[ It's the same thing he always asks of others. Talk about the person that they were. Little things, simple things, silly things. They all matter.
It takes a while for him to begin speaking, but once he does... ]
She had so much passion. Maybe it made her a little hot-headed at times, especially with me, but... I always admired that about her, even when we were teenagers. She never cared what anyone thought of her. We couldn't have been more different in that way.
[ He was painfully shy, quiet, lived with his head down so he could focus on his studies, his cram schools, his part time jobs. Rumi never let him isolate himself or work too hard for too long. Every bright color in his life was painted by her hand alone. ]
We talked all the time. Every day, from the day we met. Sometimes for hours. Usually for hours, actually... when we lived together, it was nonstop. Somehow, we never ran out of things to talk about. I think that's what love is, to me. Rumi taught me that.
[Maruki recalls his love of talking - hours and hours with Rumi, never running out of things to say. It's no surprise, really. That's what Eren loves about Maruki. It must have been what Rumi loved about him too.
[Sometimes, he thinks to himself that Rumi would have had to have fallen back in love with Maruki eventually, if only they were allowed that time. He understands why it isn't possible, but he understands what it's like to love Maruki too.
[He'd never say it out loud. He wouldn't dream of it.
[At any rate, Eren's fairly certain that this is the most Maruki's gotten to talk about Rumi in a very, very long time...]
I can picture it perfectly. It all makes perfect sense.
[We're supposed to be together, and we're not.]
Tell me more. Tell me whatever you want. I want to know...
[ Gently, Maruki presses his palm flat on Eren's chest until he rolls over to lay on his back. He tucks himself up under one arm, rests his head there, right over Eren's heart.
There's one thing that jumps to the front of his mind first. Inconsequential and mundane, in the grand scheme of things, but he thinks about it all the time. It would be good to finally put it to words for someone else to hear. ]
I kept odd hours as a graduate student, and then as a researcher... Usually I fell asleep facedown at my desk, and she would always come take my glasses off and bring me to bed. Rumi had a good job, so she was on a normal schedule, but I hated waking up alone to find out I'd slept through her leaving for work.
[ He traces a finger across the planes of Eren's chest, sketching out the layout of their little apartment from his mind's eye. It's not the shoebox he'll return to when they break free from this reality. It was home – drawn out in invisible lines on his soul's home. ]
So every morning, she would wake me up before she left, even if I'd only been asleep for a few hours. She would be the one to put my glasses back on. Like a little ritual. Sometimes I fell back asleep, but... I never took them off without her.
[ A beat, and his hand stops moving. ]
It's a silly thing, but. You've taken my glasses off before, when I've been too upset or tired to do it myself. It always reminds me of that.
[It's clear on Eren's face just how intently he's been listening. His expression couldn't be anything but pained in the face of Maruki's grief, but he keeps it even. His hand has started to move slowly over the other man's back as they speak.
[He nods.]
You always seem to fall asleep with them on. I'm worried you'll break them...
[Eren thinks he might have really understood Rumi.]
I like it. I get to see your face for a minute. She probably liked that too...
[ For whatever reason, it's that final statement that stops Maruki's racing thoughts in their tracks.
He's never been able to see himself the way Rumi did. The way Venat does. The way Eren does. He tries, but–
Even something as simple as that stuns him. ]
She did.
[ Eren's heart beats past its expiration date beneath his ear. His head feels heavy, eyes blurring again. When he speaks, his voice is tighter than before, words carefully chosen instead of free flowing. ]
I wish you could know her, even for a minute. I knew Mikasa. It's only fair.
[Eren wishes he could too. He's wished that for a long time. It's important that Maruki knew Mikasa. Eren could never conjure her from nothing - not well enough, not right enough.
[It's all they have of Rumi, though. Eren's nails trace in patterns over Maruki's shoulders. He rests his cheek on the top of the other man's head.]
If you talk about her enough, I'll start to feel like I do...
[It's not a platitude. Maruki understands better than anyone the nature of Eren's mind these days. There's so much experience crammed into it that he can barely decipher which belongs to him.]
I could listen to you talk all day too, so. Talk about her as much as you want. I'll listen.
[ It's not a platitude, no. Maruki knows the truth of Eren's statement better than anyone else ever possibly could. Realities can be created from nothing more than memories, after all. If he shares enough of his own with Eren, she'll become real to him in his own way.
And Eren could listen to him talk all day, so–
Maruki talks. All day.
About their school days. He had to join a sports club even though he was hopelessly uncoordinated, and she would come to his soccer matches even if he spent the whole time on the batch. He'd do the same with her martial arts meets. She visited him at his part time jobs, and when he got off his shifts they'd pool their scant money to study together in a diner. She was always bright, but he fretted endlessly over the possibility of them not attending the same college, so she promised to study as hard as he did to make sure they stayed together.
About striking out on their own when they were still too young to know anything about the world. Stupid, naive mistakes they made – the night he got swindled out of all of his money and very nearly got roped into joining a cult while waiting for her to leave a club with her friends, and the first apartment they rented together that couldn't have been much larger than his room back at the machiya. The ease with which she took to her studies, so much more practical than his ever were, and the job she had lined up well before graduation.
About those many happy years of his graduate studies as they settled into their life together, grew their circle of friends, accidentally somehow became functional, responsible adults together. The mornings after celebrations when he woke up late, hungover and headachey, and listened to her and Shibusawa laughing together in the living room. How loudly she sang at karaoke, and the flower arranging classes she took after work on Wednesdays and Fridays, and the used car he bought just so they could go on trips around the country relying on nothing but their own power. Onsen in the mountains, picturesque beaches, fireworks reflected in massive lakes, shrines and festivals and a hundred other memories she lost because they were spent with him.
About that wildflower field outside of Tokyo. How meticulously he planned that trip the first time he took her, and how they kept returning over the years. The flowers she picked everywhere they went, even if she wasn't supposed to, and pressed into a book he wishes he'd kept.
About a wedding that never happened. The botanical garden they were going to use as a venue. How nervous he was to finally meet her parents and ensure they approved of him. How she told him again and again that he had nothing to worry about. Her gloved hands cupping his face as snow fell outside their little home in the countryside. They talked about how they would one day inherit it, and their children would have children and bring them there too. They would have had the most joyful life together, he's sure of it.
About the promise that he made on the final day they both knew one another. The world that he would save so that no one would ever have to suffer the way that she did. In some reality, he did. He hopes it was worth it. He hopes she was happy, forever.
About every last little thing he can think of, the light shifting in through the slatted windows of the windmill until the sun begins to go down. He keeps talking. Night falls, and the cold creeps in. He keeps talking. His head aches, and Eren rubs his temples, and he keeps talking. Enough to make her real. Enough to carry her in his heart into every reality. Enough to never forget. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It takes a while for him to begin speaking, but once he does... ]
She had so much passion. Maybe it made her a little hot-headed at times, especially with me, but... I always admired that about her, even when we were teenagers. She never cared what anyone thought of her. We couldn't have been more different in that way.
[ He was painfully shy, quiet, lived with his head down so he could focus on his studies, his cram schools, his part time jobs. Rumi never let him isolate himself or work too hard for too long. Every bright color in his life was painted by her hand alone. ]
We talked all the time. Every day, from the day we met. Sometimes for hours. Usually for hours, actually... when we lived together, it was nonstop. Somehow, we never ran out of things to talk about. I think that's what love is, to me. Rumi taught me that.
no subject
[Sometimes, he thinks to himself that Rumi would have had to have fallen back in love with Maruki eventually, if only they were allowed that time. He understands why it isn't possible, but he understands what it's like to love Maruki too.
[He'd never say it out loud. He wouldn't dream of it.
[At any rate, Eren's fairly certain that this is the most Maruki's gotten to talk about Rumi in a very, very long time...]
I can picture it perfectly. It all makes perfect sense.
[We're supposed to be together, and we're not.]
Tell me more. Tell me whatever you want. I want to know...
no subject
There's one thing that jumps to the front of his mind first. Inconsequential and mundane, in the grand scheme of things, but he thinks about it all the time. It would be good to finally put it to words for someone else to hear. ]
I kept odd hours as a graduate student, and then as a researcher... Usually I fell asleep facedown at my desk, and she would always come take my glasses off and bring me to bed. Rumi had a good job, so she was on a normal schedule, but I hated waking up alone to find out I'd slept through her leaving for work.
[ He traces a finger across the planes of Eren's chest, sketching out the layout of their little apartment from his mind's eye. It's not the shoebox he'll return to when they break free from this reality. It was home – drawn out in invisible lines on his soul's home. ]
So every morning, she would wake me up before she left, even if I'd only been asleep for a few hours. She would be the one to put my glasses back on. Like a little ritual. Sometimes I fell back asleep, but... I never took them off without her.
[ A beat, and his hand stops moving. ]
It's a silly thing, but. You've taken my glasses off before, when I've been too upset or tired to do it myself. It always reminds me of that.
no subject
[He nods.]
You always seem to fall asleep with them on. I'm worried you'll break them...
[Eren thinks he might have really understood Rumi.]
I like it. I get to see your face for a minute. She probably liked that too...
no subject
He's never been able to see himself the way Rumi did. The way Venat does. The way Eren does. He tries, but–
Even something as simple as that stuns him. ]
She did.
[ Eren's heart beats past its expiration date beneath his ear. His head feels heavy, eyes blurring again. When he speaks, his voice is tighter than before, words carefully chosen instead of free flowing. ]
I wish you could know her, even for a minute. I knew Mikasa. It's only fair.
no subject
[It's all they have of Rumi, though. Eren's nails trace in patterns over Maruki's shoulders. He rests his cheek on the top of the other man's head.]
If you talk about her enough, I'll start to feel like I do...
[It's not a platitude. Maruki understands better than anyone the nature of Eren's mind these days. There's so much experience crammed into it that he can barely decipher which belongs to him.]
I could listen to you talk all day too, so. Talk about her as much as you want. I'll listen.
no subject
And Eren could listen to him talk all day, so–
Maruki talks. All day.
About their school days. He had to join a sports club even though he was hopelessly uncoordinated, and she would come to his soccer matches even if he spent the whole time on the batch. He'd do the same with her martial arts meets. She visited him at his part time jobs, and when he got off his shifts they'd pool their scant money to study together in a diner. She was always bright, but he fretted endlessly over the possibility of them not attending the same college, so she promised to study as hard as he did to make sure they stayed together.
About striking out on their own when they were still too young to know anything about the world. Stupid, naive mistakes they made – the night he got swindled out of all of his money and very nearly got roped into joining a cult while waiting for her to leave a club with her friends, and the first apartment they rented together that couldn't have been much larger than his room back at the machiya. The ease with which she took to her studies, so much more practical than his ever were, and the job she had lined up well before graduation.
About those many happy years of his graduate studies as they settled into their life together, grew their circle of friends, accidentally somehow became functional, responsible adults together. The mornings after celebrations when he woke up late, hungover and headachey, and listened to her and Shibusawa laughing together in the living room. How loudly she sang at karaoke, and the flower arranging classes she took after work on Wednesdays and Fridays, and the used car he bought just so they could go on trips around the country relying on nothing but their own power. Onsen in the mountains, picturesque beaches, fireworks reflected in massive lakes, shrines and festivals and a hundred other memories she lost because they were spent with him.
About that wildflower field outside of Tokyo. How meticulously he planned that trip the first time he took her, and how they kept returning over the years. The flowers she picked everywhere they went, even if she wasn't supposed to, and pressed into a book he wishes he'd kept.
About a wedding that never happened. The botanical garden they were going to use as a venue. How nervous he was to finally meet her parents and ensure they approved of him. How she told him again and again that he had nothing to worry about. Her gloved hands cupping his face as snow fell outside their little home in the countryside. They talked about how they would one day inherit it, and their children would have children and bring them there too. They would have had the most joyful life together, he's sure of it.
About the promise that he made on the final day they both knew one another. The world that he would save so that no one would ever have to suffer the way that she did. In some reality, he did. He hopes it was worth it. He hopes she was happy, forever.
About every last little thing he can think of, the light shifting in through the slatted windows of the windmill until the sun begins to go down. He keeps talking. Night falls, and the cold creeps in. He keeps talking. His head aches, and Eren rubs his temples, and he keeps talking. Enough to make her real. Enough to carry her in his heart into every reality. Enough to never forget. ]