[ ...yeah. Sha-Ming's always been bad at the "normal" thing, whereas Minato's emptiness allowed others to fill in the gaps with their own ideas, enough to make them forget that Minato's a little odd too.
He doesn't mind being tugged along by others. In fact, isn't that what Sha-Ming's doing right now by suggesting how he should be living his life? Minato doesn't mind though. He's never minded.
He shrugs yet again, this time with both shoulders. ]
It takes people years to figure that out.
[ "What makes you happy?" is a bit of a hard-hitting question to ask a seventeen-year-old. But because it's Sha-Ming who's asking, Minato goes quiet as he tries to grapple with an answer. The only sign that he's actually thinking about it is the small frown on his face.
Eventually, he cobbles together a response: ]
...I'm happy if you're happy, Sha-Ming.
[ Deep down, Minato knows it's likely not the answer Sha-Ming's hoping for. But it's true, and Minato only ever says things that he really means. ]
[ this is one of those instances where the lull of silence overtakes him, eyes still as they observe, expression freezing over into something waxen and ambivalent. ]
I know. [ he remarks, not bitingly, but with a kind of coldness that came naturally to him. ] Some never do at all.
[ the answer he gets -- it's not one that he wants. it's never been one that he's wanted. it's a knife to the gut, twisting, pulsating with his own failure. if he were a better brother, minato would know how to live for himself. if he were a better brother, minato would know how to leave him behind.
sha-ming turns away. ]
Point in case, kid. [ he walks past him. ] You're made to do more than that. Don't be stupid.
[ That icy expression tells Minato that Sha-Ming might not have figured out what makes him happy yet either. But instead of offering him more of an opportunity to study his face, his brother's turned away and walks right past him. ]
...you think so?
[ Distantly, he thinks he might recall a conversation in the same light. "You should think for yourself," is what he thinks he remembers. It's contradictory though, isn't it? Advising someone to stand on their own two feet, despite good intentions, still requires the recipient to do what's asked of them.
Minato trails behind Sha-Ming. He'd kept himself busy as a child trying to tread on Sha-Ming's shadow while following him around. His strides had been too short to keep up. Now, he finds himself stepping in the silhouette without even trying.
If everyone here loves him, it must mean Sha-Ming does too. ]
Maybe I don't want more than that.
[ He doesn't need anything grand. It's enough to be with the people who love him, isn't it? ]
[ of course he does. he loves him the most -- that's why he acts so coldly, so callously. he can't stand it, the way minato lets anyone and everyone do as they please, they way he acts more like a marionette on a string than he does a person.
the trees rustle against the gentle breeze; the weather here is never so violent, and something about that is horribly unnatural. it's devoid of danger, something it shouldn't be. to be volatile and unpredictable was simply the way of the world.
they draw closer towards the bend their house sits on. it's an old thing, the only memento of their parents that remains. ]
...Can't tell ya what you shouldn't or should do. [ he shrugs. ] Kinda defeats the point, don't it? But...
[ he turns around, hands in his pockets. ]
...Never mind. Congrats on making it to the end of the school year, kid. You did good. Better than I did, that's for sure.
[ Minato knows this path like the back of his hand. In just a few more minutes of walking, the little house they share will come into view.
Others might try to deny Sha-Ming's compliments, to insist that it's not true -- that Sha-Ming turned out fine, all things considered. But Sha-Ming likely doesn't want empty words. At the very least, Minato doesn't think Sha-Ming wants them from him.
He's ready to shrug instead, to offer his brother a reflexive thanks. Instead, Minato goes silent and stops in his tracks, a distant look flitting across his irises as his expression turns genuinely confused. The end of the school year? ]
...I made it?
[ He sees something: shades of pink, softly drifting onto the ground, cherry blossoms in full bloom. But no, that can't be right. The flowers' full bloom should still be a few weeks away.
Something sharp explodes in Minato's right temple, his hand reaching up to press an index and middle finger against it. He shuts his eyes tight. The late afternoon sunlight is suddenly far too intense, exacerbating the migraine taking shape in his skull.
But instead of announcing how much it hurts, he mumbles: ]
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expiationlogs2024-03-09 08:37 am
no subject
He doesn't mind being tugged along by others. In fact, isn't that what Sha-Ming's doing right now by suggesting how he should be living his life? Minato doesn't mind though. He's never minded.
He shrugs yet again, this time with both shoulders. ]
It takes people years to figure that out.
[ "What makes you happy?" is a bit of a hard-hitting question to ask a seventeen-year-old. But because it's Sha-Ming who's asking, Minato goes quiet as he tries to grapple with an answer. The only sign that he's actually thinking about it is the small frown on his face.
Eventually, he cobbles together a response: ]
...I'm happy if you're happy, Sha-Ming.
[ Deep down, Minato knows it's likely not the answer Sha-Ming's hoping for. But it's true, and Minato only ever says things that he really means. ]
no subject
I know. [ he remarks, not bitingly, but with a kind of coldness that came naturally to him. ] Some never do at all.
[ the answer he gets -- it's not one that he wants. it's never been one that he's wanted. it's a knife to the gut, twisting, pulsating with his own failure. if he were a better brother, minato would know how to live for himself. if he were a better brother, minato would know how to leave him behind.
sha-ming turns away. ]
Point in case, kid. [ he walks past him. ] You're made to do more than that. Don't be stupid.
Everyone here loves you for a reason.
no subject
...you think so?
[ Distantly, he thinks he might recall a conversation in the same light. "You should think for yourself," is what he thinks he remembers. It's contradictory though, isn't it? Advising someone to stand on their own two feet, despite good intentions, still requires the recipient to do what's asked of them.
Minato trails behind Sha-Ming. He'd kept himself busy as a child trying to tread on Sha-Ming's shadow while following him around. His strides had been too short to keep up. Now, he finds himself stepping in the silhouette without even trying.
If everyone here loves him, it must mean Sha-Ming does too. ]
Maybe I don't want more than that.
[ He doesn't need anything grand. It's enough to be with the people who love him, isn't it? ]
it's been 87 years
the trees rustle against the gentle breeze; the weather here is never so violent, and something about that is horribly unnatural. it's devoid of danger, something it shouldn't be. to be volatile and unpredictable was simply the way of the world.
they draw closer towards the bend their house sits on. it's an old thing, the only memento of their parents that remains. ]
...Can't tell ya what you shouldn't or should do. [ he shrugs. ] Kinda defeats the point, don't it? But...
[ he turns around, hands in his pockets. ]
...Never mind. Congrats on making it to the end of the school year, kid. You did good. Better than I did, that's for sure.
and i will wait 87 more if that's what it takes
Others might try to deny Sha-Ming's compliments, to insist that it's not true -- that Sha-Ming turned out fine, all things considered. But Sha-Ming likely doesn't want empty words. At the very least, Minato doesn't think Sha-Ming wants them from him.
He's ready to shrug instead, to offer his brother a reflexive thanks. Instead, Minato goes silent and stops in his tracks, a distant look flitting across his irises as his expression turns genuinely confused. The end of the school year? ]
...I made it?
[ He sees something: shades of pink, softly drifting onto the ground, cherry blossoms in full bloom. But no, that can't be right. The flowers' full bloom should still be a few weeks away.
Something sharp explodes in Minato's right temple, his hand reaching up to press an index and middle finger against it. He shuts his eyes tight. The late afternoon sunlight is suddenly far too intense, exacerbating the migraine taking shape in his skull.
But instead of announcing how much it hurts, he mumbles: ]
...Sha-Ming, I'm tired.