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On sunny days, I go out walking
I end up on a tree-lined street
I look up at the gaps of sunlight
I miss you more than anything
— francis forever, mitski.
Unji’s hands have been the center of his force and will. They carry a weight, they carry his brother, his parents, his friends.
Unji’s hands only know how to enclose around shirts, tightening into a ball as he tears others away. The way his jaw ticks when he utters a warning. He gives a command and the people who threaten the ones he holds close will either tremble or fall.
Unji’s hands push this resolve forward.
His hands have held his mother’s and his hands have held his brother’s. They hold onto the flowers he takes to the Zuma family grave.
Unji knows how his hands operate. They carefully tend to the vase he sets in front of the tombstone, but all he can see is a blur in front of him.
It's hard to keep his tears back, it's difficult when even his adoptive father's warm presence is beside him. It's still so hard.
His hands were never meant to be gentle. No matter how much practice he has in it now. Raiya’s his closest person, the group at Renjaku understand him. All of these people keep him afloat, but still there is a lull.
Unji still feels a familiar weight, the scars that lace around his knuckles and palms are only reminders.
That he’s always too late to get where he should be.
“Hey.” Unji hears a voice. It’s familiar and it's softer than he expects. Unji’s gaze focuses before him. Jiji looks at him and Unji can see a million questions in his eyes.
Right, right. Unji centers himself, shutting his eyes. He's with Jiji, they made it back to Jiji's house not too far from the scuffle. He exhales.
Unji swallows, laying down the hydrogen peroxide and the cotton ball. “I should get someone, for…”
Jiji stops him, grabbing his wrist. There’s no malice between them now. No distance. They’ve worked through every single factor, negative and all. They’ve found a common ground. It’s all Jiji’s efforts, he’s sure. Unji had saved him that time on the plane, him and Futa. They had each other's backs.
They always do. The two of them finally have reached a middle ground, but not a conclusion. Not the one Unji wants. He licks his lips, feeling sick again.
“You don’t need to grab anyone, Zuma,” Jiji says, pursing his lips. Unji can say he’s only ever seen Jiji act serious around him. He doesn’t know what it is about himself that makes Jiji, the boy with the delightful, happy-go-lucky personality grow so grave. Jiji probably sees the weight in him. There are scars on his hands, and Jiji must know.
Of course, he would.
Jiji blinks at him, his palm slimmer than Unji’s. Jiji is warm.
Unji swallows and it feels like glass. He works his jaw. “I—ya sure?”
Jiji nods. “Why wouldn’t I be, you had my back again. Those dudes came out of nowhere.”
Right, right, that’s what happened. The two had convened again, and had gone to visit the Ayase home. They’d ran into some aliens, who absorbed them into empty space, and they had to rush out of there.
Evil Eye and Futa felt the aliens before Jiji and Unji did. The vibrations in their spiritual energies caused the two boys to shake. Luckily, they got out alive. Those Kur had been dangerous.
They’re alive, he thinks in relief.
Unji shuts his eyes tightly. All he can paint there is red. A dark, deep red that seeps into his mind. It seems to swallow him whole. It’s just like empty space.
“Hey,” Jiji calls him again. He pulls Unji gently towards him. “Sit.”
Jiji’s command is quiet. Unji looks at him and he’s still injured, they both are. They’re taking turns wrapping each other.
They’re supposed to be healing, but Unji can’t even do this. Unji doesn’t like to be touched, not at all. There’s always a distance between him and the people he cares about. The only one who touches him is his father and Bega makes it a point to do it during the rarest of times. When he knows Unji needs comfort the most.
Unji sits, still working through the motions. It’ll be fine, his mind chimes in, he tries to remember Futa’s rainboots, his laughter, his presence. Unji doesn’t realize it but he hides his face in Jiji’s shoulder, the tears hot against his face.
“Woah,” Jiji mumbles, “hey, Zuma, uh—I can back off. We can call your dad.”
Unji shakes his head, gripping his fists tightly. “No,” he grits out. It’s all he can manage.
Jiji stays solidly beside him, no longer pushing. They both have to dress their wounds, but it’ll be difficult since Unji is the way he is. His hands, his mind, they’re all plagued with harm rather than healing.
Unji doesn’t even remember how he ended up here, but he’d made it to Jiji’s home. Luckily, his parents weren't there. It’s just the two of them, in Jiji’s room, on his bed.
He breathes in sharply through his nose, controlling himself. The scent of clean linen and peroxide mixing together pushes in his nostrils, but the heat from Jiji’s figure is a constant that remains grounding him. This is harder than he thought it’d be. Usually, if he gets into fights, he’s alone or he’s with his group. They leave him to lick his wounds privately without an audience.
This is the first time that he’s had someone close like this.
It had to be Jiji, he thinks. Fate’s funny like that.
The interest he feels in Jiji is different than anything he’s ever felt. It pulls him, that light that seems to brim within him is something he wants to cherish.
These moments are rare between them. Since they’ve been keeping in contact, Unji’s been wanting to selfishly take all of them for himself.
That glimmer of hope within Jiji that he wants to mirror himself.
“If you want, can you treat my wounds first?” Jiji offers.
Unji glances up at him, his glasses sliding down his nose. “What?”
“You can do my wounds and then I can do yours,” Jiji repeats. This time in the low lighting of the room, Unji can see how red Jiji’s face is.
Unji can’t help it, he smiles, even though he’s still mentally torn. Jiji always finds ways to make him grin. “Alright,” he murmurs.
Jiji puffs his cheeks, but releases the air. “That wasn’t supposed to mean anything different than what we’re doing…” he trails off.
Unji feels a sting in his chest. “What’s it supposed to mean?”
Jiji must’ve seen the look on his face and quickly backtracks. “Hold on, it’s an invitation to help each other, you know.”
Unji takes a beat to consider what he’s saying. The hope is blooming again. “Right,” Unji says, but his heart feels better at the words of reassurance.
That maybe, whatever this is is meant to mean a lot more. The word more has never been in his vocabulary. Unji never deserves more, but here he is, like the bastard he is. He gets to graciously receive it.
Jiji sits back against the wall of his bed. “If you wanted to be here for stability, or something,” he mutters.
It’s funny how shy he gets. Unji can’t help but smile at the way Jiji’s deliberately hiding from him. Unji can tell when he shifts so easily into a sheepish version of himself. The Jiji he knows who is always laughing too loudly, making faces, or prodding him for information.
This image of Jiji has to be one of the rare insides he cherishes about the other guy.
“You sure do love actin’ tsun,” Unji teases lightly, his lips twitching when Jiji rolls his eyes, moving around to pull the medical kit to himself.
"You're being difficult, as a patient, I mean," Unji clarifies. Unji glances at him carefully through his eyelashes and Jiji, puffing his cheeks, hides his face. Unji revels in the flush appearing on Jiji.
The pull is automatic between them now.
Unji moves closer, his body fully facing Jiji. Jiji glances at him, but doesn't move or anything.
"So," Jiji mumbles, "are you going to start, or just look at me?"
Unji has half a mind to say he will just look at him. He'll look at Jiji and trace the way his dimple shows when he's uncertain about something or the way the freckles on his nose are noticeable when he gives a wide grin. The way his eyes crease when he's genuinely happy about something.
When Jiji reaches his hands out, Unji thinks for a moment that absolution is near within the palm lines if he can just grasp it. Whatever he sees in Jiji is also reflective in the other’s show of affection. Unji notices that Jiji holds his own people close by using his humor—he's always considered it was Jiji's way of hiding himself, of holding his jester mask to the world as a means of connection. Maybe Jiji isn’t always entirely honest about who he is.
Now, Unji recognizes that that kind of dishonesty comes in many different forms. Even Unji holds his mask up in the same way. He tries to be strong for his peers, for the people who depend on him. It's a familiar weight that doesn't just come from his hands, he realizes.
It also comes from inside. Unji can let the mask go and hope Jiji follows along with him, Unji can let his hand reach and grasp Jiji’s in return.
So, Unji moves forward, and he carefully tends to Jiji's wounds. There's scratches all over his arms and he's already rolled up the sleeves. It's a show of faith, is what this is. Unji isn't blind to it.
Or, well, he was at one point.
His sight has come back, not without a few repercussions from the events in the gameboard. Namely, this feeling bubbling between him and Jiji slowly growing. It's been stewing for some time now. Ever since Shimane.
Since coming back.
Unji has remained close, and he reasons with himself that it's to keep his new companions close. He knows now, that out of all the new ones he's made, he's kept Jiji closest.
Unji considers as such when he continues to carefully dab a cotton ball onto each of Jiji’s wounds. The way the other doesn't say anything. Jiji, as loud as he is, allows this. The silence between them can just exist. Unji feels his chest grow warm and he tries to ignore the past memories that come welling up.
The slideshow imagination he has of himself and Futa playing barefoot out on the dirt roads. They would run until their legs gave out and rest underneath that very tree near the river.
Before—before it all ended.
"Hey, do you want to know something?" Jiji asks, breaking Unji's thoughts away. He blinks quickly and the images of that day slip away.
It's Jiji before him and he no longer has to see tiny rainboots. He shivers at the flicker of images, processing now what Jiji is saying.
"What?" he rasps, carefully dabbing and then grabbing a bandaid to cover the more severe ones on his arm.
"When I was little I used to go digging for rocks by the rivers. My dad would take me. Mom, she'd already be knee deep in the waters, finding some of the best ones. We'd make it into a family competition," Jiji says, his head resting against the wall of his room.
There's a faraway look in his gaze. Jiji glances at him and then away, and continues. "So I asked them if we could do that again, pretty recently. I let Evil Eye out, I told him what to do…I think he had fun."
Unji's lips twitch, but the smile is easy. Jiji makes it very easy.
Jiji's personality shines in moments of honesty. Whenever there's no audience, he's brilliant. It's hard to look away from him. At this moment, Unji thinks he's never seen anything brighter.
Not even the sun.
"Oh ya? Sounds fun.” Unji can make conversation. Despite what many believe, he has his moments. Raiya and the others hear it from him all the time.
It's just that right now, it feels precarious. That one wrong word could diffuse their moment and that Unji will be left bereft.
Jiji stares at him, his smile still present. Unji thinks, what a relief. That this is something real. He's real.
"It was. I can show you someday, all the cool river rocks. You don't have to go in the water, I can bring them to you," Jiji offers.
Jiji also knows about Futa.
Unji had told him in the quiet of the Ayase household. When he and his ragtag friends had visited—the Ayase elder had insisted they all cram into one room to stay over.
Jiji and Unji had slept right beside each other, their knees touching through their sleeping bags.
Unji doesn't know why, but he told him, while Jiji was drifting on and off in between sleep.
It had been so easy, and yet so hard, but the relief he felt telling him was worth it. The way he felt telling someone other than just his father.
Not even his closest friends know.
Jiji had looked right through him, his eyes glassy and his eyebrows furrowing. He didn't look like he was pitying Unji, not at all. Instead, in Jiji's expression, there seemed to be an understanding.
That's when Jiji had told him that evening about Evil Eye, about everything. The emaciated child, the Kitos, the other various families that they have sacrificed to their death worm.
The possession, Jiji had told him he's still aching from the way his body would switch to and from with Evil Eye. Their knees were still pressed close to each other, who else could possibly understand better?
Jiji had given him a serious look, and Unji didn't know how to receive this. So, in the dark, in the quiet, he kept it all close.
They slept just like that, just next to each other, but with distance that didn't even feel as such.
Unji didn't dream of Futa or his mother that night. That evening had been quiet, his dreams did not wake him in the way they usually did; where he's left heaving, sweating, and curled into himself.
It had been nothing. His mind finally quieted.
When he had awoken that morning, in the daylight, Jiji had been there. The other boy's face is sleeping, a snore coming from him.
He had Jiji to thank for that.
Unji finishes wrapping Jiji's hands, binding his knuckles carefully with the gauze.
"Thanks," Jiji mutters. The way his bangs fall, reaching down to his eyes. Unji stares a bit too long. His eyelashes are long, thick, and they sweep over the top of his cheeks.
Jiji glances up, his eyes widening. "You cool?"
Unji blinks, pushing his glasses up. Fucking plastic, he thinks. Since the curse, he's still having trouble with his sight. Well, the price of getting better.
"I'm good, it'll be…" His mind is slow, Unji’s only now realizing that it’s his turn. He's already done tending to Jiji.
Unji feels his stomach tightening.
He can handle touch, he's already touched enough people, he thinks. Not like this, his mind supplies. This was different.
Unji purses his lips.
"I'm going to close my eyes while ya do yer fixin', if that's cool…"
Jiji shrugs, twisting his mouth. "It's all good, I mean, if you're not comfortable I can get someone else. Uh, maybe… my mom or dad could."
"Nah, I trust ya." The words tumble out and he definitely can't look at him now. Most of his cuts are on his hands.
Whatever alien had those exploding weapons, damn them. Unji caught them and didn't think it'd backfire so badly.
Jiji shifts and Unji feels the pressure of his knees against him. He tries to focus on that firmness, rather than the way his own heart picks up.
The flashes behind his eyelids are quiet and it could definitely be Futa sending him strength. He thinks that it's Jiji too, though. Maybe Jiji is pushing his own power forward to calm Unji, or maybe it's just him. Jiji’s firm calmness whenever he interacts with Unji. It's gotten nice being close.
Unji isn't close to a lot of people, but Jiji makes it easy, even though the road they traveled felt like a distorted one. They had been off to a rough start, though the distrust between them was settled quicker than it lasted.
Whatever ill will Jiji had of him vanished after the plane ride to Shimane. He still eyed him suspiciously, but he can say now it’s better than it has been.
They had exchanged numbers, Jiji still acting begrudging about having to do so, but it was always Jiji who messaged first.
Jiji who always seemed to continue to reach out.
‘Hey, man, want to play some soccer? I can show u how to juggle? 😏’
‘Sup, did u want to come over, Kinny & Okarun are staying over?’
Jiji and his massive messages, inviting him and allowing him entry to the softest place to fall. Jiji’s displays of connections held this for him.
It’d been so intense how quickly the feelings came to Unji. The gentle prodding had been enough for him. Jiji continued to reach out and Unji followed.
The simplest patterns that remind him of days when he’d walk with Futa by the river, the plush feeling of grass between his feet when they would be barefoot watching fireflies.
Those days, there had been the presence of two adults and not the slates of gray staring at him with his family name.
The days when he didn’t have to leave his home behind. Jiji had become something like a replacement; a welcoming, petty, and hilarious awakening. Feelings are real and Unji’s own passions come alive when he’s near the playful guy.
“Unji, if you’re cool, I got the stuff ready,” Unji blinks looking up at the voice. Jiji’s face is red, vibrant, and glowing.
He nearly laughs. The guy looks like a tomato.
A cherry tomato that he would eat in his bentos on the days his father was still alive.
Unji shakes his head. “I’m ready when you are, man,” he mutters.
Jiji nods carefully, inching closer to hold his wrist in his own palms. Unji ignores the shiver that threatens to climb upwards to his neck. He’s content with this, he can inhale and exhale through his nose.
He doesn’t have to imagine his mother’s hand in his.
There’s no other hands here, but Jiji’s.
“I learned how to do some med stuff from my parents,” Jiji says. Unji focuses on his voice, the careful way he speaks.
Not with the boisterous tone or the angry remarks, it’s genuine. Another side to Jiji that displays all of his personality.
Jiji’s grounding him for the better.
Unji remains and his hands that usually have been bound by gauze after the brutality they hold. The memories they carry, Jiji quells them.
It could be the ki or it could be the wonders of allowing Unji to give himself entirely, to push through the discomfort he feels at memories bubbling up from his life to finally subside into a haze.
A tender static that is changed into the world of color moments before it all changed for him.
Unji can create the new and file away the old.
“You did?” Unji rasps. “You're good at it. You have gentle hands.”
Jiji’s smile is slow, curling up into a sudden grin. “Heh, yeah, my dad’s the one with the good hands. Mom doesn't. She’s got the hands of a geologist. She's been out in the field a lot.”
“Did she find anything cool?” Unji asks, interested in knowing more about him. What’s Jiji’s life like?
For someone like Jiji to have two loving parents that have made him to be so kind that he’s allowed the entry of a child spirit to remain within him.
A volatile, heinous one, but a spirit nonetheless.
“Yeah, she found this lucky rock along a lake by an old temple,” Jiji gestures his head over to the shelf across the room.
There is where Unji can spot the rock propped up against some various books. Some of the titles are unfamiliar to him.
Unji smiles at the story. “She sounds awesome.”
Jiji smirks up at him, finishing wrapping Unji’s knuckles. Unji watches the way his thumb passes above the material. Jiji’s warmer than him or maybe Unji is just cold from the blood loss.
“She’s pretty awesome, I’ve got her rock collection now,” Jiji declares.
Unji laughs, not wanting to pull his hand away. He can let this go on for longer, a selfishness building up in his chest to lean in. Jiji looks up at him, his eyes that shade of honey that Unji finds captivating.
“You goin’ to school for that, too?” Unji asks, he’s making conversation, leaning close to not dispel whatever is between them. It’s building into something he could have that is tangible. He can feel it here, pulsing gently with his hand in Jiji’s.
“I might, I don’t know yet. I’m hoping for a soccer scholarship–but, our team isn’t so good,” Jiji says.
Unji snorts, remembering that Jiji had told him it was Evil Eye who had made him join after he switched to him at school and ran to chase a ball.
“I think you’ll be fine, you’ve got it.”
Jiji stares at him, his eyes widening. “Oh? Thanks, man.”
Man, Unji echos. He doesn’t think he wants to be just a man to Jiji.
He twists his mouth away, uncertain of what that could mean. What is a man other than what you say to someone you’re neutral with?
Why not: Buddy? Pal? Partner?
Unji pulls his hand away, not meaning to recede. His mind is dangerous, the thoughts are growing.
“Sorry, I should’ve let you go after that was done,” Jiji apologizes, his laugh coming out more nervous than anything.
Unji licks his lips. “You’re good, I just got all weird for a second.”
“Weird?”
Unji shuts his eyes, moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s nothin’.”
“No, I wanna know,” Jiji insists. “What’s weird?”
He swallows thickly. Unji can tell him, he trusts him. Jiji’s already seen him at his lowest, already seen him blunder the fight and nearly die had it not been for Futa. “No one touches me,” he confesses. “I don’t even let my dad…it’s nothin’, it’s stupid.”
Unji rises, his heart hammering heavily. The noise in his ears increases as he tries to create distance, even if the muscle in his chest refuses to have this. Because every inch away is something he’s afraid he won’t ever have again.
Jiji stands with him, following him. Unji completely ignores the hope that jumps within him. The brightness that seems to encompass Jiji wherever he goes.
“It’s not stupid. You trust me, right?” Jiji says, his face wrinkling together.
Unji can’t speak, he nods instead. The words he wants to say are so close, but so far. That he feels safe with Jiji. Being in his room, being beside him, he feels at peace. A similar flame that understands everything he feels. He’s so warm, Unji’s mind repeats.
“I do,” Unji admits.
Jiji blinks, his cheeks reddening, but he doesn’t look away. “Nice, because I trust you, too.”
The exhale that frees itself has been a long time coming and the feeling of Jiji’s hands in his are just as calloused as his own.
“Thank you for having my back again,” Jiji says.
“I always will. Futa seems to like Evil Eye.”
Jiji snorts, ducking his head. “You sure it’s just about Evil Eye and Futa?”
Unji blinks. Did he hear that right?
“What?” he asks dumbly.
Jiji laughs. “Are you sure it’s about those two and not us?”
Unji glances around, suddenly very aware of the situation and the weight of Jiji’s hand. Oh, right.
He’s here in Jiji’s room. Jiji touched him, the thoughts went away and Unji finds him easy to be around. Jiji, the same one who looked at Unji with contempt. This Jiji before him looks honest and forthright.
Unji nods. “Yeah.”
“Then, if it’s about us, we could figure it out,” Jiji declares.
Figure it out? Unji’s complicated feelings of yearning are hard to piece through. When he’s near Jiji, it’s like nostalgia, almost as if he’s greeting an old friend. He gets memories of a life he doesn’t want to remember, the good mixes with the bad, but Jiji brings him back. Jiji continues to move him forward out of the depths.
It’s all Jiji. What could Unji possibly give Jiji in return?
“What if it’s not what we think it is?” Unji mutters, his hand gripping Jiji’s. His fingers tangle in his to finally curl into the spaces. He shuts his eyes and his hands no longer harm.
Unji’s hands get to hold something tangible.
This is real.
“That’s why we go at our own pace, Zuma,” Jiji says. Jiji says it like it’s the easiest thing. Is Jiji trying to sound tough?
Unji looks up at him, seeing in Jiji’s eyes that it’s not just him trying to put on a tough guy act. Jiji’s eyes have a sheen to them, his face impossibly gentle as he awaits what Unji definitely thinks is the final nail in the coffin.
It’s up to him now to not harm again.
For Unji not to destroy.
He knows Jiji’s already been hurt once. The unrequited feelings of a childhood best friend that came years too late.
Unji has the opportunity to really express everything. He grips Jiji’s hands tighter into his own.
“I want us to go at our own pace together,” he mutters softly, looking into Jiji’s eyes. Jiji gasps softly, his lips parting.
“Oh, good to know,” he responds. It’s not said with any hint of humor. Jiji means it. Jiji smiles wide, his cheeks still bright red. “Um, so does that make us like…partners?”
“I’m good with that,” Unji grins.
He pulls Jiji’s hand to kiss the knuckles. Unji's lips pressing against each ridge. The roughness of the skin, the freckles littering on his hands. Jiji’s hands are slender, but firm against his own. The scars around Unji’s knuckles match the ones on Jiji’s.
Unji glances up at him, smiling at the way Jiji’s face is bashful at the affection.
“Alright, alright, did not expect you to be that smooth,” Jiji remarks plainly.
Unji shakes his head. “I like your hands, they’re like mine.”
He lowers his lips again, the gentle press of each bit filling his chest with warmth. This is home.
Maybe Unji’s exactly where he should be.