( He remembers, still, the orphanage; the children were younger than him, besides Yuu - he remembers the sound of their feet on the floorboards, the sound of their laughter; they found things to smile about, even with the world long ended, even beneath the broken roof of their ruined pen of a house.
And when he puts faces to their laughter, he sees blood spill from their little bodies, their lips; he sees blood on his hands, tastes blood in his mouth - even though he didn't kill them like that (or— did he?), even though he didn't do it directly (no, but didn't he? he remembers—), he might as well have (he must have), he thinks (and he can be sure). Because when he thinks back on Yamato, and Ginger, and Shinjiro, and Tatara - he remembers their taste - the sweet scent of blood - and he remembers, worst of all, Yamato's smiling face. Remembers it in the courtyard, remembers it in the common room after he'd been brought back up, drained, but acting fine.
And from these same lips that had smiled at him and and about him and had worried for him he hears that they worry for him, that he has a place here, and he can't help but wonder if that has to be false, too. How could he have worried more for Mika then, in a moment on the cusp of death? How can he welcome him now, and try to comfort him, when it would be within his rights to strike him, berate him, cast him away?
(But he recalls - that even Solomon had asked if that would be enough; could his guilt be sated, was its appetite for harm as depthless as his need for blood— more?)
(And Mika hesitates, because he knows, he thinks, that it is.)
And all this is to say is that his eyes are wet, and he rubs at the corner of them, but not at them, because tears don't fall or even really form, and he seems a lot like an animal that's been struck and doesn't know what to do with the hand extended palm-up toward him.
He struggles to find an argument that doesn't die in the slight parting of his lips. )
... It's really hard.
( Being alive. All of this. Living and hurting people; wanting to protect, and failing - by your own hand, over and over. But - no. Maybe that's not what he means - any of it. Those are all a pall he's learned how to carry, that he could trudge with his weight sinking into the earth until he's let rest, again.
The hardest thing, maybe, is accepting forgiveness.
He swallows with his gaze cast down, a lump in his throat, seeming a lot more like a kid than he's seemed this whole time. )
... I'm... sorry. I'm really sorry. I'm sorry for... everything - from then, until now... even this. Sorry.
[ Insatiable guilt is understandable, perhaps not acceptable but Yamato would be sympathetic all the same, if he knew. The guilt he's carried with him for a while has festered into something ugly. It's rooted in his heart, made from seeds of hatred and misery, and he doesn't know what he can do to dig it out and throw it in a place he doesn't have to see anymore. He thought that if he kept running, maybe he wouldn't remember it – or maybe he thought that he'd be able to make it a well-kept secret, instead.
That is not the case. Not even for people here like Mika, who have called him out on his willingness to get hurt for other people's sakes.
Forgiveness, he thinks, is something he doesn't deserve, either, and perhaps something he won't get from the people who matter most to him. That's okay, though. It just means he can see Mika through his tears a little more than usual.
Yamato gently ruffles Mika's hair, and gives him a quiet, thoughtful smile. ]
It's okay. I know it's hard.
[ He's being gentle. It's hard to scold someone who's clearly remorseful and wrestling with themself as much as Mika is. ]
I'm glad, you know, that you showed up here. You were brave for doing that. Braver than I am.
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And when he puts faces to their laughter, he sees blood spill from their little bodies, their lips; he sees blood on his hands, tastes blood in his mouth - even though he didn't kill them like that (or— did he?), even though he didn't do it directly (no, but didn't he? he remembers—), he might as well have (he must have), he thinks (and he can be sure). Because when he thinks back on Yamato, and Ginger, and Shinjiro, and Tatara - he remembers their taste - the sweet scent of blood - and he remembers, worst of all, Yamato's smiling face. Remembers it in the courtyard, remembers it in the common room after he'd been brought back up, drained, but acting fine.
And from these same lips that had smiled at him and and about him and had worried for him he hears that they worry for him, that he has a place here, and he can't help but wonder if that has to be false, too. How could he have worried more for Mika then, in a moment on the cusp of death? How can he welcome him now, and try to comfort him, when it would be within his rights to strike him, berate him, cast him away?
(But he recalls - that even Solomon had asked if that would be enough; could his guilt be sated, was its appetite for harm as depthless as his need for blood— more?)
(And Mika hesitates, because he knows, he thinks, that it is.)
And all this is to say is that his eyes are wet, and he rubs at the corner of them, but not at them, because tears don't fall or even really form, and he seems a lot like an animal that's been struck and doesn't know what to do with the hand extended palm-up toward him.
He struggles to find an argument that doesn't die in the slight parting of his lips. )
... It's really hard.
( Being alive. All of this. Living and hurting people; wanting to protect, and failing - by your own hand, over and over. But - no. Maybe that's not what he means - any of it. Those are all a pall he's learned how to carry, that he could trudge with his weight sinking into the earth until he's let rest, again.
The hardest thing, maybe, is accepting forgiveness.
He swallows with his gaze cast down, a lump in his throat, seeming a lot more like a kid than he's seemed this whole time. )
... I'm... sorry. I'm really sorry. I'm sorry for... everything - from then, until now... even this. Sorry.
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That is not the case. Not even for people here like Mika, who have called him out on his willingness to get hurt for other people's sakes.
Forgiveness, he thinks, is something he doesn't deserve, either, and perhaps something he won't get from the people who matter most to him. That's okay, though. It just means he can see Mika through his tears a little more than usual.
Yamato gently ruffles Mika's hair, and gives him a quiet, thoughtful smile. ]
It's okay. I know it's hard.
[ He's being gentle. It's hard to scold someone who's clearly remorseful and wrestling with themself as much as Mika is. ]
I'm glad, you know, that you showed up here. You were brave for doing that. Braver than I am.