i've been dealing with this my whole life.
crane misses home every day.
what may come as a surprise to most is that he does not truly miss the clinic itself all that much; most of his major work was not done on-site, the place was essentially a glorified negotiating table unless it was an emergency. it's lamentable that it was burned to the ground, of course, after all the investing and personalization he had put into it - but buildings burn down. it's simply what they do, sometimes. the same goes for his often neglected private home, which he saw even less of.
he would live anywhere, work anywhere, if it meant he could do it back in japan. the buildings did not matter. he would feel much differently if he had lived the way kazuhira miller had.
the otherness. not being able to go anywhere in his hometown, in the place he was born and raised, without being stared at like he doesn't belong. crane would find it insufferable. he himself is guilty of adding to that - the first day he'd ever learned that the name kazuhira went to that face, he'd made a backhanded comment about it.
it's a guilt that is settled firmly in his ribs in moments like this - the wind-down from another long day of labor, drinks on the table and the topic of home being tossed back and forth between them. crane has some kind of urge in his gut, a need to… to what? reassure him? apologize? he can't change anything that's happened, or anything that would continue to happen if kaz were ever to go back.
kaz probably never will. and crane won't either.
he swallows down the rest of his drink and sighs. “⠀sounds like a goddamn nightmare to me.⠀” he murmurs, his words a bit more loose when he's slightly drunk like this.
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