[He realizes this in a haze as Fugo leans back, pulling him along. They've never talked about this--not about what they've lost or how they managed to meet up again, then and here. There was a moment, that first day, when they glossed over it briefly. But it wasn't like this. Not like this, not in enough depth to cause pain to spark in his expression at the mention of Narancia's name. Your fault, your fault, something hisses in the back of his mind, and in truth he can't find a way to make that not seem true.]
[At least he's able to draw some comfort from the movement, the way that Fugo keeps him close and doesn't pull away, even when they're talking about horribly upsetting things. He follows Fugo back with perhaps too much alacrity, tightening his grip on Fugo's fingers and curling up against his chest like he wants to crawl inside it. He sort of does. It might be easier that way.]
[This isn't bad, though. Just difficult. Plenty of good things, valuable things, are difficult. So he breathes steadily, deliberately, closes his eyes for a moment, and opens them again to look at Fugo with a smile that's fragile, but very much real.]
You have most of it. I told you, you're very clever. There are two things you're missing, though. The one is that killing you was never anything but a last resort. I couldn't--
[His eyes dart sideways as he arches his shoulders a little against the movements of Fugo's hand. He wants to say don't stop doing that, but he's also pretty sure that if he gets off-topic he'll never get back on it. So he just bites his lip and presses on, thumb sliding against the side of Fugo's hand.]
It would be an insult to them to have you killed unless I absolutely had to. To all of them, but Bruno especially. And he--after all of that, after April, I knew I had to live to honor him, or what was it all for? So I never wanted to kill you.
And the other thing . . .
[Now he manages to look back at Fugo, not because it's easy but because it's necessary. He's visibly struggling, still smiling but struggling, but he's got to, because honesty is transmitted from eye to eye, and even if his truths aren't nice, they must be true.]
I hurt so much, Fugo. Then and now. I know, I know that when I went to get you in that restaurant I was still hurting. When I was planning all of this, I was hurting so much I thought I'd die. But I wasn't alone. You were. You were hurting as much as I was or more, you'd known them all so much longer, and you were all by yourself without your family. That wasn't right.
And after I found out--
[His breath hitches again; he pushes through, a stubborn line forming behind his brow. He feels a bit like he's begging Fugo to understand, but it's not shameful. It just is. It's honest.]
I do remember that. I did that, before I came here. I found clippings, and I knew--something about them, I just knew. I hadn't put it all together yet, but something about it wasn't right. You needed people who loved you. You needed us. We needed you. I couldn't have left you alone. I wanted you to be loved, I wanted you to be--close enough that we could love you. That was the right thing to do. And the thing that I wanted to do. You . . .
[He gives Fugo another smile, lopsided and wobbly this time.]
no subject
[He realizes this in a haze as Fugo leans back, pulling him along. They've never talked about this--not about what they've lost or how they managed to meet up again, then and here. There was a moment, that first day, when they glossed over it briefly. But it wasn't like this. Not like this, not in enough depth to cause pain to spark in his expression at the mention of Narancia's name. Your fault, your fault, something hisses in the back of his mind, and in truth he can't find a way to make that not seem true.]
[At least he's able to draw some comfort from the movement, the way that Fugo keeps him close and doesn't pull away, even when they're talking about horribly upsetting things. He follows Fugo back with perhaps too much alacrity, tightening his grip on Fugo's fingers and curling up against his chest like he wants to crawl inside it. He sort of does. It might be easier that way.]
[This isn't bad, though. Just difficult. Plenty of good things, valuable things, are difficult. So he breathes steadily, deliberately, closes his eyes for a moment, and opens them again to look at Fugo with a smile that's fragile, but very much real.]
You have most of it. I told you, you're very clever. There are two things you're missing, though. The one is that killing you was never anything but a last resort. I couldn't--
[His eyes dart sideways as he arches his shoulders a little against the movements of Fugo's hand. He wants to say don't stop doing that, but he's also pretty sure that if he gets off-topic he'll never get back on it. So he just bites his lip and presses on, thumb sliding against the side of Fugo's hand.]
It would be an insult to them to have you killed unless I absolutely had to. To all of them, but Bruno especially. And he--after all of that, after April, I knew I had to live to honor him, or what was it all for? So I never wanted to kill you.
And the other thing . . .
[Now he manages to look back at Fugo, not because it's easy but because it's necessary. He's visibly struggling, still smiling but struggling, but he's got to, because honesty is transmitted from eye to eye, and even if his truths aren't nice, they must be true.]
I hurt so much, Fugo. Then and now. I know, I know that when I went to get you in that restaurant I was still hurting. When I was planning all of this, I was hurting so much I thought I'd die. But I wasn't alone. You were. You were hurting as much as I was or more, you'd known them all so much longer, and you were all by yourself without your family. That wasn't right.
And after I found out--
[His breath hitches again; he pushes through, a stubborn line forming behind his brow. He feels a bit like he's begging Fugo to understand, but it's not shameful. It just is. It's honest.]
I do remember that. I did that, before I came here. I found clippings, and I knew--something about them, I just knew. I hadn't put it all together yet, but something about it wasn't right. You needed people who loved you. You needed us. We needed you. I couldn't have left you alone. I wanted you to be loved, I wanted you to be--close enough that we could love you. That was the right thing to do. And the thing that I wanted to do. You . . .
[He gives Fugo another smile, lopsided and wobbly this time.]
Like I said. I just wanted you. I still do.