Work Text:
“But if you still feel that it’s “not enough”, that it “lacks depth” – then what you need is your own personal feelings and experiences.”
“Those raw, powerful feelings and memories, the ones you hesitate to touch, they’re what give a work depth. That’s what I believe.”
That sentiment echoes in Rui’s mind long into the evening, hours after he ends that voice call. It repeats as he sits down at his workbench and reaches for his notebook, opening to his current work-in-progress script. Unfortunately, he’ll have to entirely rewrite the show, but at least he can keep the general setting. Perhaps he can reuse the old concept another time, maybe with a sci-fi setting…?
Rui flips to a fresh page. He’ll think about that later. Back on topic.
It was deeply nerve-wracking having to ask for feedback from the workshop advisors, and part of Rui had wanted to not say anything at all. That was only made worse when the workshop advisors let him know that Tom Gray of all people would be having a one-on-one conversation with him. Rui was thankfully able to maintain a calm composure throughout the video call, yet his heart still thudded in his chest relentlessly.
But in the end, Rui was thankful that he had asked. Tom had been nothing but kind the entire interaction. Rui’s almost certain he’ll never forget Tom saying that his show “stuck with him”. And above all else, his advice was invaluable. Rui is certain he knows where to start now.
If Rui needs dark and messy feelings, there’s a clear answer. The tangled mess of memories and loneliness that Rui tries not to think of too much anymore. It leaves him feeling rather… unpleasant, to put it lightly.
But this time, it's for a show. He can face it head-on, if it’s for the sake of creating a better story. Even if it’s uncomfortable, he'll do it. He has to.
Rui takes a deep breath, lets his eyes fall shut, and reaches into the depths of his heart.
He remembers that time from elementary school, when he had excitedly approached his classmates with a new way to play together, but was met by judging stares that bored into his soul.
He remembers when he saw a classmate playing with a broken toy and offered to repair it for her, and couldn't understand why she was so adamantly against it.
He remembers a classmate from junior high who had been friendly with Rui one day, yet Rui overheard him muttering to his friends about Rui’s “weird habits” the very next.
He remembers sitting on his school’s rooftop, listening to the chatter of his peers far below and staring at the blue, cloudless sky. The wind had cascaded over him like water, chilling him to the bone – yet he made no attempt to move somewhere warmer.
He remembers wondering if anything would change.
Rui opens his eyes again, exhaling lightly. As he often does upon recalling these memories, Rui has started to feel a little unwell. But, he reminds himself again, it’s for the sake of the show. He can put up with some discomfort for a little bit.
Holding onto those feelings, Rui asks himself, what should his show be about?
A monster. The answer comes to him easily. A monster who only does things that excite him, and invades a village of humans to chase its fun.
The show swiftly formulates before Rui’s eyes and soon he’s scribbling away eagerly. Dialogue centers the page, stage direction hastily crammed into the margins. The longer he sits with these heavy feelings, the more his ideas expand, flowing through his pencil and onto the page.
The monster meets a bard and, fascinated by her song, requests the bard teach him how to sing. The bard accepts, and so begins the monster’s steady integration into the village.
Rui taps the end of the pencil to his lip as he ponders for a moment. Would it be best to buy a lute from a music store to modify, or should he build one himself? It could be a fun project… and he’s not sure how well a modern lute would fit with the setting he’s going for.
The monster is fine at playing music, but the things he sings about are rather scary. The bard scolds him, telling him to sing about something more touching. The monster later performs for some townspeople, who end up loving it. The bard tells the monster how lucky she is to have him as her apprentice.
Building the backdrops shouldn’t be too difficult, Rui thinks, absent-mindedly curling a loose strand of hair around his finger. Combined with some gentle, warm lighting, it should feel just like a real tavern. He’ll need to tamper with the brightness, though – too dark, and no one can see a thing. Too bright, and it feels fake.
As the monster begins experiencing the blossoming sense of belonging, a hunter arrives in town. He tells everyone the truth, that among them lives a horrid monster. For everyone’s safety, the hunter vows to stop at nothing until the monster is eradicated.
Rui, who had previously been writing rather quickly, begins to slow. Strangely enough, he can’t quite focus as well as before. He attempts to shake it off and moves to write the next line of dialogue.
The monster, now alone, has to come to terms with what he really is inside.
“I like playing with… mm, no. I like things that are fun– no, that’s not it. Even if I hurt people… hmm…”
The words on the page start to swirl before Rui’s eyes, melding together until they're incomprehensible. Rui leans closer, nose almost brushing against the page, trying to force his way past this blockage. A thick fog haunts his brain, clouding his thoughts so much that he's only just noticed he isn't writing anymore.
What’s up with him? It shouldn’t be this hard to write a story, right? It never has been. Rui can see the way it plays out in his mind’s eye, it's clear as day. All he has to do is write the next line. Finish the next sentence. Anything.
Rui forces himself to write the next line of dialogue, but it doesn’t come out quite right. The sentence feels clunky and awkward, and he quickly erases it. That’s fine, he can reword it, no problem at all.
“Even if I make myself appear human, what I am inside remains the same. But… that’s who-”
A piercing pain suddenly shoots through his head, as if a giant needle is being driven directly into his skull. Rui lets out a noise somewhere between a whine and a gasp, clutching his head with one hand and screwing his eyes shut. He curls up in his chair, resting his forehead on the desk, and hoping that if he grips his head tightly enough it’ll force the unforeseen headache back into his brain.
Writing this script is physically hurting Rui, and that's… worrying, isn't it? Not only that, it managed to tear through Rui's focus, which even hunger and exhaustion can’t normally do.
Rui takes a few deep breaths. His headache eventually dulls to a throb, which he could put up with for now. But when he sits up and scans the script once more, a deep sense of dread settles in his stomach.
That's when he realises it. He's scared. Writing the rest of this script, displaying some of his deepest feelings for the whole world to see… it’s utterly terrifying. Ripping his body open, exposing the ugly, writhing mess lying in wait within…
Everyone’s going to see it, and everyone’s going to know what kind of person I really am. The rest of Wonderlands×Showtime, what will they think of me? Will they still want to perform shows with me?
Rui lets out a shaky breath, rubbing his face. God, he hasn’t had self-deprecating thoughts like these in a very long time. Maybe he should just rewrite everything. Is this really worth the turmoil it’s bringing him? There are surely other deep feelings he holds that would make just as good shows, surely.
Rui opens to a new page, tapping his pencil on the page a few times, trying to jog a new idea.
…It’s fruitless. He knows the story he wants to tell, and it’s this one. But in this condition, he’s not going to get anywhere. He needs to try something different, and quickly. It's already been so long since the workshop set them up with this task, after all. He can't afford to delay the script any longer.
A break, maybe. A walk to clear his mind might do Rui some good. He glances back at the clock on the wall, displaying just a little past 1 in the morning.
At least he’ll be undisturbed this late at night.
—
In no time at all, Rui is wandering along the edge of the Wonderland SEKAI’s harbor, lost in thought. One hand is held to his chin, the other clutches his unfinished script by his side.
Completely changing it is a bad idea, but it still needs some adjustment. No one needs to see that much of me. Perhaps I should detach myself from it a little more – ah, but then, will it still hold the same depth? Or will it be boring like before…?
Even here, Rui’s thoughts continue to swim in circles. He knows, deep in his heart, the way he wants to write this show. But something still shackles him, desperate to hide away anything too unpalatable.
Rui stops in his tracks, lifting his head to the sky, as if expecting to see a solution to his troubles. The rainbow-colored stars twinkle brightly as always, shining through an inky purple sea. He even sees a few shooting stars streaking through it. It’s truly beautiful, and some of the tension lifts from Rui’s shoulders. Despite himself, his thoughts steadily drift away from his half-written show.
Are there constellations here? I can’t see any right now… would Tsukasa-kun even have enough knowledge of constellations to create them in his SEKAI? Or would he simply make up his own?
Rui traces the sky with his finger. If he concentrates, that one looks a bit like a pegasus. And that one… just looks like Tsukasa himself, actually. Rui can’t fight the amused smile that appears on his lips – of course Tsukasa would subconsciously make a constellation that looks like himself.
What other types of constellations could he spot? Maybe if Rui got a better vantage point, he could discover even more. Before he knew it, he was fast-walking along the harbor, heading deeper into the city.
Did the Wonderland SEKAI have any observatories? Or maybe a really large hill would be fine. Rui can’t think of any off the top of his head, as he doesn’t typically pay attention to that sort of thing. Shockingly, the sentient plushies and flying trains were a tad more interesting to him. Could he get atop one of the roofs? Or maybe he could climb a tree…
“...oin… ith yo…!”
Hm?
Rui stops in his tracks, looking around. Somebody else is still awake, even this late into the night?
“...orry, but I refuse to let you go alone. It's too dangerous, and... I care about you too much.”
Rui heads through a few alleyways and breaks out of the city into the surrounding forest. It's not long before he finds the source of the voice, located in a clearing, probably to not disturb any of the city dwellers. Not that he's necessarily doing the best job at that.
Rui really shouldn’t have been surprised to see him when he does, as there weren’t many people in the world with a voice that manages to carry so well. Rui briefly wonders if he inadvertently summoned him into existence by thinking about him earlier.
“Don't give me that nonsense again! I- I know what the prophecy says, but I don't care! I'm coming with you.”
Rui watches from afar, half-hiding behind a tree. He can only see the back of Tsukasa’s head from here, but he can hear him as clearly as ever. He’s gesturing with one hand and clutching a script in the other, occasionally pausing to remind himself of his lines. Rui rests his head against the tree, observing with a distant look in his eye.
“You don't have to carry this burden alone. I'll be by your side, whether to fend off those creatures with you or simply as a shoulder to lean on.”
Despite not knowing the context of the performance, Rui finds himself enraptured nonetheless. He knows it to be true, but every time he watches Tsukasa act, he’s struck by how skilled he really is.
Watching him now, Rui feels as if he’s watching Tsukasa from outside a bubble, peering into another world but being unable to enter. The distance between them feels massive, like Rui is a mere astronomer, observing the twinkling stars above but unable to swim among them.
“Perfect, I'll go get ready! I'll stay by your side until the very end, I swear it.”
Rui wants to call out to Tsukasa, to compliment his performance, but he can’t. He isn’t sure why, but something is simply holding him back, binding him to silence.
I shouldn’t interrupt. He’s clearly busy. Don’t bother him. Something mutters in the back of Rui’s mind, and he feels inclined to agree.
That is, before Tsukasa turns around.
“GYAAH–!! R-Rui!! Don’t scare me like that! Why are you just standing there!?” Tsukasa exclaims, placing a hand to his chest. “Why do you have to walk so quietly all the time!?”
Rui blinks, and the bubble pops.
“Fufu, my apologies. I can’t help myself, you react in such an entertaining way when you’re surprised.” He smiles, stepping closer. He hopes Tsukasa doesn't think he's strange for awkwardly watching him from behind a tree.
Tsukasa huffs, crossing his arms. “Gh, you…! One day, I’ll learn the secret to ULTIMATE stealth! And then you’ll regret treating me like this!”
“Ultimate stealth?” Rui repeats, his smile growing in amusement. “Where are you going to learn that?”
“When we have to perform a show about ninjas, obviously.”
Rui barely manages to hold back another giggle. Tsukasa speaks so matter-of-factly, as if every actor’s career contains a ninja-themed show at some point.
That might not be a bad idea, actually. Ninjas are rather fascinating… Maybe my old script could be reworked with that theme! Even if it gives Tsukasa-kun the ability to sneak up on me whenever he likes.
“You’re making that face again.” Tsukasa’s words snap Rui out of his thoughts. “The one you make whenever you're getting an idea. Aren’t you preoccupied enough with your other script?”
His other script. Rui glances down at the notebook in his hand for just a moment too long.
“It doesn’t hurt to have a few excess ideas.” Rui responds quickly. “Speaking of scripts, just now, that was the show you're performing for the acting workshop, wasn’t it?”
Tsukasa startles, lifting his script and scanning it. “Oh, yeah! I’ve been trying my best to learn my lines quickly so I won’t have any problems when I get to perform in your show too. Of course, it hasn’t been a problem for me whatsoever!”
Tsukasa laughs heartily, placing his hands on his hips. “It won’t be long until I’ve completely grasped this role, so I’ll be ready whenever you finish writing your show! Feel free to throw whatever you’d like at me!”
Rui’s grip on his script tightens imperceptibly. That pit of dread in his stomach is back, a little worse than before knowing that Tsukasa has been staying up late to make room for him.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Rui manages after a beat. “I was hoping for you to be the main character, actually.”
“Well, naturally!” Tsukasa grins. “I swear to perform it to the absolute greatest of my ability!”
Rui nods. He would never doubt that, of course.
“It might be a while before you and the others can start practicing, though. I’m just running into some… complications.” Rui says carefully.
“Complications? In what way?”
Rui bites his lip as he scans the page once more, eyes landing on the half-finished sentence. “I suppose I’m having trouble wording the dialogue in this scene correctly. It’s a pivotal moment, so I have to get it right.”
He trails off, leaving them in silence.
“Maybe I can help then, if that’s what you’re struggling with.” Tsukasa offers. “Perhaps a fresh perspective is what you need to kick-start you back on the right track!”
Rui hesitates. Tsukasa is definitely right, yet… the thought of him of all people seeing this show fills Rui with unease.
But Tsukasa is still watching closely. His bright expression is starting to falter, probably wondering why Rui isn’t responding. If Rui doesn’t say something quickly, he’s going to look suspicious.
“...Yes, I suppose that would be a good idea,” Rui mutters eventually. “I know you’ll provide valuable insight, as always.”
Tsukasa tilts his head before nodding. “Of course! Anything to help you.”
He beams, and Rui feels a twinge in his chest.
“We should probably go somewhere more comfortable if we’re discussing something like this, then… Ah, I have the perfect spot in mind! Follow me!” Tsukasa takes hold of Rui’s wrist and begins leading him away in a specific direction.
Rui awkwardly stumbles after Tsukasa, eyes wide. Maybe he's just not used to it, but this simple act of touch makes him feel like he's been lit on fire. Tsukasa’s hand is so strong, so warm. Rui can’t tear his eyes away from how it wraps around his wrist so easily, as if it was destined to sit there.
A selfish part of Rui wishes Tsukasa would have taken him by the hand instead, just to feel an ounce of his warmth in his palms.
Preoccupied with staring at Tsukasa’s hand, Rui hasn’t paid a lick of attention to his surroundings until they’ve stopped again. They stand in front of a medium-sized red and yellow circus tent. Tsukasa pushes past the curtains, revealing a soft and plush interior. Colorful cushions and pillows of all shapes litter the ground, and small fairy lights are hung up on the tent walls, illuminating the space in a gentle purple glow.
“The plushies really like it here,” Tsukasa says. “They were very insistent on showing it to me, for some reason.”
He lets go of Rui’s wrist – Rui mourns the loss silently – and promptly sits down on a pile of pillows. Tsukasa places the acting workshop script off to the side and pats the area beside him, his bright and warm smile never wavering.
“Come here.”
As if in a daze, Rui steps over and sits beside him. The pillows are impossibly soft, like little clouds, and he sinks right into them. Despite the ever-present storm of dread in his stomach, he feels a little comforted.
“I get why the plushies like it here,” Rui mumbles. “It’s… cozy.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
Rui can’t help stealing a glance at Tsukasa out of the corner of his eye. There’s a small smile on his face, one that makes Rui’s stomach do flips. His eyes hold a strange affection that Rui just can’t understand.
Tsukasa turns, as if on cue, and meets Rui’s gaze. Rui’s certain he'll melt into the ground with how fondly Tsukasa is looking at him.
“Can I read your script so far?” Tsukasa asks, and snaps Rui out of whatever pleasant haze he had been in.
“Oh, er, right.” Rui chuckles, hoping if he laughs enough he’ll seem less jittery. “Yes, here.”
Tsukasa’s gaze lingers on Rui for a moment too long before looking down at the script Rui hands him. Rui bites the inside of his cheek as he watches Tsukasa read, his fingers brushing over each word to keep his place. It's quiet – too quiet, that it's almost deafening. Part of Rui wishes the ground would hurry up and swallow him whole already.
“I really like it so far.” Rui jumps as Tsukasa suddenly speaks again. “This feels very you, and I mean that in a good way.”
“Oh, thank you.” Rui forces a smile. “The advice that Tom Gray gave me has helped a lot. I know the story that I want to tell, but…”
Rui trails off. Tsukasa looks up again, and Rui (unfortunately) does not miss the hint of concern in his gaze.
“Could you run me through the rest of it, then?” Tsukasa asks. “So I understand where the scenes should be headed.”
Rui laces his fingers together in his lap and nods slowly. “Right. After the hunter makes that declaration, the monster has to come to terms with what he really is inside. He can make himself look human as much as he wants, but it doesn’t change what he is inside: a monster.”
Rui cringes as his breath shakes ever so slightly. It’s just a show. Stop overreacting. If Tsukasa notices, he doesn't show it, which probably means he didn't.
He quickly runs through the rest of the story – the hunter confronting the monster in the dead of night; the bard appearing and defending the monster, even after learning of his true identity; the monster confessing that after finding people who likes his songs, he’s changed, and finds humans precious; the hunter dismissing him and shooting the monster in the leg; the monster claiming he’ll take however many shots necessary until the hunter believes him; and the hunter choosing to let the monster go free.
“Wow…” Tsukasa whispers after Rui finishes his explanation. “It’s really strong, I like it! Even though the monster has been cruel, I can’t help feeling bad for him.”
A small smile appears on Rui’s face. “I'm happy to hear that.”
Tsukasa shuffles closer to Rui (his heart jumps in a very embarrassing way), leaning closer and placing the script between their legs. “So, right now, you’re on the monster’s realisation of his true self, right?”
Tsukasa puts a hand to his chin. “Maybe he’s breaking down, knowing that he can never be like everyone else. Would he cry, or would he get angry?”
Rui’s gaze drops to the script again. “Actually, neither. The monster knows that he is a monster, of course. It’s not something he’s suddenly become aware of. He’s just tired – he knows the truth of his nature, but for a moment, he lived in a world where he was just like any other human.”
Tsukasa follows Rui’s gaze to the script for a moment, before flicking back up to his face. “I see… In that case, maybe he’s… mm, hold on.”
Tsukasa sits up, clearing his throat and catching Rui’s attention. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as his expression drops.
“I should’ve known all along,” Tsukasa mutters, eyes trained on the ground. “I could never be like them, and I never will be. It was foolish of me to hope.”
Tsukasa stares at his hand – clenching it, then letting it go limp and staring at his palm numbly. “I know what I really am, and I should've stopped this facade the moment I felt any differently. I'm so stupid.”
He’s silent for another few moments, before looking back up at Rui. “How was that?!”
Rui hums thoughtfully, before smiling apologetically and shaking his head. “It wasn’t a bad performance by any means, but… it’s just a little bit off, I’m afraid.”
Tsukasa frowns, sitting back down beside Rui once more. “Hrmm. I wanted to try slightly different dialogue than what you’ve got written down already, in case that was the problem.”
The dialogue isn't the problem, Rui knows that well. “It did, however, help me understand what I’ve been missing, so I’d say you’ve helped.” Rui says, picking up the script and pulling out his pencil from his pocket.
Tsukasa's frown melts into a confident smile. “Well, if it helped, then that's good!”
Rui looks down at his script once more, tapping his pencil against his chin. He moves to write the next word, and then… hesitates, again.
Tsukasa is watching him. He can feel his eyes on the back of his head. He’s watching very intently too, might Rui add. He tries to tell himself that Tsukasa’s just curious about the show, nothing more.
And yet, Rui’s nauseous feeling from earlier has returned, and is steadily growing. Tsukasa is studying him too closely, his gaze piercing into Rui’s very being. Rui wonders what he sees, and prays it’s nothing unsightly.
And then, Tsukasa says the worst possible thing Rui could hear.
“Rui, are you okay?”
Tsukasa shifts so he's facing Rui head-on, his expression firm yet concerned. “When I first brought up your show, you began acting strangely. You didn’t even make a comment about putting me in some kind of contraption when I said you could throw whatever you liked at me.”
Rui presses his lips together, and Tsukasa continues.
“Please forgive me for saying this, but… the monster in the show. He’s you, isn’t he?” Tsukasa tries to look into his eyes, but Rui refuses to meet his gaze. “Is that why it’s been so difficult for you to continue it?”
Rui completely stalls. He slowly looks over, and sees Tsukasa's warm, pretty amber eyes staring right into his own, awaiting a response. But Rui's throat is dry, and he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he can speak at all.
He shouldn't have done this. Tsukasa managed to see right through him. Who knows what else he could have seen? Rui's hands shake as he grips the script tighter. Tsukasa-kun knows everything now. Why did you let him find out?
Rui wants to reassure his troupemate, “It's nothing like that. It's just a show, after all.” He doesn’t want to admit to any deeper feelings, to confirm whatever Tsukasa might know about him now.
However, Rui is fairly certain his prolonged silence is making it more and more obvious how he really feels about the topic. Tsukasa’s expression grows into concern the longer it continues, and it makes Rui's chest lurch. He absolutely, 100%, does not want Tsukasa to worry. Especially over him.
Despite everything, Rui somehow finds the words to speak. “…In a sense. Tom Gray told me to put my personal experiences into my shows to give them more depth. I really do think it has made the story better. It’s just…”
Rui is suddenly finding it very hard to keep looking at Tsukasa, and so he turns away again. “These aren’t easy feelings to talk about, let alone write about.”
The more Rui speaks, the more he wants to run away. Stop talking, hide, never look at Tsukasa again for daring to make him worry.
Rui steals a glance out of the corner of his eye. Somehow, Tsukasa doesn’t look upset, or even uncomfortable. He’s still concerned, but his eyes carry such deep care that Rui feels lightheaded. When Tsukasa speaks again, his voice is soft and tender.
“I understand that it isn’t easy, and I’m not going to force you to say anything. However, I think it would be beneficial to try talking about those feelings somewhat. I think it would help you feel better writing about it as well.” Tsukasa’s frown turns a little softer. “If you’re set on writing this specific story, then I’m not going to stop you. I trust that whatever you’re planning, it’s going to be as spectacular as always. But I want it to be its best self, and I know you do too. And unfortunately, it can’t reach that best self if you aren’t willing to open yourself up, at least to me.”
His expression slips into something so gentle that Rui thinks his heart might have stopped for a moment. Rui’s not sure he’s ever seen Tsukasa look so… fond before. “I would really, really like it if you could open up to me, Rui.”
Why are you still being so nice to me? Haven't you seen the worst of me already? Rui wonders, but bites it back. Sometimes Rui thinks he might wake up some day and Tsukasa will have never existed at all; like an imaginary friend that he kept around for too long.
Rui fidgets with the edges of the script in his hands before speaking. “Are… Are you certain? It might be… a lot to handle.”
Tsukasa carefully reaches out, slipping his hand into Rui's and taking hold. He tugs the script out of Rui's hands and places it off to the side somewhere. Tsukasa’s hand is so strong and warm… Rui’s stomach flips. Maybe he really will throw up.
“Of course I’m certain. I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” Tsukasa’s voice is low, soft. “I care about you a lot, you know. However you think I’m going to see you after you tell me, I won’t. I promise.”
Even through Tsukasa’s warmth, Rui is still faltering. It’s laughable at this point. Even when someone is directly asking him to open up, he’s still unable to.
Rui’s eyes trail away, staring at a point across the tent, unfocused. He both wants to and doesn’t – it’d be nice to talk about it for once in his life, but at the same time, it’s terrifying.
What if he sees me undesirably…?
Before Rui can continue any further down that spiral, Tsukasa’s thumb begins gently stroking the back of Rui’s hand, rubbing circles into his skin and bringing him back to reality.
Rui’s not sure why, but he squeezes Tsukasa’s hand. Tsukasa squeezes Rui’s in return.
“The show.” Rui says suddenly, as if trying to kick-start his own mouth into talking. “I was having trouble writing it because of the memories it resurfaced. I wanted to pull from the time before I met you and the others, when I was… alone.”
Rui draws his legs close, eyes trained on his knees. “When I made myself remember everything, it felt like something inside me broke, and it all flooded back in. It became so much harder to write about because I… I felt…”
He swallows thickly. “Disgusting.”
That single word leaving Rui’s lips is like the dam breaking, and it all floods out at once.
“And then, I thought about the audience seeing this script. And all of you reading it, and performing it… I was worried what you’d think of me if you… if you knew.”
Knew what? Some rational part of Rui's brain finally pipes up, but he doesn't stop to question it further. He’s talking now, and he can’t stop.
"And I didn't want you to…” Rui hesitates, then continues again. “I remember the ways everyone used to look at me. Scared, angry, disgusted. I grew used to it eventually – I had to. But I really... really hated it. I don't want anyone to see me like that again. All of my... ugly, messy, disgusting parts, I-I thought that if I filtered them through this show, they wouldn't be so prominent. But... they're all going to know, aren't they? Every audience member, they're going to know what kind of person I really am inside."
The silence that follows rings in Rui’s ears. It takes him a while to realise what he’s done. He’s spilled everything. All of his vile, horrible, bloody innards. He knows everything. If Tsukasa hadn't figured out the truth earlier, he certainly has now.
It feels like time itself has stopped. Rui's not sure he's ever felt so fearful in his life. He doesn't want to see what kind of expression Tsukasa must be making right now.
“Rui?”
Rui jumps, and his eyes flick to Tsukasa’s face on instinct.
He doesn’t look disgusted, pitiful, or angry.
Tsukasa is gazing at him with eyes so full of warmth and affection that it makes Rui want to cry.
“I can't believe you really think of yourself like that,” Tsukasa murmurs. He briefly lets go of Rui’s hand, only to wrap his arm around Rui’s shoulders and use his other to hold onto Rui’s hand once more. “Never once in my life have I ever thought of you as less than something precious, especially now. When I read your script, I didn't think anything like “wow, how brave must he be to write something like this about himself.” I thought it was a wonderful story, one that I'm certain plenty of people are going to love. They won't know anything deeper about you, I promise.”
Maybe, deep down, a part of Rui had known that all along. The rational voice that still exists somewhere inside of him, who had silently insisted that nobody could assume anything about Rui purely based off of a show he creates. Even still, when Tsukasa says that, Rui's nausea dissipates all at once. All that's left behind is a deep-seated sense of relief.
“And, I want to be as upfront as possible when I say this.” Tsukasa moves to cup Rui's face, forcing him to meet his eyes this time. “You are absolutely, definitely, nowhere near disgusting. You’re so, so beautiful.”
Beautiful…? Can Rui really be described like that…?
With Tsukasa looking at him so lovingly, he believes it more than ever.
Tsukasa rubs his thumb across Rui's cheek, making him realise he's been tearing up. Rui carefully places a hand over one of Tsukasa's, ghosting over his skin, as if confirming that he was really there. Before he knows it, he's been pulled into a tight embrace, Tsukasa's strong arms encircling his shoulders. Rui presses his face into Tsukasa's shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist.
A long silence follows. They're basically just cuddling now, something Rui never expected in his life he would do with anybody else. One of Tsukasa's hands rests at the back of his head, and the other presses Rui's body impossibly closer to his own.
Tsukasa is so warm. The same warmth one feels upon waking up on an autumn morning and their blankets are enveloping them so perfectly that they want to fall back asleep again. Or maybe he's more like if the sun itself came to earth and, somehow, decided Rui was the one most deserving of its light. Rui selfishly wishes he could bathe in this warmth forever. It makes him feel sleepy, or maybe that’s just the consequence of staying up late worrying.
“I think… I do feel a little better after talking about it,” Rui finally mumbles again. “I can probably finish the script tomorrow.”
He doesn’t look up at Tsukasa, but he can hear the smile in his voice. “I knew you would! You don’t have to bottle these things up, Rui. You can tell me anything.”
Unfortunately, bottling things up is Rui’s favorite hobby. “I’ll... try.”
Tsukasa's hand begins to thread through Rui's hair in a slow, easy pattern. Rui yawns, his eyelids finally growing heavy.
“You shouldn’t let me do this.” Rui's words are starting to slur together. “I’m going to fall asleep on you and then not let you get up in the morning.”
“I suppose I’ll have to deal with that tomorrow, then. But I'm sure I won't be that upset.”
Tomorrow… Rui will start regretting this then, he’s certain of that. Tomorrow, he’ll curse himself for making Tsukasa deal with his problems again.
He feels the weight of Tsukasa resting his head atop Rui's own.
For now, though, he’d like to not think about that. Rui would like to live in this little tent, where whatever the outside world thinks of him, monster or otherwise, doesn’t matter.
Right here, right now, he is just Rui. And being Rui means that he is not disgusting, ugly, or something to be feared.
He is beautiful and he is loved.