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Not for the first time, Genji feels hopelessly lost.
It’s a crushing pressure against his chest, dragging him down like weights tied to his ankles, making each miniscule movement a laborious task. The omnic, Zenyatta- his master , he supposes, but the word tastes funny in his own mouth, a lingering flicker of his pride from… before- dogs the path he cuts through the dense woods. He’s an insistent thing, Genji admits, casting a scornful look over his shoulder, but the omnic remains unruffled, from his permanent whimsical expression to the neat fold of his hands.
“Is something troubling you, Genji?” Zenyatta is also incredibly observant, Genji has learned. Frustration bubbles up and he bites back something sharp and hurtful and acidic.
“No,” he lies. Images flash in his mind, shadowy silhouettes of his demons, twisted into blue coils, his brother’s voice- worthless, disgraceful, a shame to our family - and his own- you’re a monster, hideous, don’t belong anywhere- pulsing loud, like echoes of a storm. He grits his teeth and stops, suddenly, feels Zenyatta bump into his back, but he can’t bring himself to care. “No,” he repeats, but it’s weak and transparent.
What is he saying no to now? The kind Shambali monk, or his own venomous thoughts?
“Genji…” Zenyatta says, gentle and assuring, “you needn’t bear your suffering alone.” Zenyatta’s hand- far warmer than he expected, as if life pulses from his palms- touches his shoulder, light and barely there, but stable. Impossibly, it grounds him.
“Why do you care?” Genji asks. His voice lacks its usual bite. He sounds tired- feels tired. He doesn’t deserve Zenyatta’s guidance, he just wants it to end.
“There is disquiet within you,” Zenyatta answers. “Despite what you may believe, you are a good man. I wish to help you in any way I am able, if you would permit me.”
It’s too heartfelt, too honest. Genji wishes he could pick Zenyatta apart and root out the lies, the well-hidden root of deceit, but it isn’t there. With a broken sound- half a growl, half a sob- Genji whips around and faces Zenyatta.
“ Fine .”
And for the first time, he’s honest. He bares his vulnerable thoughts, lays them out in the open to be scrutinized and prodded at, like reopening a fresh wound. It hurts. It makes pain bubble in his chest, a pressure seeping up his throat and behind his eyes, but once he begins he can’t stop, like a dam bursting, a tidal wave of pathetic emotion after emotion threatening to sweep him away. He feels wetness against his cheeks, tastes salt, and he realizes with a pulse of shame that he has stopped in the middle of his confession and dissolved into a mess of broken sobs.
Zenyatta’s arms are around him in an instant. Genji finds he doesn’t mind as much as he should. There’s no pity in the gesture, only support, an anchor for him to cling to in the wake of his tumultuous speech. He gasps and trembles, clutches at Zenyatta’s waist and presses close, seeking that warmth, that stability.
Zenyatta hums and his orbs, floating serenely in the air, chime small notes in tandem with Genji’s labored breathing, until he gradually begins to calm. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, a lingering reminder of his pain. Zenyatta pets the back of his head and he knows he should pull away before he can hurt more, but he can’t bring himself to leave the warmth offered to him after countless months of solitude.
“It will be alright,” Zenyatta whispers. “I am here, Genji. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
Genji can’t help but believe him.