1506/Conveniently Breathing

Conveniently Breathing
Date of Scene:	09 May 2024
Location:	Dorms #2
Synopsis:	After everyone's back, Mamoru comes to check in on Kazuo, and they get some tangles out together.
Cast of Characters:	Mamoru Chiba, Kazuo Saitou
Tinyplot:	Operation: Past

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Mamoru Chiba has posed:
It's a couple of minutes after Jadeite has fallen asleep, which means it's maybe forty minutes to an hour since everyone got out of the portal. Mamoru's gotten his texting in and told the bakeneko to keep an eye on Tamaki-- or a cat on Tamaki-- and just now, he's letting himself in to Kazuo's room after knocking lightly.

That was a really tight hug, and if Tamaki hadn't nearly fallen asleep on him right there in downtown Juuban, and again in the Uber, Mamoru would already have been here. It's on his face, faintly awkward concern. "Hey. Tamaki's asleep, I stuck him in my bed."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
Kazuo apparently lost no time whatsoever in tackling his top priorities, which means that he is already showered and clean, settled down at the desk before the window in dark blue pajamas and with a (thankfully plain) towel over his shoulders to protect said pajamas from damp hair. He glances up and back over his shoulder to Mamoru's entrance, and gives up checking for tangles in favor of getting to his feet. "Good. I'm not sure he was sleeping over there at all; he was a little too frantic part of the time to be able to settle down and let other people watch over him. Usagi's a lot better off; sometimes being able to let food and naps take priority over everything has a real benefit."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"Yeah, he... he had some stuff to say," says Mamoru with a laugh, taking off his shoes and coming over when Kazuo stands up-- coming over with infinitely more confidence than when he opened the door and came in.

The first thing he does is put his hands on Kazuo's shoulders and lean up to kiss him -- the brush of his power is light, skimming for feelings and shielding from pictures, a careful thing. The care taken is obvious. The warmth and welcome are, too.

The second thing he does is draw back and ask a little shyly, "Can I comb your hair?"

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
"Oh, did he? The stuff you already knew, or did he try to become one with a corner in embarrassment?" Kazuo's teasing - whether Mamoru, or Tamaki in absentia, is a 'why not both?' question - but he lets that go when hands come up to his shoulders. The kiss is light, gentle, and Mamoru is met with a mirroring quest: apparently Kazuo's primary concern is whether Mamoru is dealing all right with so many of his people being away from him, either stolen or questing after the stolen. And warmth for him, and for Tamaki, and looped in for Usagi. There's some absent concern, a running checklist: Jadeite's asleep, yes, but what about Makoto? about Naru? about Bow? about Zoisite? about ... ordering pizza, for some reason, but not at the moment. But that's absent. Here and now, there's only home, and admittedly relief at being home.

(Home, after all, is Mamoru.)

At the shy question, his mouth tugs upward at one side. "Sure."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Mamoru steers Kazuo back to his desk chair with a grin, then leans past him to pick up the comb. He doesn't start talking again until he's carefully working out the tangles himself -- it's a lot easier when there's not eight feet of hair (though he wouldn't stop brushing Usagi's hair when he gets to, for all the world).

"The stuff I already knew, and he also said he was an asshole about it in the past, and that he had been terribly jealous of Serenity, and that that was how Beryl got in," says Mamoru easily. "I mean, I already knew he was into me, it was absolutely impossible to miss. Especially after I chinned him across a restaurant table and he called me incorrigible instead of smacking my hand away."

The grin in his voice is unmissable, too.

Every time he's able to get a tangle out, he cards his fingers through Kazuo's hair; every time his fingers touch Kazuo's skin, there's reassurance, and there's Mamoru being reassured, relaxing a little more. "Usagi's got her girls in arm, which includes Naru -- I'm not sure where they are, but I'm sure they're in a pile. I don't know about Madoka, Bow, Rashmi, that pirate girl, Amy, Sunbreaker... the Outer Senshi... Zoisite made me eat salads! So rude! He was looking after me while you were gone. Meanest prince-sitter. I ate a candy bar for dinner in revenge."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
"It's terrible. Clearly you are allowed nothing but meat and fish for breakfast, so you can make up the protein." Kazuo reaches up and across himself to brush fingers against Mamoru's wrist in turn, just the once. "That, or so that you can turn into a solid lump of immobile lead after eating, one or the other. I'm proud of Zoi, for remembering that giving you something else to complain about helps you cope."

Yes, he is laughing at Mamoru. Warmly, and silently, but laughing. It's their equivalent of being in a pile.

"We made sure Tamaki understood the basics. Don't push you away, don't avoid touching you, we sort out who's where based on who needs what at the time, and all will go better if we keep Usagi fed. So between you and us, it sounds like everything's handled except Tamaki exploding in embarrassment when Usagi tells you about where we found him."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Another knot disentangled, and Mamoru leans forward, hand pulling Kazuo's hair back, to kiss the side of his jaw. But that's only half of Kazuo's head, so he draws back again to go to work on the other. In that kiss, and lingering in the touch thereafter, is a chilly flutter of alarm -- an echo of the worry he held close while they were gone. "You're going to leave it to Usagi?" he asks mildly, amused himself, "not tell me yourself?"

Comb, comb. It is a relaxing thing in and of itself, a hindbrain thing, a thing of-- if there is time for this, there's safety. "And are you all right? I have an idea of where you all were, given what that witch called out when she sent you away, and given what Usagi was able to tell me in a dream we had together."

He leaves Tamaki exploding mostly alone. The fluttering is still present, insistently pushing away laughter in a wave of Mamoru-brand worry.

He adds quietly, "Tamaki told me that there were things in his head, rattling around, that I might not want to see -- and I agreed with him."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
That flutter of alarm means that Mamoru's hand is chased briefly - not interrupted, just fingers laid over fingers for a moment. Right here. All home. All safe. "Well, Usagi was the one who actually saw it," Kazuo replies, and the smile comes with a sly little tilt of the head that he has to consciously straighten out of. "I can't give you the full description. I can only tell you that Tamaki was so embarrassed by his past self's behavior that he had literally curled up in a corner, long enough to already be stiff from not moving by the time Usagi and I got there. That seems like a good sign to me, at least."

Combing also means that Mamoru can see for himself that Kazuo was starting to relax before he came in, and is doing so steadily more now; the tiny reactions to tugs at hair become slowly easier, more fluid. He doesn't brush away Mamoru's question; he actually thinks about it before replying. And no, his hand is not touching Mamoru's for that time, not unless Mamoru initiates it.

"The worst of it," he says finally, "I'd had a head start on - I remembered it quite a while back. So I was able to brace myself for it, and then right after that I was able to focus on you, and then we were out. Not as bad a hit as it could have been. The worst part after that... was having to see what it looked like when you were alone. But you're not alone, now. And you won't be. So there's shame and guilt to deal with from that, and mourning to do, but ... we're already working on that, and we have been. That's work we're doing already. Having to wash off Zoisite's blood was -- bad. But it was only picked up from the trail that image of him left. It -- could have been a lot worse."

He breathes out, slow, and considers again. "Remembering being who I was then ... already held so much of it. What helps is the here and now. Who I am now." Beat. "And maybe making fun of Tamaki. Just a little."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Fingers laid over fingers, and it's him under the jitters, under everything always, unhidden. All home, all safe, all alive and present. Mamoru's hand slows under the touch, but doesn't stop. He listens, quiet; there's a well of laughter that bubbles up at the description of Tamaki in the corner dying of embarrassment, but he falls quiet again, and while Kazuo is thinking, Mamoru steadfastly works on the last of the tangles, shielding himself from pictures again, his touch light and fleeting.

Then Kazuo's speaking once more, and Mamoru sets the comb down and just cards his fingers through Kazuo's hair, soft and drying silky to the touch. And he still listens, and his breath is held here and there -- things he can guess at, things he remembers, and his memories he keeps from bleeding into Kazuo. They don't need to share the images and sensations from each other's nightmares in order to share the horror of what happened all those thousands and thousands of years ago.

"Making fun of Tamaki just a little," he agrees, and then he's silent a moment longer.

A moment while he rests the side of his face on the crown of Kazuo's head. Then he pulls himself up and he murmurs, close behind the other boy, "Sorry you had to see all that." Silence again, and then, "I'm not ready to grieve yet. It hits a little, in places, sometimes. When I don't expect it, I think of my mother, or-- or everything, or little things. I'm not ready to mourn. I know it's been almost five months, but there's too much to do in the here and now. And you're right -- I never have to be alone again, do I? And I get to take care of you all, it's novel."

And then he comes around in front of Kazuo, leaning back on the desk, trying to dismiss everything to look insouciant. "And I get to kiss you, and that's incredibly novel. You taste good."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
Kazuo's hand snakes around to find Mamoru's arm again, when he takes his own head off of Kazuo's -- fingers just curve around the forearm a litle below the elbow and stays there for a moment. "Yes," he murmurs. "It's like that. It's too big to deal with all at once. Little things. Will it bother you if I do small things, to remember them? I -- if it will, I'll still do them, but I can find somewhere you don't have to get it on you until you're ready."

'Sorry you had to live through that' is true, and also useless, so he moves right past it to the doing. As ever.

And then Mamoru moves around, and Kazuo tips his head back to look up at him, and picks right up on the shift in mood. "Well, now I do," he teases gently. "Next time I go through a dimensional portal, I need to remember a toothbrush. Chewed-up sticks just don't work as well."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"Chewed up sticks are awful! You couldn't steal a toothbrush from somewhere? Usagi stole a whole-ass dress from past me, and also a kiss, she said, or possibly several, I lost track--" Mamoru's laughing, and he leans down to kiss Kazuo again, and this time it's longer, it's sweeter; there's sadness in it, but it's like that. It's too big to touch.

When he pulls back again, he leans his forehead against Kazuo's with his eyes closed, and one of his hands is on the edge of the desk and one is around the back of Kazuo's neck, under his hair. He says so quietly, "Do whatever you need to do, you want to do. You don't need to hide it from me. It might help me to see." A pause, and one bright blue eye opens and he says, "Though if you're doing something to grieve for me, maybe make up for it by kissing me again, since I'm right here. Both of me. All of me."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
"Definitely several," Kazuo agrees, and then stops talking because there is kissing, and it is sweet, and sadness does not take away from the sweetness. Sharing sadness has a kind of wistful sweetness of its own ... knowing one trusts and is trusted, knowing neither is alone.

"I'll look at getting a shelf up," Kazuo murmurs in turn, to that so-quietness. His hand comes up, settled just to the lower side of Mamoru's shoulderblade, nestled between it to one side and his spine to the other. Steadying him there. Appreciating his heartbeat.

And then eyebrows twitch upward, the tug of skin noticeable against Mamoru's forehead. "Of course I'm not grieving for you. You are right here. Conveniently breathing and all. But I'll happily kiss you again anyway."