation that Han finds himself scrubbing at, but he can't say he fully disliked it.
Before he has long to think about that, Ryuji fishes out a pack of tissues from his pocket and offers them to Han.
“Are you alright?” Ryuji asks as Han works on delicately wiping the mess from his face.
Once he's clean and dry, he feels more like himself. “I'm fine now, I think.”
He gives the package back to Ryuji. It must have been something he got for free from a barker, because it's branded with a lurid ad for some trashy strip club. Combined with the absurdity of the situation and an utter sense of relief, it makes Han let out a quiet, hoarse chuckle.
He sees Ryuji’s eyes light up briefly, but neither says anything. The tension in the air is broken.
They sit in silence for a few easy, slowly-passing moments, watching the water flow, until Ryuji hesitantly glances up at Han with a sudden worry on his face.
“Was it my fault?” he asks.
“A little,” Han answers, before he wonders if he should have been so honest. But Ryuji doesn't look offended. “Little bit of everything, though, just…” He tries to explain, and ends up just making a vague gesture as he trails off, then sags. “All building up.”
“Oh,” is all Ryuji can say.
“Sorry.” Han is exhausted, but his feet keep restlessly rocking back and forth between heel and toe.
“There's nothing to apologize for,” Ryuji insists, soft but firm. Before Han can even get another peek at his arm, he rolls his sleeves down. “Don't worry about that. ‘s nothing. I've had worse.” He gives a shrug and a warm look.
Han can't stop his lip from trembling just slightly as he blots away budding tears. Ryuji hands him another tissue, unprompted. He accepts it gratefully with a nod, knowing he won't be able to speak without his voice wavering.
He's never felt quite as accepted as he has here, with Ryuji of all people, someone he barely even knows.
“How about we find somewhere to rest, and I'll let you sleep for a while?” Ryuji suggests.
Han thinks about it — while he would like to just curl up and shut out the world, he knows that it's almost impossible to turn his brain off when he's like this. Silence just makes him more sensitive to every little sensation.
He clears his throat and steadies himself. “I appreciate it, but I don't think I could, like this.”
“Okay. Anything else that'd help?”
He lets out a hum of consideration and shifts in his seat, trying to regain some awareness of his body and observe what's there. It's hard to do when he had spent so long ignoring his own needs.
Beyond the last bits of lingering unease, the most obvious thing is the empty feeling clawing at his belly. He hates having to accept that he's a regular person with human needs and not the perfect, invulnerable weapon he was designed to be, but he supposes it's much too late to pretend.
“I could use something to eat,” he hesitantly admits.
“Sure, I'm down for that.” Ryuji grins. “Would you let me buy you a drink, too?”
Han glares. He's far too used to Ryuji trying to tempt him away from his strict routines.
Ryuji raises his hands in mock innocence. “What? I'm just trying to make a guy feel better!” He makes a gesture like he's going to nudge Han playfully, but it doesn't make contact. “It’s a genuine offer, alright? You look like you could use it.”
Han scoffs and pouts. Ryuji is a sweet guy, but still unabashedly himself, uncompromisingly. Maybe Han could learn something from that. Still, he can't give in too easily, or Ryuji will just be encouraged.
“I will consider it,” Han says carefully.
He doesn't think he's said anything particularly funny, but Ryuji barks out a laugh, slapping his knee. “Hey, I'll take what I can get.”
He stands and Han follows. As they stroll along, Ryuji looks cheery as can be. Han is still a little sniffly and meek, walking with his head down and his hands in his pockets.
But after a few moments of quiet, he looks up and mumbles, “Thank you.”
It goes unsaid that it isn't just for dinner — for everything.
As evening rolls closer, the sky is starting to dim and the air grows cool, but the smile Ryuji gives him is warm and bright.