2502/Nephwrong

Nephwrong
Date of Scene:	02 May 2025
Location:	Crystal Tokyo
Synopsis:	After meeting Nana Naru and Nephwrong, Mamoru runs to his *own* Nephrite for hugs and reassurance.
Cast of Characters:	Mamoru Chiba, Nephrite
Tinyplot:	Dimension Future

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Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Immediately following having met Naru-obaa-san and her grandson, Mamoru exited stage teleport, and now he's standing six feet from Nephrite, and now his face is screwing up, and now he's lunging to hug the other teenager. There's the warning of his presence -- they can't sneak up on him, but he can't sneak up on them either -- but he doesn't do something so sensible as say anything. Maybe he's afraid his voice will crack.

Nephrite has posed:
On the rooftop of a gratefully still standing building, overlooking broken city below, the last thing that Nephrite expects is the suddeness of his company. Not unwelcome, by any means-- not a startle as much as simple surprise.

But there's no time for greetings, or questions. There's only time for him to turn, and to *catch* the other. There's no other way to describe it. It's instinctual. A foot goes back to steady and arms hold tightly, as if for dear life; as if unknown forces might rip his Prince away otherwise.

"Mamo-"

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
There's a sound that's trying to be a muffled voice, but Mamoru gives up for a minute to just hug tightly, too. Masato may be his age now, but Nephrite was older than Endymion by a couple of years, at least, and this is the first time since they were rescued from Obsidian and the Dark Kingdom that that has shown.

Maybe Mamoru can be a little bit small with him sometimes, too.

Finally, a muffled sheepish wet little laugh, and Mamoru pulls back slightly, his mask falling off from all the mashing. That makes him laugh more, as one hand comes up to catch it, then rub the back of a white glove over his eyes.

Then the words spill out, fast and quiet, "We found a you. Alt-future you. And-- he didn't know me. He looked at me and didn't know me, and he has your face, but a little older, and his hair's red and his eyes are brown but he has your face and it felt, all of a sudden, it felt like I was, I was Hematite meeting and recruiting Masato because I wanted to make him know me, it was so bad, I'm so sorry--"

Nephrite has posed:
He doesn't let go. Not fully. Gloved hands grip the other's upper arms, and before he even processes what is being said--through the haste and weight of it-- sapphire eyes are taking stock. Checking him over, as if to find anything else that may be compromising or injurous. The physical *state* of him.

"Slow down," he says, returning his gaze to the other's face, and his mind is ticking-- ordering the information given, sorting through what is most pressing. What needs attention most. "Look at me."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
And Tuxedo Mamoru -- mask still in hand -- does as he's told without saying 'you're not the boss of me'. That's probably the best indication of how upset he is. His eyes are red-rimmed but not yet puffy, and they hopefully won't get to that point...

He does look miserable, though. And he looks ashamed. Otherwise, he's physically all right, just dusty, dirty. He should probably re-henshin soon if he wants to look liess apocalyptic.

Nephrite has posed:
It's a quiet moment, in which one hand lifts-- pressed against the side of neck, finger's following the curve. Thumb under jaw as if in some subtle prop to ensure Mamoru's head stayed up, held high. It's only here, alone, that he dares to be that bold.

There's a lot they haven't talked about; need to talk about. His distance denied Mamoru tis as much as himself, in for that, Nephrite despises his own weakness. His own retreat. Tactical, necessary as it may have been, but ultimately another fracture in this failure to be present for the fallout.

"In any life, I would be looking for you. Even if I didn't know what that meant. Regulus whispered secrets to me I couldn't even understand. Dreams I remember more than the rest of my childhood, now."

He inclined his head. "However it happens. Whether it's easy or not, whether we make mistakes or not-- that's all part of us, now."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
The formalwear-clad prince doesn't resist the holding up of his head even slightly, and the shame is shifting gradually into rue, and the red is more a dusting on his face instead of around his eyes, anymore. He's trying not to be embarrassed about breaking down and it's not entirely working, but--

"At least I can't make that mistake twice," Mamoru murmurs, having trouble retaining eye contact for a moment. Then he finally looks back at Masato's eyes, and he's trying to laugh at himself again. "Is it funny that I also feel guilty because I have my Nephrite already and shouldn't be greedy?"

Nephrite has posed:
A small smirk forms, fleeting but forgiving. "I tend to think any room could use twice as much of me, so I can't fault you for that..." It's a small jest to steady him. Already, he can see Mamoru trying to regain his composure, and he knows it's far too quick. A small crack and trickle, when there is a dam threatening to overflow.

And perhaps now isn't the time. Crystal Tokyo's fate hanging in the balance as it was, now hardly seems an appropriate time to break down. Nephrite knows what it is to have to swallow a heart from his throat on the front lines, and here, it is Mamoru's future-- one of them, of many possible paths-- and it is his family. It is his Kingdom that sways on its foundations.

His gaze flicks just past Mamoru's head to take in the distant sight of that obelisk, looming through smog and sickly corruption. "Take a hundred more of me, if it would prevent the fall of another Silver Millenium." His gaze returns to Mamoru's, and he isn't joking now.

"It's not the right answer. Maybe not even the one you want to hear, but I'd follow you through anything. I fucking have,"

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
It is steadying; Mamoru's eyes immediately sparkle and he pffts. "Of course," he says with a crooked grin, rolling his eyes a little. "I'm sure Mako-chan would be interested in that -- maybe if we stand you and him next to each other..."

Now really isn't the time. Neph missed some of the fallout, for sure, but there's plenty left, and Mamoru's really good at keeping things bottled up. If Masato hadn't come with them, Mamoru might have taken this to Kazuo or Usagi, but more likely he would have held on to it until it was safe to lose it completely. He's done it so many times before."

Then Neph calls this another Silver Millennium, and Mamoru's face gets briefly complicated. But he says, "I think this is better than the Silver Millennium. Maybe that's selfish, too, and maybe I'm overestimating how good this world is when it's not an apocalypse, but... this is, this is what could have been, if not for Beryl and Metalia. This is what we wanted, except-- with you there too. And maybe now the other me can have that. And..."

Mamoru's hand crumples his mask in it, he'll re-henshin in a moment anyway; he lets the mask fall from his hand. It'll disappear. "And it's an answer I like, even if I feel a little bad for liking it, because I'm also just some orphan with a lot of money. I'm Endymion but I'm also Mamoru. And Mamoru's like 'Tamaki please stop' and Endymion's like 'yess follow me and I'll protect you--"

Nephrite has posed:
Maybe he is right, that this timeline is better. That what they are saving here is even more precious than what was taken from them, even though deeper down, Masato struggles to believe it still. Those old, twisted realities, the lies and the falsehoods, left gnarled scars like roots in him. The doubting of goodwill, the paranoia of their Prince being decieved and manipulated, the fear of erasure, and of being conquered and assimilated from those who viewed them as lesser.

Somewhere deep in him, that remains, even when he knows better. Even when he fights against it, corrects it, it's always his first instinct.

"It's not selfish to dream about... what *should* have been. To want to have it still. Knowing somewhere that it's true."

His hand slides down onto Mamoru's shoulder, into the crook of his neck. Nephrite speaks quietly, even though they're alone, as if the weight of these words could shatter the reality they're in. But they won't.

"The others might not understand it, and it's not something I'd repeat," He's honest, "I miss being a bastard with you, sometimes."

His tongue clicks, and he glances down, slightly straightening Mamoru's lapel-- ineffectually, purely affectionately. "I can't speak for Tamaki. But I don't expect anything from you, but that you'll do your best to be fair. To do the right thing. But you're not always going to get it right, and real leadership comes with learning how to proceed when you lose your battles. Outside your head or not."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
It's not just the touch that Mamoru's soaking in, despite Neph's gloves keeping it from being direct communication. It's also the bold familiarity, the intimacy of deep friendship, the relief of not being alone to deal with things, the hand on his neck which very few people can touch. He's been alone too many times, and he doesn't function very well that way.

"I'm very determined to win the battles inside my head, even if sometimes those are even harder," Mamoru's voice is a confession too, soft and rueful. "And sometimes I wish our being together were as easy as it is for the senshi, even if that's not easy either. But..."

And here's a smile, small but real. "I enjoy being a bastard with you. We can still do it sometimes, as long as we don't break anyone we like. And-- thanks. I think I can handle what you expect of me."

He puts his hand over Masato's, on his lapel, and gloved hand presses gloved hand closer, enclosed in a miniature embrace. "Thanks. I'm, I think I'm good for now. And maybe now it won't be such a shock when we inevitably find the others..."

Nephrite has posed:
The Senshi may not have it easy, no, but it is perhaps less complex when all they need to do is find one another. They make it look simple, elegant even, to go through their days restoring bonds and strengthening them. It's hard not to feel envious at times of the trust that was never shattered, of the things they did not have to rebuild, even at their most burdened.

But neither does that deserve his resentment. He's done plenty to punish it in the past.

Instead, he offers Mamoru a smile in return. A ghost of a thing, barely there on his face. "He'll remember." He reassures of this future, other him. "They all will."

After a beat, his mouth ticks into a smirk, and his brows lift a little higher. "And when all this is over, and we get back to our time, we're going to open a nightclub called Midnight Tokyo and laugh about it."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Mamoru's ocean blue eyes widen and his hand flies up to cover his mouth lest he give away their position by guffawing. "You would, too," he manages in a strangled squeak of incredulous laughter. "You should! Hell, open up an oxygen bar or something before you're 20, and make it a for real nightclub when you're old enough. Talk about being a bastard..."

And then he's-- well, we'll call it chortling, even though it's got considerably less dignity than that. And he doesn't have too much elegant gravitas to laugh like a nerd, or giggle if taken by enough surprise.

And he just falls into another Neph-hug from there, squishing. "I'm okay now. I'm okay to face other people now."

Nephrite has posed:
At least for a minute, with Mamoru, he laughs like a bastard too. A deep, rich thing that tapers off into chuckling.

Arms rewrap him, and it's still a tight hold-- there will always be some small measure of that desperation, he thinks. Something between grateful and terrified to let go, at least as long as it lasts. It's difficult for him to explain. But, Mamoru doesn't require one, and he's the only one Masato feels he would possibly owe an answer, anyway.

It loosens only with a hard pat to the back, and then hands upon arms again until Mamoru chooses to move away. Just at the last, he gives Mamoru another look.

"I'll still be here, next time you're not." He reminds. An open invitation.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
This time when hands are on his arms, he crosses his arms over his chest to put a hand on top of each hand, briefly, until he realizes that probably looks, like, coffin-not-great at which point he lets his hands drop. "I'll take turns with who I fall apart on, you or Kazuo or Usako..." he says, and then his voice gentles, and he looks up -- still up! despite his own height! -- at Masato, "and I'll still be here if you're not. We're all broken, some of us are just better at hiding it than the others."

Nephrite has posed:
There's a knowing little nod to that, because he's had his fair share of managing Zoisite as it is, of late. Masato, himself, thinks that he could probably win an award for how unbroken-seeming he's been. Then again, he did a lot of his falling to pieces in California, alone in his own frustrations, and hiding the worst from the others. Probablly to his detriment, but better his than theirs.

Or so it was tempting to think.

"I'll pencil in a mutual mental breakdown for us on the calendar." He jokes, blithely, but it's not entirely untrue.

This, like the first domino knocked down in a long line, as already begun a process that he and Mamoru will no longer be able to hold back from. In safety, in privacy, they'll come apart a little, and stitch each other back up again. More than once.

Part of that would probably include unpacking the internalised extra shames and failings of this timeline, and his alternate selves, try as he might to abstract from it.

"Right now, though? I'm not going to fall apart on you. Or-- future King Endymion." He softened a little. "Or his daughter."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
He's a lot more relaxed now, certainly oceans calmer than he was. But abruptly, Mamoru's reminded that he's sulky over something: "Hey we met alt-future Naru! She's alt-future your grandma, and alt-future you is over two hundred years old, but the point right now is, she told me to get my own princess!! Rude. I mean true but rude. Let's go down and check in-- people should be able to tell the droids are coming by the feel of it, we won't get surprised."

Nephrite has posed:
Gods, there's a world of psychic damage lurking behind Naru both being alive, elderly, and somehow his grandmother. Masato's head cocks back as if he's caught a fresh whiff of something like curdles milk, both at that revelation and the remark made to Mamoru.

Air fills his cheek and he blows it free with a shake of his head, like he's recovering from a slap. "... Fuck me. Okay."

He resigns himself to that awkwardness, moving with Mamoru to fill him in as they went. "Oh, by the way... I found a dog today..."