You would if you were tired enough. You would if you were hungry enough. You would if your mind and body had been worn down enough, through pain or disease or toil or violent struggle. You might if you were put on the wrong medicine, or you got the wrong kind of head injury, or you were forced to choose between someone else and yourself. You might if your livelihood was staked on it, or all your hopes and dreams. You might if you didn't know what else to do, if it's what you were taught or if nobody taught you anything else.
I have not been worn down in most of these ways. I have lived a remarkably privileged life. But I have been worn down in some ways. And they were enough to teach me that in the wrong circumstances, any of us can become someone we don't want to be. It's worth keeping that in mind.
I imagine there are many people like me who fear going into dark areas, including basements or simply normal areas of your residence late at night because of a thought that persists in your mind which may be verbalized as the following: “this bears similarity to the start of a horror movie scenario.” And I must remind you of how foolish you sound! You make it sound like you have very limited knowledge of the scope of horror as a genre. Every conceivable facet of your life could serve as a horror movie scenario. that’s why I taught myself to be scared all the time
I wrote this. I'm ridiculous.... Fourze OU veilcrew AU. Warning for crys.
Literature is one of Kyouichi Saionji’s best subjects at school, but his interest in English literature is limited, at best. Through most of their unit on Hamlet, he’s been zoning out, looking through the window and reflecting on how much his life has changed in the last few months.
His middle school best friend and him had gone to different high schools, and in his opinion, it was good riddance. “Best” friend Touga Kiryuu had made him lose faith in friendship altogether, and when a kendo tournament brought them together, his rage and frustration had lured a mysterious scorpion monster to him, to offer him a switch that could make him powerful.
He had flipped it without any hesitation, and though it cost him a lot, it also formed the strongest bond of friendship he’s ever encountered. The man who saved him, Gentaro Kisaragi, was as stubborn and intense as he was, but as an overwhelmingly positive force. After his rampage through school, he would never have expected to be allowed back in, but Gentaro had vouched for him.
When he got out of the hospital for the side-effects of the switch, he was invited to be a part of Gentaro’s Kamen Rider Club, and though he demurred and hemmed and hawed for quite a while, though he had some trouble getting along with Gentaro’s other friends, (Most of them, anyway) after his expulsion from the kendo club, he had nowhere else to go.
That was fine. He wasn’t sure how he could face the people who fought against him when he was a monster, but they were welcoming enough. And his experience helped. He was sometimes tempted by rage, but somehow Gentaro always knew what to say.
Until now. Nothing Gentaro had said about forgiveness and friendship and the inherent goodness of his friends had gotten through to Saionji when it came to Gentaro’s own death. He could not forgive Ryusei. Touko and Ishimaru seemed to agree, though they tried to keep it quiet. Saionji himself had no such compunctions. Ryusei’s presence on their school trip was a burr in his side, and he made sure that it was obvious.
In fact, a few weeks earlier, he had challenged Ryusei to a secret duel, and much to his shame, (now, anyway) he had cheated. Well, rationally, his skill was in swordfighting, which meant that without a sword, he was at a disadvantage against martial artist Ryusei. So he brought a wooden sword. He won, in the sense that he felt somewhat mollified, though in truth both of them lost when the rest of the club confronted them. Both of them bloody and bruised, and Gentaro had cried. That, more than anything, was enough for Saionji to dial back his anger over what Ryusei did.
He’s still upset, even now. His feelings remain confused, a mix of anger and frustration that he can’t pick apart. But his reverie is suddenly cut short by his teacher. “Saionji, read for Horatio.”
“Yes,” he says, picking up his book, standing, and hoping that Horatio’s line isn’t first.
It isn’t. It’s Hamlet’s line first, and he’s surprised to hear Gentaro’s voice. “But let it be. Horatio, I am dead; Thou livest; report me and my cause aright to the unsatisfied.” Gentaro is not a very good actor, but at the very least, he’s enthused. He shoots the lines over with an audacious grin.
Oh no. The death scene. And he’s reading Hamlet’s best friend. “Uh… Uh… Never believe it: I am more an antique Roman than a Dane: Here's yet some liquor left.” His voice is a little more emotive. He has read the play, which is why he wasn’t listening to the live reading. So he knows that Horatio is pleading with Hamlet to let him die, too, instead of having to tell his best friend’s death story to everyone who comes after.
Gentaro’s voice as he hams his way through Hamlet’s next line is inaudible over Saionji’s thoughts. He understood Horatio. He’d understood when he first read it, thinking of the moment when he realized Gentaro was actually dead. Death was not fixable, and loss was something he never could deal with. He went through the first four stages of grief very quickly, and settled for a long stay in depression. Being captured by a Zodiart didn’t make much of a mark on him, he had already given up completely. Horatio’s reaction makes perfect sense to him.
Gentaro seems to have noticed that something’s wrong with Saionji, while someone else reads their line. He frowns at Saionji, cocking his head like a confused dog. Saionji shakes his head. It’s nothing. Gentaro’s distracted enough that the class has to call his attention to the fact that it’s now his line.
“Oh, whoops! Ummm… Oh, right. O, I die, Horatio; The potent poison quite o'er-crows? my spirit… I cannot live to hear the news from England… Fortinbras has my dying voice; So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, Which have solicited. The rest is silence.” He does a ridiculous little bow and then fakes dying, and Yuuki claps enthusiastically. Kengo smirks and rolls his eyes.
Saionji’s line is next and he can’t… seem to get his voice up. There’s a lump in his throat. “N… Now cracks a no...ble heart.” He takes a deep breath, trying to get himself back together. The emotion is overwhelming, he feels his eyes begin to burn. “Good-- Good night, sweet prince…” The last bit of the line comes out in a strangled sob. “aand flights of angels sing thee to thy reeeest.” His voice pitches up and he keens, and the class looks on in confusion as tears start streaming down his face. Messy tears, not the kind of tears that just make you look more handsome.
Broken, cracking sobs come out of his mouth, despite his attempts to stifle them.
“Ah.. Ah… Uhhh…” Gentaro says, standing up. “Kyouichi, you’re having allergy problems again? Oh, gosh! Teach, can I take him to the nurse’s office to deal with that?”
It’s a flimsy excuse, but the teacher is too taken aback by this show of emotion from one of the most serious students in class that he just lets them go.
Saionji hasn’t stopped crying by the time they escape to the Rabbit Hutch. In fact, he seems to be crying even more. “Ah… Nh… Hh… S… It’s…”
Gentaro, concerned and maybe even distressed, puts a hand on his back. “This is… It’s about the Ryusei thing again, isn’t it?”
“No!” Saionji shouts. “No, it’s about… It’s about you dying! Don’t you understand?”
Gentaro looks him over, squeezing his shoulder. “Yeah… I kinda do.”
“I lost you! I lost you and I couldn’t do anything about it! If not for Kengo…” he gasps sharply, shuddering as he looks over at the hatch where the jury-rigged Medical Switch arm is.
Gentaro rubs his back, humming lightly, not sure what to say. Not sure what he even can say. It’s not like he’s OVER it. He’s still loath to think about the sensation of being dead, about seeing his parents.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry… I gave up. I just… gave up. If you hadn’t come back… I’d be dead, I know it.” Saionji leans hard against the table and burgermeal rolls up to look curiously at him.
Gentaro puts his arms around Saionji’s shoulders and leans on him, having a hard time keeping from crying himself, now. “Well, man… I did. I’m here now. I’m not goin’ anywhere. You can’t get rid of me.”
Saionji nods. “I know. But I’m still afraid.”
“That’s okay. But if somethin’ bad happens to me again, you gotta be strong. ‘Cos Touko needs you and so do Ishimaru, and Ran, and Kengo, and Yuuki, everybody, okay? You’re a part of my club, and my club’s a part of you.” He nods against Saionji’s back, still a little weirded out by how tall he is.
Saionji takes a deep breath in, and then lets it out. “Yeah. Okay… Yeah.”
By the time the rest of the class is over and the club files into the moon base, Saionji has calmed down. He and Gentaro are working on footwork for Gentaro’s sword modes.
Nobody who was in their class says anything about it, though Yuuki gives him a hug and a leftover meat bun from her lunch. He wonders if you need to traverse the stages of grief completely when the person you’re grieving is still alive. Either way, maybe he’s almost there.
Saionji if he were a bune, we were talking about bunes in chat and I remembered I didn't ever draw him as a bune???? (did i?) He's a bunime, so he's green.
During their current log, Gentaro and Saionji are questing on Saionji's planet. With his terrible birds. He would normally be much less happy about this, except that Gentaro is having fun and unknowingly using his Charge powers to help Saionji have fun too. Everyone is confused, everything is beautiful. (Saionji is not rly bothered about it, he doesn't really think a lot about why he feels ways.)
