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Michio doesn't seek him out, he waits-- waits a little longer, because maybe it's not what he think it is, maybe it's one of those sick hopes your mind crafts after you lose someone. It's not though, and the sensation starts to cover his skin and he feels like he's burning, skin itching and body restless, and he paces, paces and he drowns himself in euphoric basses, but it doesn't stop. It doesn't stop, and after about a week of feeling his spiritual pressure roam, and feeling it burn with Mei's, he gives up.

He'd felt it with Hisoka, first, and it'd been such a raging fury that it made his fingers coil over and over, and then it's with Mei-- soft, gentle, and it's enough to soothe even Michio for the night. Then it came to Akari, and it was... it was hard to describe, and t finally comes to him that, yeah, yeah he's here. He's here and he's slive-- and Michio's happy, relieved, even, but then he starts to pine because why hasn't the other come to Michio. It spirals into that crafted pit of fury and pain that he's kept under all this time, and he curls his fingers into his hair and nails scrap against his skin when he feels that soft comforting air from Mei and him.

Michio waits, paying attention to it for several long hours, 'til the sky overhead is heavy with deep blues and black, thick gray clouds spilling over the horizon. He wagers with himelf for a moment, considering, debating, 'til he crafts the excuse that it's for Mei, Mei, Mei. He hasn't seen her in a while, so it makes sense, right? It's been a week or two since they'd shared a bento or went to the bakery and stuffed their arms with bags. Yeah, he tells himself, Yeah, I'll go see Mei.

He doesn't count the steps to her house, he doesn't, even if he knows the number by now and he could walk the route with his eyes closed (but he's counting the steps anyway, counting the steps until he can look into his eyes again). It doesn't feel like his chest is caving in on itself, doesn't feel like chains are constricting around his heart and binding into the flesh, until it's drug down into nothingness. It also doesn't feel like he's struggling to breath against the pressure weighing down on his shoulders, it doesn't, and his body doesn't feel like it aches as he gets closer, until he feels like maybe he'll burn down to the ground right now.

Part of him wishes he would. Part of him wishes he had already.

Michio isn't sure what to feel-- there's so many thing swirling in his mind and in his chest, that it's almost like he's numb (or maybe, it's been like that for so long now, he's gone numb). There's a certain fluttering of happiness, but it's been drowned out by the ocean of pain and hurt, that he can hardly tell he is happy to know he's here. Underneath it all, he is, he really is, but there's so much-- so much he doesn't understand, so much he doesn't know. It's a series of why's that plague his mind because-- why-- why did he go, why did he go and no one say anything, why did he go without telling Michio at the least (he had a right to know that at least, right?), and now that he's bac, why didn't he come see Michio first? He's almost reached a point that he doesn't know if it's worth it, if Michio's worth it, or these reoccuring disappointments and pains are.

He doesn't know.

And he still doesn't know when his boots can be heard on the steps, the chain against his waist rattling and rough palms reaching out to knock on the door.

#xskate #xskate: reunion

-- Approximately a week. That's how long it's been. That's how long it's been since he felt his presence for the first time in a year.

Part of him wishes he would. Part of him wishes he had already.

He doesn't know.

And he still doesn't know when his boots can be heard on the steps, the chain against his waist rattling and rough palms reaching out to knock on the door.

#xskate #xskate: reunion

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