"Until I find one of the dolls... or before it starts to get dark," is his response at first, his fingers flexing a little in their hold with Homare's hand, keeping the sensation from going numb. Maybe he's even memorizing the feel of it for later, for strength, when he has to venture out alone come the daytime.
Truth be told, it's not an answer he likes giving. He doesn't want to leave Homare here alone, out of sight. He wishes he could stay, he wishes Mordin would come back and stay, he wishes they had other options than this but they don't, or at least not any better ones.
Besides.... "We have walkie-talkies. We'll still be in touch, when I can be."
Homare stiffens in the hold at the reply, gripping Naoshi back even tighter as if somehow he can lend a bit of his strength…or at least keep him here a little longer than they have to. Worse than being in the line of danger is knowing that someone you really care for is, or will be, and there’s nothing he can do about that.
He can only hope that he’ll hold back when the time comes for Naoshi to do what he has to.
I can’t save you like this, he thinks, a little petulantly. Not when everyone else is probably occupied by their own “games” lately, and besides, Homare can’t even help anyone as long as he’s stuck here. As long as his legs remain the way they are.
Then again, it’s his fault for staying behind at the dojo instead of moving into the hospital or somewhere, but instead he finds it in himself to reply, “Just come back,” he pleads, staring at the floor and wondering if the children are listening.
"I promise I will." Without hesitation, he says it. 'Don't make promises you can't keep' and on this island that's a big one, but he can't say anything else.
He grips Homare's hand even more tightly and looks away from the empty darkness around them to the boy's face instead, even if Homare isn't looking at him. For a moment, Naoshi's memories are strange and disjointed. A birthday party, being home again, and then washing up once more in cold, death-tasting water.
It’s a hard promise to make and even Homare knows it, but it does make him look up and with a little something hopeful on his face besides, before he sighs again and wishes that he can just scoot a little closer, maybe. For warmth, that is.
“You’ll need to get some sleep, then,” he finally replies, though given their situation he already knows he won’t sleep a wink tonight.
He supposes he should, too. It's the middle of the night... daybreak is only a handful of hours away. He can't go running around avoiding invisible demon children if he's not rested....
Oh the things this island does to them. He shudders, letting go of Homare's hand in order to pull his blanket tighter around himself, bundling up against the attic's chill. He considers the rough wooden floor of the attic and sighs, bundling his blanket up even higher until it forms a kind of hood over his head before shuffling a little distance away, leaning over and lying down in his improvised swaddling. Cold, dark, uncomfortable... but he needs to rest.
And Homare figures he might as well enjoy this while he can—the crippling loneliness he’ll feel later on isn’t really something he’s looking forward to. The island’s a lot more bearable when he has someone around—Naoshi, at the very least—even if his presence has already been more comforting than what a teacher would’ve provided…
Only a teacher, and yet Haruki-sensei’s already gone above and beyond… Homare shakes his head to clear himself of these thoughts for the time being, sinking back into his chair and wondering if he might be able scoot a little closer to him, but…it’s a little difficult, he supposes. They’re supposed to make as little noise as possible, and even with his wheelchair folded up to one side he can’t exactly crawl across the attic floor to meet him.
So he lies back down instead, lying a little on his side—if only to keep Naoshi within view—as he tries to ignore how icy his legs feel even under the weight of his bandages and his blanket and closes his eyes. He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night, of course, not with the haunting laughter of children close by.
Somehow... Naoshi manages to fall asleep. Not immediately, not with the distant sounds of children laughing and knowing there is malicious intent behind it no matter how light and innocent it sounds... but eventually. It is very late and he is tired after all the preparations of moving Homare and his chair and their allotment of supplies from the hospital to here, and then of sitting up until midnight to witness the beginning of the game.
But he sleeps in time... if not for terribly long.
Dawn approaches and there's little in the way of warmth or light to come through the slats in the gables, nor is it any kind of alarm clock that brings Naoshi to the shallower realms of sleep. No, it's one of those old 'friends' of his, those nightmares that plague him with noteworthy regularity after all the time they've been on the island and suffered all that it has put them through.
And if Homare's been awake all night, why, he may even be alert to those dreaming little twitches, the bits of mumbled protest that begin to take the place of his deep-sleeping snores... the signs that his subconscious (or perhaps some dreamworld entity) is gathering steam enough to afflict him again.
It’s both a comfort and a torment—Homare wants to reach out and shake him awake somehow, but he figures Naoshi won’t go back to sleep if he tries. Better to suffer a little while longer for his own good, then. And at least the noises he makes mean that he’s still…alive.
And maybe he needs that—the reassurance that Naoshi’s really come back despite everything that’s happened. He’s not fully aware of what’s a ruse and what isn’t, after all, and he’s not party to the suicide forest’s motivations, nor that of the island itself. But even in the wee hours before Naoshi’s stirrings have gotten a bit more pronounced Homare’s already managed to dig through their food supply for a few packets of stale biscuits. His appetite has mostly left him since his re-entry into the island, but the lack of sleep has been taking its toll on him already, and he knows he needs the energy, however little, to at least operate the walkie-talkie.
“Good morning,” he mumbles without cheer, already handing an opened packet to Naoshi.
It would have been kinder to wake him. It begins with those twitches and gathers steam from there, so when Naoshi awakes it's with a sudden cry and great jolt of fright, briefly flailing under the blanket that for a moment he believes is smothering and confining him.
It's an exhausting burst of adrenaline, over with quickly leaving the little man panting and wide-eyed and utterly bewildered by the strange surroundings. His fresh-woken mind can't yet piece it all together, and he stares with an utter lack of recognition at the offered biscuits.
It hurts to see him like this, hurts to remember that not long before he’s only just seen Naoshi at his office, introducing him to their newest team member. Even worse is how Naoshi’s smiles are getting less familiar lately, with how much more frequently the island’s been bombarding them with its terrible games.
“Sensei,” he whispers, careful not to startle him, arm still outstretched and still proffering the biscuits.
As always, that voice is his anchor in the darkness. His eyes jump up, from the packet to Homare's face, at which he stares until the world starts to make sense again. The way his thoughts shift is almost visible on his face, the change in the way his eyes stop straining so hard to see and the frightened lines of tension ease (though they do not vanish) from his brow.
That's right... the attic. He looks around and the dim-lit emptiness of the space around them is once again understood. The attic. They're hiding. The children....
He looks up at the gables and sees the light of dawn. Relief exists briefly, that they made it through the night undisturbed, before his stomach turns with the knowledge that now he'll have to venture out, to where it is not safe, in order to save them both.
He will not hesitate, but he's still afraid.
Naoshi gathers himself, clumsily sitting upright again, and finally is able to take the packet. Biscuits? Biscuits. Breakfast. He can't cook anything until the game is over....
He puts one of the tasteless wafers into his mouth, looking up at Homare as he chews. You know the little man isn't quite himself when he actually swallows before he speaks. "Thanks...."
Homare really has no right to complain in the end—especially not considering that Naoshi has the harder job of the two. All he can do is wait and hope for him to be here, and bide his time until he can walk again, though nothing’s ever quite tested his patience as much as his own legs lately.
But now’s not the time for self-pity, either.
“You’re welcome,” he replies tonelessly, looking away from Naoshi lest the little man see just how drawn and haggard his face looks right now. He can’t afford to look weak right now, especially when he’s in such a painfully vulnerable position to begin with.
Who needs to see it? He hears it in Homare's voice, the voice he's come to know almost as well as his own in the year they've been trapped on this island. Naoshi's stomach flipflops unsteadily and swallowing that biscuit is suddenly a chore. He goes for one of their bottled waters to wash it down and forces himself through the rest of the packet, too. It tastes like dust but he needs some fuel in his belly.
Then all there is for him to do is go out on his search. He has to find those dolls. He has his softest shoes and a walkie-talkie clipped to his waistband and with luck....
...He'd rather be serenading the mermaids again. At least then he had the entire town at his back to support him. But here, once again... he's braving the danger for his best friend's sake before any other's.
He opens the attic trap door and ends up doing without the ladder entirely. Naoshi slings his lower body over the edge and hangs from it by arm strength alone, dropping only when he's stretched out as far as he can go to minimize the distance he has to fall (and thus the noise to be made by the impact as well). Mercifully, nothing responds to the soft 'thud' of his landing and now the attic is well out of his reach unless Homare helps him.
As long as the children are truly children, the attic is just as out of their reach as his. Homare will be safe. Has to be safe.
His heart wrenches like he's leaving a piece of it behind but off Naoshi slips, through the house and out into town. He doesn't know where he's going to look, but he has to start somewhere. Homare's depending on him as always.
Now alone, Homare waits, still gripping at his walkie-talkie and fighting the urge to contact Naoshi right away, tell him this is a bad idea. Maybe ask one of the others to help them—it’s just not possible for them to do this alone. For him to do this alone.
But there’s none to hear his worries but the stillness of the attic, and somehow it’s even more unnerving that way. Yet as usual, there’s nothing to be done about it, and they barely even had time to borrow a few books from the decrepit library to tide Homare over. Not that he can relax, anyway, but at least something else can occupy his mind for a little while.
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♌ - In the Attic, Cont.
"Until I find one of the dolls... or before it starts to get dark," is his response at first, his fingers flexing a little in their hold with Homare's hand, keeping the sensation from going numb. Maybe he's even memorizing the feel of it for later, for strength, when he has to venture out alone come the daytime.
Truth be told, it's not an answer he likes giving. He doesn't want to leave Homare here alone, out of sight. He wishes he could stay, he wishes Mordin would come back and stay, he wishes they had other options than this but they don't, or at least not any better ones.
Besides.... "We have walkie-talkies. We'll still be in touch, when I can be."
no subject
He can only hope that he’ll hold back when the time comes for Naoshi to do what he has to.
I can’t save you like this, he thinks, a little petulantly. Not when everyone else is probably occupied by their own “games” lately, and besides, Homare can’t even help anyone as long as he’s stuck here. As long as his legs remain the way they are.
Then again, it’s his fault for staying behind at the dojo instead of moving into the hospital or somewhere, but instead he finds it in himself to reply, “Just come back,” he pleads, staring at the floor and wondering if the children are listening.
no subject
He grips Homare's hand even more tightly and looks away from the empty darkness around them to the boy's face instead, even if Homare isn't looking at him. For a moment, Naoshi's memories are strange and disjointed. A birthday party, being home again, and then washing up once more in cold, death-tasting water.
"I'll always come back to you."
no subject
“You’ll need to get some sleep, then,” he finally replies, though given their situation he already knows he won’t sleep a wink tonight.
no subject
Oh the things this island does to them. He shudders, letting go of Homare's hand in order to pull his blanket tighter around himself, bundling up against the attic's chill. He considers the rough wooden floor of the attic and sighs, bundling his blanket up even higher until it forms a kind of hood over his head before shuffling a little distance away, leaning over and lying down in his improvised swaddling. Cold, dark, uncomfortable... but he needs to rest.
"I'll try."
no subject
Only a teacher, and yet Haruki-sensei’s already gone above and beyond… Homare shakes his head to clear himself of these thoughts for the time being, sinking back into his chair and wondering if he might be able scoot a little closer to him, but…it’s a little difficult, he supposes. They’re supposed to make as little noise as possible, and even with his wheelchair folded up to one side he can’t exactly crawl across the attic floor to meet him.
So he lies back down instead, lying a little on his side—if only to keep Naoshi within view—as he tries to ignore how icy his legs feel even under the weight of his bandages and his blanket and closes his eyes. He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night, of course, not with the haunting laughter of children close by.
no subject
But he sleeps in time... if not for terribly long.
Dawn approaches and there's little in the way of warmth or light to come through the slats in the gables, nor is it any kind of alarm clock that brings Naoshi to the shallower realms of sleep. No, it's one of those old 'friends' of his, those nightmares that plague him with noteworthy regularity after all the time they've been on the island and suffered all that it has put them through.
And if Homare's been awake all night, why, he may even be alert to those dreaming little twitches, the bits of mumbled protest that begin to take the place of his deep-sleeping snores... the signs that his subconscious (or perhaps some dreamworld entity) is gathering steam enough to afflict him again.
no subject
And maybe he needs that—the reassurance that Naoshi’s really come back despite everything that’s happened. He’s not fully aware of what’s a ruse and what isn’t, after all, and he’s not party to the suicide forest’s motivations, nor that of the island itself. But even in the wee hours before Naoshi’s stirrings have gotten a bit more pronounced Homare’s already managed to dig through their food supply for a few packets of stale biscuits. His appetite has mostly left him since his re-entry into the island, but the lack of sleep has been taking its toll on him already, and he knows he needs the energy, however little, to at least operate the walkie-talkie.
“Good morning,” he mumbles without cheer, already handing an opened packet to Naoshi.
no subject
It's an exhausting burst of adrenaline, over with quickly leaving the little man panting and wide-eyed and utterly bewildered by the strange surroundings. His fresh-woken mind can't yet piece it all together, and he stares with an utter lack of recognition at the offered biscuits.
no subject
“Sensei,” he whispers, careful not to startle him, arm still outstretched and still proffering the biscuits.
no subject
That's right... the attic. He looks around and the dim-lit emptiness of the space around them is once again understood. The attic. They're hiding. The children....
He looks up at the gables and sees the light of dawn. Relief exists briefly, that they made it through the night undisturbed, before his stomach turns with the knowledge that now he'll have to venture out, to where it is not safe, in order to save them both.
He will not hesitate, but he's still afraid.
Naoshi gathers himself, clumsily sitting upright again, and finally is able to take the packet. Biscuits? Biscuits. Breakfast. He can't cook anything until the game is over....
He puts one of the tasteless wafers into his mouth, looking up at Homare as he chews. You know the little man isn't quite himself when he actually swallows before he speaks. "Thanks...."
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But now’s not the time for self-pity, either.
“You’re welcome,” he replies tonelessly, looking away from Naoshi lest the little man see just how drawn and haggard his face looks right now. He can’t afford to look weak right now, especially when he’s in such a painfully vulnerable position to begin with.
"And good luck."
no subject
Then all there is for him to do is go out on his search. He has to find those dolls. He has his softest shoes and a walkie-talkie clipped to his waistband and with luck....
...He'd rather be serenading the mermaids again. At least then he had the entire town at his back to support him. But here, once again... he's braving the danger for his best friend's sake before any other's.
He opens the attic trap door and ends up doing without the ladder entirely. Naoshi slings his lower body over the edge and hangs from it by arm strength alone, dropping only when he's stretched out as far as he can go to minimize the distance he has to fall (and thus the noise to be made by the impact as well). Mercifully, nothing responds to the soft 'thud' of his landing and now the attic is well out of his reach unless Homare helps him.
As long as the children are truly children, the attic is just as out of their reach as his. Homare will be safe. Has to be safe.
His heart wrenches like he's leaving a piece of it behind but off Naoshi slips, through the house and out into town. He doesn't know where he's going to look, but he has to start somewhere. Homare's depending on him as always.
no subject
But there’s none to hear his worries but the stillness of the attic, and somehow it’s even more unnerving that way. Yet as usual, there’s nothing to be done about it, and they barely even had time to borrow a few books from the decrepit library to tide Homare over. Not that he can relax, anyway, but at least something else can occupy his mind for a little while.