(manjiro's entire core of identity comes from the person he is in tokyo, someone he was taught to be from a young age. a small manjiro used to sit on the back of shinichiro's bike, riding with the people who smashed the tokyo underground into shape, wide, starry-eyed, and he still remembers telling his older brother the most important words that he could muster at that age - an idealistic dream.
'i'm going to be bigger than you, bro.'
and so, that's who he is. a violent man, who sets wars, wages them, protects his people through kicks and punches and blood, and yet, at most times, he yearns to be a kid. the cross he feels both fits just right on his back, but it also drags him down, combined with all the other burdens he feels are only his own. here, in aldrip, he's both these people, and now, on his own, nobody at all. he'd never stop waving the tokyo manji flag - all their fights, burdens, lives were given to manjiro. he can't take that lightly, and that's where he believes true strength lies. he can take, and he can take, and take a little bit more...
but then, he falters. his mind detaches, and he can't control himself, a fog of darkness comes clouds his vision, his feet move on their own, and he doesn't hate it. he needs it. like this, he can't falter, can't disappoint, can't be stopped... and it's horrifying, as much as he craves it.
yet, everyone is too good. yu is too good.
perhaps it's better if takemichi isn't here. god knows manjiro's hurt him enough. perhaps, just perhaps, it's better if he never sees anyone from home again. the things manjiro'd do to keep people safe from himself are nearly unspeakable. he doesn't want to. but if anyone would ever just see, without him having to talk it out, beg--
he can hold on a little longer. sleep listening to the heartbeat of a loved one, trying to commit it to memory for a lullaby when he leaves.
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'i'm going to be bigger than you, bro.'
and so, that's who he is. a violent man, who sets wars, wages them, protects his people through kicks and punches and blood, and yet, at most times, he yearns to be a kid. the cross he feels both fits just right on his back, but it also drags him down, combined with all the other burdens he feels are only his own. here, in aldrip, he's both these people, and now, on his own, nobody at all. he'd never stop waving the tokyo manji flag - all their fights, burdens, lives were given to manjiro. he can't take that lightly, and that's where he believes true strength lies. he can take, and he can take, and take a little bit more...
but then, he falters. his mind detaches, and he can't control himself, a fog of darkness comes clouds his vision, his feet move on their own, and he doesn't hate it. he needs it. like this, he can't falter, can't disappoint, can't be stopped... and it's horrifying, as much as he craves it.
yet, everyone is too good. yu is too good.
perhaps it's better if takemichi isn't here. god knows manjiro's hurt him enough. perhaps, just perhaps, it's better if he never sees anyone from home again. the things manjiro'd do to keep people safe from himself are nearly unspeakable. he doesn't want to. but if anyone would ever just see, without him having to talk it out, beg--
he can hold on a little longer. sleep listening to the heartbeat of a loved one, trying to commit it to memory for a lullaby when he leaves.
just a little longer. he can do that.)
Let's go home, Yuchin.