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[rednezvous]

I started playing Love and Deepspace for Sylus and I love this man with all of my heart

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Louise Glück, from an interview with poet in Poets & Writers

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the unbearable heaviness of girlhood / Su Xinyu / Lucie Brock-Broido

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Vardges Petrosyan, Years Lived and Unlived (translated by metamorphesque)

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I don’t believe you, she says, the world around you is made up of lies, where will we be if you start lying to me also?

— Paul Lynch, Prophet Song (Atlantic Monthly Press, December 5, 2023)

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When Georges Bataille said, "no greater desire exists than a wounded person's need for another wound,"

And When Oscar Wilde said, "A burnt child loves the fire," and

And When Margaret Atwood said, "you long to be bandaged before you have been cut."

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BETTER.

nanami kento x heir to the clan!reader

they’re both in college and living together, until…

‪════════‬

"Let's call it quits," your words reverberate within the room, each syllable striking the walls with a melancholic resonance. Hazel eyes lock onto yours, widening in startled disbelief. The simplicity of your declaration belies the complex emotions that now hold Kento Nanami captive, leaving him immobilized as your icy gaze bores into him, unyielding.

"What?" His voice wavers, a mere whisper fraught with tremors he can't conceal. Never before has he seen him so disarmed, uncertain of his own response.

On the eve of your college graduation, this unexpected pronouncement sends shockwaves through Kento's world. The timing, cruel and bewildering, leaves him questioning the very foundations of your connection. What cruel joke is this?

"I don't see a future with you," you continue, each word a shard of glass further splintering his already fragile state. The pain you can inflict with those once dreamy, loving eyes cuts deeper than any blade ever could.

Desperately, Kento searches your gaze, seeking a glimmer of sincerity amidst the turmoil. For, despite the searing pain your words inflict, he knows you better than anyone else. He senses that your heart does not echo your words.

"I don't understand," he murmurs, taking a tentative step closer. His longing to envelop you in a reassuring embrace fights fiercely with his understanding that you are receding into an emotional abyss. Here you are, in the very apartment where you had built a life together, yet you seem light-years apart.

"I was only clinging on to you for some sense of normalcy," you finally turn away, breaking the spell of his gentle eyes. Your resolution wavers as his vulnerability tugs at your own heartstrings. But you recognize the futility of clinging to a fleeting daydream. The world of normalcy is never yours to begin with.

Your words cut him as sharply as the blade he once wielded in high school. Painful, yes, but undeniable truth. Clinging to Kento is clinging to a fading mirage of lucidity. You are not destined for the mundane; your heritage, your destiny, all pull you back to a world of blood, battles, and jujutsu's dark secrets.

In the past, you would have argued vehemently, insisting that your place is by his side, not on a battlefield drenched in blood and hatred. He is your refuge, your home. You believe you will return to him someday, no matter how far you wander.

But you also know that Kento despises the society, resents its constraints, and will never willingly return to that world. You bite your lip as he remains silent, whispering an apology through your trembling voice.

What startles you is the sincerity in his response, the simple declaration, "I love you." Those three words shatter your emotional defenses. The ensuing silence feels deafening, punctuated only by your soft sobs.

Your words have wounded him deeply, yet he responds with love. The irony hangs heavy in the air.

"We can't deny the inevitable," he finally speaks, arms enveloping you in a tight embrace. Supposed to offer comfort, it only intensifies your emotional breakdown. You cling to him, as if afraid that releasing your grasp would mean losing him forever.

Your sobs haunt him, and he holds you tighter, as if afraid you might slip away. The perfect fit of your bodies in this poignant moment feels like a cruel joke.

"I'm sorry," you mumble into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne and shampoo etching into your memory, for this might be the last time you will experience it.

"I love you," you add, and Kento feels tears welling up in his own eyes. You are making the right choice, as painful as it is. You cannot drag him into your impending doom. This is your fate, not his. He deserves better. He has the liberty to run away; you don’t.

"Nothing is normal without you," he mumbles against your hair, surrounded by the fragrance of you, the moisture of your tears on his shirt.

"Can't we stay just a little longer?" His plea holds deeper meaning than the words themselves, but you shake your head, meeting his eyes. The beauty in their shimmering sorrow is both heartrending and captivating.

"You deserve better, Kento."

"You are my definition of better."

"Not me," a tear traces a path down your cheek, and Kento gently wipes it away. "I can’t lead you back into the hell you swore to escape."

And in that moment, truth grips him like a dagger to the heart. You are his world, and now that world is crumbling. In the silence of his unspoken plea, you find your answer.

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bringing this up for shibuya LOL enjoy the angst

There were times when I didn’t want this.

The dreadful night passes through fogged up glasses; mirroring the raindrops that finally stop outside the window. As you make your steps to our shared bedroom, I clenched my fists under the blanket.

My heart beats harder and harder within every steps you take.

Once the door swung open, the dim-litted room filled with a stark of light from outside, only for a few seconds, until it closes again.

“Are you still awake?”

Your voice gets quiter and your steps coming faint as if you are afraid to wake me up. But the thing is, I don’t even succeed at coaxing myself to sleep.

“Yeah.” To my surprise, the voice that comes out from my lips sounded guttural. Suddenly, a shift makes its way to the edge of our bed. A sigh coming out from your lips, but it is nothing out of relief.

I glance over the clock at the nightstand. 2:45. “Overtime?”

You hum.

“I’ve made dinner, in case you’re hungry.”

“Thanks. But I’ve eaten earlier, so it’s alright.”

Silence fills in. A second passess by, to two, three, four⎯

“I’ve made up my mind.” The words of your text last week soar into my mind, putting me to a complete insensibility.

I get up, eyes trailing your back as if it would stare back to me. Without drifting your hazel eyes just to meet mine, you coo, “You might not like it, but I think, this is for the⎯”

“—best.” I cut you off right away and sigh, because in the back of my mind, I had this figured.

But no. But, no, Kento. I am afraid.

I swallow my saliva hard, at least I thought it would crush anything lumping in my throat, yet it suffocates me instead.

“Why?” After taking a breath, harsh breath, into my lungs, I utter one question that has been bugging my mind until this very second.

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“But why, Kento?” I ask again, this time I know my voice breaks at the syllables of your name.

You are hesitating and I know that. Even the picture of you in my eyes is getting blurry within the ticks of clock ringing inside this room, I keep my eyes on you.

For the first time since I get up, you finally got the courage to look me in the eyes.

“I want to set you free.”

I have never been so enraged in anything you say, until now.

“From what?!” A clear drop of tears rushes down my cheek as I break down in dejection. “It’s not like I’m caged or something. I am at home with you, Kento. Home. And it’s no longer a home without you in it.”

“I have to do this,” similar to mine, the sight of your desperation evidently manifests, as if you are too afraid to scoot closer and embrace me.

I want you. I want to hug you. I want to hear it—everything. We are okay. ‘We are okay,’ like you used to say.

I swallow the lump in my throat in pure anger and distress; how I wish the hands I am clenching right now could make my anguish dissipate.

“You built me up just to bring me down, is it?” I laugh at the terrible joke the universe serves me. How sick of it to throw me up to the clouds of pipe dreams and expectations just to pull me back to the ground in such a harsh manner.

“No, it’s not like that.” Your hands reaching over me as if I could vanish within a second, and I notice how trembling they are and your futile efforts to hide it but it still shows palpably anyway.

“I love you.” The sentence coming off your mouth sounds like a broken record to me. It’s not the voice when you sing L-O-V-E by Nat King Cole on our way to the cafe, or the voice when you looked at my eyes as the summer breeze encircled us, right before you kissed me.

When we both agreed to leave our jujutsu world and building our dreams as proper human, I know I have made a choice; it’s not just me living normally, but living normally with you, without dreaded curse spirits blocking our way.

“I’m setting you free.” The gentleness in your voice never dissipate, yet the aching emptiness drops down to the pit of my stomach, manifests as choked up cries and buzzing headache. “Live your life well from now on,” you continue, with fingers brushing the top of my head.

I used to like the warmth of it and how I reflectively gives in, just like a cat wants to be patted more.

I always think about how lucky I am to have you, Nanami Kento, in my life.

I think about the days we spent together—as highschool friends, to best friends, to partners, to lovers, to—whatever we are now.

You are selfless and I am selfish. I thought we were meant to be. With how different we are, we still could make everything work.

I always thought that. You are utterly selfless, to the point I got so heated up about why you are always so easy to sacrifice yourself for anyone.

On the contrary, I know how selfish I am; I want to get out from the hell I was pushed into. Whatever it takes. Whatever, I would do anything to get what I want. But you told me, that no matter how selfish I think I am, you still think of me otherwise.

And I’m selfish. I want you. I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to see you dealing with those horrendous creatures anymore. I don’t want to see you bleed and—and, and, no matter how strong you are, and I know you are really strong, but the risks of dying went higher for sorcerers.

It would apply to you too, again, and I hate the idea of that.

I want to be selfish now.

But I can’t.

“I was so full of myself.” Words from the tip of my tongue finally come out, although to my demise, it sounds like a dying rat. “Remember when we made a stupid deal that we would—we, we would ... break up ... if one of us coming back to that place?”

I can’t breathe anymore.

You nod slowly and I think that’s the only thing you can do now, as I notice the veins in your neck seem more apparent when the clock strikes to three.

“I was so full of myself for thinking that I could make you stay.”

‪════════‬

November 7, 2018.

I think life is funny. It throws jokes on me regularly and sometimes I laugh because they are so funny. Once in a while, I even laugh with tears streaming down my cheeks. Just like today.

It has been a while.

The raindrops rattle outside and it gets harder every second. The rain in November finally arrives as the autumn reaches its finale.

Shoko dropped by this morning. She said she has something for me to see. I thought it was about the ruckus—you must have known it, the Shibuya.

She gave me a piece of envelope instead. She said, “Nanami had this for you.”

A letter? I chuckled. I know how old-fashioned you are, but you never once ever sent me a handwritten letter.

I thought, if we were still together, I would have been thrilled with this idea.

There are so many words conveyed on this paper, but I can’t read them out loud. The heaviness in my chest grows bigger as I glance it over and over again. I hate it. I hate this feeling.

There were times when I didn’t want this.

By ‘this’, I mean: “One day you might got this letter from Ieiri and she would tell you what happened. If this letter finds you—and God, I hope it finds you well⎯don’t cry for me. I don’t want you to waste your tears on me for something I decided to do. I have no regrets; I need to let you know that.”

Or, this: “... I have always think that you’re selfless. You’re too selfless for your own good that I’m afraid one day you would just gone and over. I hate that idea everytime, yet I couldn’t bring myself to call you, because I want to set you free.”

And this: “To the one who gave the truest love I think there ever was to exist, please take care of yourself.”

And the rest of the letter, which is folded back into the envelope addressed to me now.

“Kento ... I’m not crying. I am ... laughing.” Harsh and bitter laugh coming off my lips as tears streaming down vigorously on my cheeks, the umpteenth time this week.

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nanami protecting the kids

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I have come to accept that bonding can often lead to breaking. Whether it be that we fracture one another in our fallout, or sever the fragile threads that briefly tied our fates - breaking seems inherent to the human condition. Once I was idealistic enough to believe in permanence, but experience has taught me that paradise is oft fleeting.

That fateful evening, I lacked the fortitude to utter our parting, for farewell felt too bitter on my tongue. And so I opted for an “until we meet again”, hoping that perhaps in time, when wounds mend and wisdom grows, our paths may cross once more - though I be changed, a calmer version of my former fevered self.

In our union, life seemed festive till suddenly solemn. Your laughter, once music to my ears, began an discordant dirge in my grief. I looked on as you flourished after excising me from your world, achieving victories I had dreamed of sharing. Nights I tossed restless with questions - did you too lie awake, your mind a maelstrom and lungs leaden at thoughts of what was? Small-minded though it was, I wished your anguish rivaled my own.

But spite serves no purpose. Despite all that transpired, I loved you with fervor unmatched. An ardent, chaotic love I struggled to express for fear of driving you hence. And so our end, when it came, was all the crueler for catching me unprepared in my devotion.

Now I strive only to let go, tired of nitpicking at old wounds. You are gone, whether in dream or flame, and that is well. For though memory may linger as loving recollection or haunting regret, you shaped me irrespective. I am grateful for the time we shared, and if shadow of what was calls to stay, it will find solace here still.

I remain convinced our beings are tailored for rupture. And in acceptance lies peace.

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people born in 2000 should be like 12-14 now. but they’re not. that’s how fucked up our world is now

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It doesn’t make you unlovable or a horrible person if you don’t have many friends. It can be difficult to meet new people if you’re shy or quiet or have anxiety. It can be difficult to stay in touch with people if you can’t find the time or energy to remain in contact. It can be difficult to make new friends if you struggle to find people you click with or who are interested in the same things as you. None of those things mean you’re unlovable. 

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The duality of this man, your honor 😔

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Sharon Olds, from "His Terror"

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― Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights

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When Georges Bataille said, "no greater desire exists than a wounded person's need for another wound,"

And When Oscar Wilde said, "A burnt child loves the fire," and

And When Margaret Atwood said, "you long to be bandaged before you have been cut."