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Raqio is not one for sentimentality. It’s merely a response to surviving a society so punishing of illogicality, and it doesn’t bother Raqio much.
There’s almost something like comfort in it. Safety in a bubble of privilege, of selective ignorance, surviving the oppressive air of a selective utopia. It’s questionable, especially for someone as perceptive as them. They turn away from it anyways.
Raqio is not one for sentimentality. Yet, their mind wanders to Cielo, the conversations had on the rooftops, of observation, of their gaze firmly fixed onto the other.
In those days, Cielo’s poignancy is the first to deconstruct the flimsy but tangible walls that made up Raqio. It was illogical — they knew this, and yet they sought Cielo, their presence, as emotional as that may be.
Yes, Raqio could call them a friend. It doesn’t encompass their… relationship. It’s closer to a twisted partnership, of hurt and being hurt.
It's a deconstruction of everything they are. Cielo prods at the cage that traps them; and Raqio tries to imitate the way their wings spread even within capture, even within the scrutiny they meet every day.
They imitate. Their patterns of speech, flamboyancy, undeterred confidence. It’s a physical manifestation of the mark that they left on Raqio.
If that’s what could be called friendship, it is.
No matter how much they spread their wings, they remain entrapped in a cage. They still are, by the time they meet Remnan.
In hindsight, Remnan is nothing like Cielo. He’s terribly unconfident, and acts as if taking up space is a crime. He’s far kinder, up to the point where the flattery gets disgusting, too much to handle.
Yet, the line between Cielo and Remnan blurs. The rare instances of undeterred focus, where he pierces straight through Raqio with his gaze. The way he tries to find something to do with his hands. The vulnerability behind his words. The way he fears.
Most importantly, it’s his voice.
“A friend…? Um, how are we similar, really?”
Remnan’s voice is accompanied with fear. There’s beauty within it, still, a slight timbre reminiscent of delicacy.
Remnan… is a performance. He’s Odette, struck by some sort of curse, a tragic flair following his every action.
Raqio watches this performance, and knows they could only imitate the brightness that hides within Remnan.
“If I had to say… it’s your voice.”
At one point, the line where Cielo starts and Remnan ends becomes undiscernible. Raqio is keenly aware this is unfair to Remnan, and lets themself think this anyways.
Raqio is not one for sentimentality, but Remnan pries it out of them. Clawing at their skin, pulling them open so that everything they’ve suppressed comes crashing down.
It’s a hunger for something. For Raqio, it’s a hunger of familiarity, and it starts with kinder rebukes, something like selfishness born out of their grief. It’s a superfluous desire, an addiction.
It’s a hunger for control. Remnan, who’s never had that agency. It’s choosing to stay by Raqio’s side, it’s the resistance that is staying alive.
To Raqio, Remnan is the most free of them all.
Remnan reaches out for Raqio to join in this performance, within the confines of a cage, of their upbringing, of a surveillance society, of always being one step away, of envy for those who could stay within their own bubble of ignorance.
Remnan is forgiveness. They take the offer.
—
In the midpoint of their journey, at a point where they can’t really put back the events of Liu-An but aren’t too hung up about it either, Remnan enters Raqio’s room.
It’s become a routine of sorts. Sometimes, Remnan does this thing where he’s not really there, overcome with worries Raqio can’t discern entirely, even if they have their guesses. They figure it’s only fair to want for a semblance of companionship in such harrowing situations.
Raqio questions, but won’t comment on it. So instead, they go on tangents about theorems they’re sure Remnan doesn’t understand, so it’s only to entertain themselves. It has nothing to do with grounding Remnan.
Remnan has a habit of biting his nails, and it’s sort of disgusting, though they suppose they can understand the sentiment.
“You should really stop that, you know.” Raqio shifts from their position, pointing at Remnan’s uneven nails. Remnan looks up, briefly, and looks back down again.
“You’re too self destructive for your own good. Are you trying to give yourself an infection? It’s going to weaken your nails and the skin around it.”
“I can’t really help it…”
“Of course you can’t help it.” Saying this, Raqio gets up, stretching a little. Remnan flinches, briefly, and observes their movement.
Rummaging through their drawer, they find the nail polish they salvaged within the chaos, and set it in front of Remnan like it’s some sort of peace offering.
“These will do for now. Why not give yourself some sort of incentive? Visual reminders have been known to help. Hah, Maybe it’ll eventually get rid of that habit of yours.”
Remnan twirls the bottle around in his hand, and feels slightly more tangible than before.
“…Can you do it for me?”
“What, never used nail polish before?”
“Um… no, but that’s not it…”
“…Ugh, just go clean those hands of yours first.”
Remnan brightens up a bit at this, and nods before excusing himself briefly. It’s not relief, but Raqio is… content, that Remnan seems to be doing better.
They grabbed Remnan before he jumped off of the metaphorical building, and that fills them with contentment, not relief.
Remnan returns quicker than expected, and the bed pivots against the newfound weight.
Slowly, Remnan extends his hand. As if asking for permission, Raqio tilts their head, and takes Remnan’s hand in theirs when he gives a tentative nod.
It’s intimate, sure, but the motions are natural for Raqio. Still, the warmth is unexpected, and they’re wracked with something like grief and nostalgia all in one.
It’s an act of trust, and the vulnerability is unappealing. It feels strange, like Remnan has Raqio’s life in his hands, like Raqio has Remnan’s life in theirs.
It’s tending to clipped wings, an intermission in the performance, it’s unmasking, and it’s exhausting.
It’s oxytocin and dopamine and serotonin, which Raqio may or may not have been lacking in. They’re oddly silent through it all.
And eventually, Remnan’s breathing softens, the tension in his shoulders release, and he speaks.
“I… I’m glad I can be comfortable with you.”
“… Don’t creep me out so much.” Remnan, used to this response, just smiles.
“It’s just that, I, I don’t have good experience with touch, and, sometimes it all comes back to me. I… I hate it.”
“But you’re so gentle, and… it’s fulfilling. You’re a kind person through and through, aren’t you?”
Raqio, who knows now that Remnan is genuine with his compliments even if they feel like he’s buttering them up, only looks away, firmly avoiding his gaze.
Remnan’s hands are calloused and scarred, much unlike theirs. It’s indicative of whatever he must’ve gone through, whatever he must’ve persevered. They’re warm against Raqio’s slender hands, intersecting, together.
“As selfish as it is, I’m glad you let me see these sides of you.”
Raqio doesn’t say anything.
—
“What was your friend like?”
Lately, Raqio’s routine has been disrupted by Remnan’s prodding. His curiosity breaches their boundaries.
“Yuri’s already asked this. You were there for it.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Hah! You can be pretty nosy, huh?”
“Um, if you don’t want to-“
“It’s fine.” Raqio snaps back, interrupting Remnan. “I’m not going to devoid you of a response.”
“They were…” Cielo was, in all honesty, an enigma. They were a puzzle to figure out, to obsess over, and Cielo let it happen, indulged them.
“Strange. Illogical, really. But they were the… most real person I knew, I suppose.”
Cielo was raw, uncensored emotion, and Raqio still finds themself on top of that rooftop at times, reaching and reaching for someone who doesn’t think they could be saved.
“Is that why you don’t see me for myself?”
Remnan is no idiot — Raqio knows he’s brighter than he presents himself. It’s not much of a surprise that he’d notice Raqio’s disposition towards them, the way they search for familiarity within the unfamiliar. It’s a human emotion, and it makes them want to gag.
Raqio knows it is unfair for Remnan. What worse of a denial is there than towards your own identity? Raqio knows it’s unfair to use Remnan as a tool for their own grief.
It hurts. It’s not betrayal, but disappointment through understanding; that Remnan sees Raqio for Raqio, that Raqio sees Remnan for Cielo, a test on their conscience.
Remnan is no idiot, so Raqio’s sure that he knows why, that he’s picked up on the meager hesitance that they’re accompanied with anything regarding their past, Cielo, their cage, their lack of ignorance.
“You already know your answer to that.” Raqio meets Remnan’s eyes, and sees something like jealousy stirring.
Remnan watches them, like he’s wondering what to say next, what to do next. Like he wants to reach out to Raqio, that hunger for control, to be each other’s savior.
Remnan cups Raqio’s face, like saying that he’s here, like calling out to Raqio, pulling them to the present. It’s gentle and rough, like Raqio can break under his touch. Frustration, and wanting to be seen.
Raqio isn’t as adverse to touch as Remnan. They don’t pull away, because Raqio knows through the way Remnan looks at them, that their skewed companionship has shifted into a partnership, the illogicality of seeking something fitting into the hole that Cielo left in them.
“Can you see me, now?” As if something has changed. Raqio recognizes, visually, sure. They’re still trapped by their past, sure.
Maybe it’s something about going past those similarities, but Raqio can recognize that Remnan will leave a mark of his own on Raqio, a partnership born out of mutual hurt, and sighs, leaning into the touch.
“…I won’t apologize.” For seeing you through my grief. For being unfair. They’ve been unfair to each other, haven’t they?
“I know. It’d be weird if you did.”
They stay like this for a while, still caged, but together.
It’s pointless sentimentality. It’s human.
They stay like this, together.