1465/At Our Best

At Our Best
Date of Scene:	23 April 2024
Location:	Dorms #1
Synopsis:	Mamoru is not, in fact, at his best; Zoisite is looking after him because he can do this, they are both willing that can-do attitude, EVERYONE'S IN A PORTAL BSFNBDKLS.
Cast of Characters:	Mamoru Chiba, Zoisite
Tinyplot:	Operation: Past

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Mamoru Chiba has posed:
It's not far anyway, but it's really not far if you take the rooftops, from Juuban to Radiant Heart. And then it's not a far walk, there in the middle of late afternoon, from the wooded area of campus to the dorms. And then it's just stairs or an elevator ride to their floor, and then...

...Mamoru leans on the wall forehead first, waiting for Zoi to either unlock the door to his single or teleport in and open it from inside. His phone's in his pocket because he's run out of steam telling people things, but he's acutely aware of its silence and the muffled sense of Usagi's and Kunzite's and Jadeite's presences, threaded through the damned portal.

He's aware of how upset Zoisite is, too, just-- isn't sure what to do about it, yet. "Hope there's enough room on your bed for me," he says, also muffled.

Zoisite has posed:
Believe it or not, Zoisite does do mundane things like actually use doors, despite his preponderance of teleportation-based dramatic entries and exits, so he fishes a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. On the roof-based journey over he hadn't precisely started out meaning to carry Mamoru's weight, but it'd been a near thing, the offer there should it have been needed.

The door opens, silent, and just as quietly Zoisite ushers his prince into the darkened room. He doesn't even bother with the light, just guides Mamoru straight to the bed and pauses only long enough to pull down the covers from their military-esque tucked straightness so that he can pour Mamoru into the sheets.

"I'm fine," he says, which is only true in the strictest sense, if they're remaining in the realm of the physical. "I don't need sleep," clarifies his meaning somewhat. "But I'll be here if you need me."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"I need you," Mamoru says immediately, kicking off his shoes and taking off his glasses, putting his glasses... somewhere they won't get rolled onto or fall off. "Please, please don't hide being upset from me, be upset with me--"

He's half poured in but he's not letting go of Zoisite, and his chin's crumpling, and his lips are pressed tight together, and his eyes are too bright, reflecting even the littlest light from the curtained window. "It's okay, isn't it? Unless it's not, and I-- I can't read you without touching, but if you don't want me to see, I understand--"

Zoisite has posed:
The glasses are relocated to the table next to the bed, where a potted plant sits next to a reading lamp. It all looks like it was salvaged from another life, one that doesn't quite fit with the image of an academy student. But who, if anyone, would make sure he had a way of continuing on his life of creature comforts if not Zoisite? Surely he made some arrangements in that transitionary state between his life with Obsidian and the here-and-now.

"I'm not hiding," Zoisite assures, his voice steady. Then, without explanation, he holds out his hand, palm up in offering. If Mamoru wants the truth, he can have it.

In the meantime, though, Zoisite sweeps his gaze up and down his prince's form, and then his cheek twitches as he represses a frown. "Everything is going to be okay. Kunzite is extraordinarily capable, and Mercury is the brightest mind of our time. They were the right people to go in."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
The prince will have to get Zoisite a new lava lamp. Or maybe a glitter lamp, for the patterns they make on the walls in the dark...

Mamoru takes that hand, greedy for the comfort of contact with one of the few people he wants it from, desperate for understanding. It had been so long he couldn't read anyone well, two and a half years, and most of that time three of them had been right there and the dark energy twisted everyone up and made everything wrong, and now things are clear through his hands and still-clearing mud through his eyes and ears.

From him, Zoisite gets relief, bright and fragile, that there isn't hiding; gets the stifled but wanting-to-bubble-over wrung-out misery; gets the sharp unreasonable-reasonable fear of 'what if something else goes wrong though' and 'none of us is immortal' and 'but it was Beryl'; gets... the actual sensation of those muffled, thready connections, like golden threads of light that are a little too thin and dim for Mamoru's comfort. Gets the sensation of what they should be, because it's strong and bright between the two of them, and between Mamoru and what must be Nephrite.

"I know," the prince murmurs, shoulders sagging. "That's why-- that's why I agreed."

Zoisite has posed:
Their fingers touch, palms sliding together, and despite Zoisite's more reserved posture at the moment, his emotions are still bubbling right under the surface, ready to breach. Fear matched with frustration, hope warring with horror. It's not a tidal wave, not yet, because they're all bound down by a steady thrum of devotion. To Kunzite and the mystery of the feelings that lie between them, to Mercury and his acceptance of her as a dear friend. Even Jadeite, as a fellow Shitennou and brother-in-arms, despite Zoisite's often-feigned contempt at his fellows. More distantly, the other Senshi, including the Moon Princess.

And chief amongst them, of course, his loyalty to his prince.

For however long as Zoisite remains on this side of the Portal, he has already made the vow to keep it together for everyone else's sake. It's also pride in his own composure, his own capabilities, that drives him to be this way. Because Zoisite can't ever be anything less than perfect.

"We're going to bring them back, but we need to be at our best, for them. So please try to get some rest. I'll be right by your side."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
And that's-- the relief is still there. It is, absolutely, a little bit of energy-get that will help. Mamoru's been up and down since it all happened; he's managed to put on a front for a few people, at least, and he's mostly managed to keep his composure even when the raggedy emotions were at the edges of everything, in front of other people...

That thrum of devotion is like a heartbeat, in symphony with the beat of the world itself, something that's always at the edge of Mamoru's awareness -- always now that he's not blinded and deafened by dark energy.

He knows he'd be useless in that portal, in that dimension that isn't this one, out of reach of Earth. He knows he's much more useful here. He knows that, and he's so grateful for Zoisite, and he always is, and he does need Zoi like breathing, like he needs Usagi, and Kazuo, and Jadeite and Nephrite, and he's falling asleep half-sitting, isn't he.

He finally lets go of Zoisite's hand, and his face is hot, but he's still not crying, and he considers that a victory because otherwise he'd get Zoisite's pillow wet.

There in his stupid t-shirt and jeans and sock feet, in Zoisite's bed, Mamoru finally puts his head down. "Okay," he (also finally) agrees, sounding so tired. "Don't let me forget-- please-- I have to call Sailor Charon, she's twelve and Pluto's responsibility, and no one else knows where she is but me," he sighs. "I can sleep for like... two hours..." He's fighting it. He stops fighting it, drifting off.

Zoisite has posed:
"We'll take care of it when you wake up," comes Zoisite's quiet reply, his voice measured so as not to disturb the oncoming slumber he can see in his prince's face. He perches himself on the edge of the bed, near enough to touch if need be, and with a sigh he lifts a hand to scrub his face.

Two hours. Two hours to figure out what to do, while Mamoru sleeps.

Zoisite can do this.