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averagejoesolomon · 2 years

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Hi, hi, hi—here's the kids. This chapter has, once again, exceeded the expected word count. These kids are CHATTY and I refuse to cut any of it, because it all makes me happy. Fanfic is a magical place. Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy. If you're new here, you can read all of Full Circle on Ao3.

Chapter Five

“Absolutely not.” Rachel rejects the sight before Matt can fully step out from behind the curtain. It’s the third protest of its kind and he must have reached his final strike, because he’s still got one shoe in the dressing room by the time she starts to wave him back in.

“Aw c’mon.” He steps out anyway, straightening his lapel and rotating on his shiny new heels. “Pinstripes are cool.”

If she twists her nose up for much longer, there’s a chance it’ll become a permanent feature of her face. “Not with a paisley tie, they’re not."

She sits just beside Abby, the two of them lounging on the curved edge of a velvet couch at the center of the Hutzler’s men’s section. Where Rachel wears disgust, Abby wears a pleased little grin that settles right into its usual place along her lips. She slips her Tootsie Pop into the side of her cheek and crosses her arms. “I think he looks sharp,” she says, shooting him a wink.

“He looks like a linebacker,” Rachel sneers. “Look at the size of the shoulder pads.”

Matt tries not to slump in the shoulders, but he’s suddenly all too aware of his stance. “I’ll switch the tie,” he offers.

“You’ll switch all of it,” Rachel corrects. “This isn’t 1932 Chicago.”

“But—”

“Try again, Matthew.” There’s no give in her voice, and they’ve been friends long enough for Matt to know better than to try and take it. As he slinks back behind the curtain, Rachel calls over his shoulder. “And try one of my picks—clearly Abby’s careful selections aren’t getting us anywhere.”

“Hey,” says Abby. “He looks great. It’s not my fault Maryland High Society wouldn’t know fashion if it crawled straight into their fruity little cocktails.”

Matt’s not aiming for fashion—he’s aiming for camouflage. This outfit should help him blend in at the kind of function where everyone intends to stand out, which is exactly the sort of mind-twisting, layered espionage that is best left in Rachel’s calculating hands. Abby may know what he looks best in, but Rachel knows what he looks most natural in. This time around, it has to be Rachel.

He strips down to his undershirt, neatly hanging the discarded clothes and casting them aside. It takes too long to rifle through the collection of blazers, sweaters, scarves, and pocket squares that Abby chose for him, but eventually he sorts it down to the bare bones that Rachel laid out at the start of their trip.

It’s a pair of plain black slacks, which definitely beat the corduroy bell bottoms Abby had him try on earlier. She’s paired it with black shoes, black socks, and a black belt. So far, Matt’s in familiar territory. This outfit sticks pretty close to his usual Sunday best, straying only at the shirt. It’s black like the rest, but it’s printed with bright, bold flowers in pink, red, and blue. She’s brought it all together with a solid black bowtie and Matt can only manage one thought—Rachel is damn good at what she does.

Over the top of his curtain, he hears Rachel call out, “How’s it going, Joe?”

And from three dressing rooms down, Joe grumbles, “I never agreed to this.”

Each piece of Matt’s newest ensemble slides on easy, exactly the right size and cut. The pants are crisp and hemmed to just the right length. The shirt is softer than anything in his closet back home. He buttons, tucks, and tightens, rolling up the cuff of each sleeve.

“I see,” Rachel says, every bit as condescending as she’s known to be. “So you don’t think that adequate preparation is critical to success in your line of work?”

“Boy, you’ve got a real way with words, huh Ace?” Joe responds. “That’s not what I said, and you know it.”

If Matt had a nickel for every argument exchanged between the two of them, he might actually be able to buy the clothes he’s got on right now. At least he’s tucked away for this round, with an excuse to step back from his seemingly permanent position as a referee.

“Joe,” Abby whines, bringing a merciful end to the mounting tension. “I’m waiting with bated breath. My breath couldn’t be any more bated. If I bate my breath any longer, I’m gonna pass out right here on this horrifically uncomfy couch and then you’re going to have to carry me to the car.”

“Alright, alright.” Metal rings scrape against their rod as Joe slashes the curtain aside. Matt can’t see the outfit from his place behind a curtain of his own, but the sisters’ following silence speaks volumes. Joe’s dejection tells Matt all he needs to know. “Is this what you wanted?”

Rachel is the first to break the pause. “For you to look like a Kennedy brother?” she says. “No, not exactly.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Abby says. “The Kennedy look could work—it just needs some tweaks. What if we mix the Kennedy brothers with those boys from The Outsiders?”

Joe groans. “What in the hell are you—?”

“Hush,” she says before he can finish. “Come with me.”

There ain’t many people in the world who can get away with hushing Joe Solomon and still have a functional jaw afterward, but curiously, Abby seems to make the list. In a matter of seconds, Matt hears the curtain close again, and Joe’s dressing room dissolves into an indistinguishable series of excited suggestions and disgruntled disagreement.

Matt wraps the loose tie around his neck and folds his collar into place. The untied ends stick out from each side and his fingers fumble around until he manages a dirty, crooked knot. He stares at it in the mirror, debating, before he ultimately decides that it will never meet the infamous Cameron Sister standards. “How do I do this bow tie?”

Abby, amidst her campaigning to see Joe in an oversize polo, can’t resist the urge to respond from three rooms away. “What—they don’t have bow ties in Spring Lake, Nebraska?”

“I dunno about Spring Lake,” he calls, matching her tease. He threads a finger through the center of his knot, then splits it into two once more. “But the humble people of Hay Springs don’t prefer ties of any kind—always getting stuck in all of our tractors.”

“Seriously?” says Abby.

He smiles. “Not even a little.”

“It’s just like tying a shoe,” she tries again.

“Thing is,” he says, “my shoes ain’t usually around my neck.”

There’s distraction in her voice as hangers click and clack against one another. She must be shuffling through all of Joe’s selections, mind fully occupied, but the multitasking capabilities of Abigail Cameron know no bounds. “Just fold the fat parts until they look like a bow,” she says. “Then cross the long end over the short end.”

He holds the two identical ends of the tie. “Long end?”

She sighs. “Make one of them longer.”

“Is that before or after I fold the fat parts?”

“You do it all at the same time.”

“See the problem with that is that I’ve only got two hands and both of them are”—his curtain rips open once more and he freezes in front of his own reflection—“occupied.”

The first thing a fella has to learn about Rachel Cameron is that she always gets what she wants. The second thing to learn is that she’s not likely to wait around for it. Matt’s seen this exact expression on Rachel’s face at least fifty times over the years—the determined glare of a woman who’s ambition so thoroughly outweighs her patience.

So it’s no surprise when she says, “Give me your neck.”

But the third thing to learn about Rachel is that sometimes she needs someone to remind her how to slow down. “Well gee, Rachel,” he says, his easy grin growing. “Ain’t you gonna buy me dinner first?”

She does not relent entirely, but something about her softens at the sight of him. Without breaking eye contact, she takes a great big breath through her nose, then lets it fall out of her mouth in a long, slow huff. She’s already reaching for his collar when she asks, “Do you want your tie done up right or not?”

Matt doesn’t fight her. He couldn’t possibly. Sometimes it seems as though Rachel has more knowledge at twenty-six than Matt could amass in his entire lifetime. From her brilliant mind, to her impeccable gut, and straight through to her nimble fingers, which tie a bow tie as though it’s second nature. “My pops taught me how to tie a half Windsor.” He’s not sure why he tells her, except in some halfhearted attempt to prove that he is trying. That he is learning. That one day, he might stand a chance at catching up to her. “Then the Army taught me how to tie the full Windsor—but when it comes to the bow ties, I never seem to get it right.”

She doesn’t lend a word in response, focus impenetrable, but she hears him. She always does. As she loops one end over the other, each step begins to make sense in a way it never has before. Matt watches her with a careful purpose, knowing with the utmost certainty that next time, he’ll fix up his tie all on his own.

She pulls the final loop through and straightens the ends out. She takes everything so seriously, but the severity suits her. It weaves through the even tempo of her breath. It lingers in the lines along her jaw and shapes her lips into something strong and stubborn. Brown eyes turn to stone and Matt reckons there’s not a force on Earth that could stop her from doing what she wanted to do, whenever she wanted to do it.

Satisfied, she lands a hand at the center of the bow, right at his chest. Her severity crawls up her arm, into her palm, and straight into his pulse. “You clean up pretty good, Nebraska.”

He has to clear the spot in his throat where her touch blossoms. “You sound surprised.”

Her shrug is simple and small. “Only a little.”

And she’s got that rare little smile on her face, so he pulls out one to match. “I’m a good looking guy, Rachel Cameron—don’t you forget it.”

Not all silences are made equal. Some are the long, dull result of a misplaced bug. Others are the quick, fleeting panic of a missed phone call. Matt has spent hours, days, months of his life listening to silences both crucial and not, so he knows this one when it comes. He’s heard this particular silence in between dignitaries making decisions. He’s heard it at underground card games, just before someone folds. He’s heard it in all of those split-second stutters in critical conversations, between two people with too much to say. When it really comes down to it, Matt’s listened to enough important words in his lifetime to know when some of them go unsaid.

But Rachel doesn’t give him the chance to investigate, because Rachel is far too talented for that. “Yes, well,” she says, letting her hand fall. “Maybe if you didn’t spend quite so much time looking like you just got done slinging a bunch of hay around, it might not be so shocking to see you in a shirt and tie every now and again.”

He blinks. Raises his eyebrows. Despite every effort—and it is a mighty strong effort—he can’t pin back a devilish grin. “You’ve seen a lot of that, have you?” he challenges. “Hay slinging?”

It ain’t often Rachel’s left speechless, so it’s worth relishing when she is. Her eyes search his as she fights for some sort of rebuttal, but she comes up short. “I’d like to take this moment to remind you that I’m a lot smarter than you in a lot of different ways.”

He holds up his hands in a low, uncommitted surrender. “Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he says, now straining against an all-out laugh. “But this conversation has me thinking that I at least know more about hay.”

“Congratulations,” she says.

He beams. “I’ve gotta take ‘em where I can get ‘em.”

“Wipe that smile off your face, Matthew.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He bites his grin into his teeth and throws his gaze toward the floor in an attempt to collect himself. He ain’t quick about it, but it’s made easier by Joe’s voice, suddenly soaring through the dressing rooms. “You’ll have to send me to the depths of hell before I try those pants on.”

Before she can say anything, Matt has already cast a warning look toward Rachel. “Easy.”

And while he does keep her from charging the dressing room in a full sprint, there’s not much he can do for the furious heat that rises straight into her face and roses up her cheeks. “He’s been a pain since he got here,” she snaps, tone hushed. “Barking at our staff, condescending to our driver, and now yelling at Abby—his mother would be ashamed if she heard the way he speaks to people.”

Matt tucks his tongue into his cheek. “I promise she wouldn’t.”

Rachel looks up at him. “Wouldn’t yours?”

The expectation in her eyes steals his next few breaths from his lungs. For years, Rachel has known more, seen more, and understood more about this business than he could ever hope to. She has answers to every question and she is always the first to find new information. She’s an expert, which might be why it feels so strange to stand on the other side of the conversation for once, holding on to a secret that she hasn’t already pieced together without him.

He’s not sure he cares for this newfound feeling between the two of them, so he fills her in and sets the world on its axis once more. “Joe grew up in the foster system,” he tells her. “Bounced around Manhattan like a pinball.”

Evidently, it’s not a feeling that Rachel is used to either. “I didn’t know that.” While most people might have the good sense to sound apologetic, Rachel doesn’t quite make it there. In fact, she sounds more impressed than anything else. There’s not much in this world that squeezes past her, but Joe is the exception. He always is.

Matt just nods. “I know you didn’t.”

When he says it, her expression softens again, just as it did before. He watches a single thought inch its way through her features and she opens her mouth to say something, but they are interrupted by the sight of Joe, stomping out from behind his curtain.

Matt can’t believe his eyes. “Oh c’mon,” he says, throwing a hand out toward Joe. “How come he gets pinstripes?”

Abby has dressed Joe up in a more formal shirt than Matt’s ever seen him wear, with stripes that race straight down his front. The fabric flows at every seam and she hasn’t even looped the top two buttons into place. It’s all tucked neatly into pants that roll up at the ankles, and he’s sporting some sockless loafers. “I look like a sailor.”

Abby pops out right behind him, a pleased look on her face. There’s a dance to her step as she comes up behind Joe and crowns him with a finishing touch—a pair of sunglasses tucked atop his head. “You look great!” she squeals.

She must not see the grinding pulse of his jaw, so Matt intervenes before smoke starts curling out of Joe’s ears. “Does it help to know you look like a very cool sailor?”

“Cool and sailor are not two words that can coexist in a sentence,” says Joe.

“I’m serious,” says Matt. “You’d have the biggest boat in the marina—that’s how cool you look.”

“I don’t want to be any kind of sailor,” Joe says, throwing his hands in the air. “I want a leather jacket, and a cigarette, and—”

“Rachel!”

It’s clear that Joe has plenty more moping he’d like to do, but he doesn’t get the chance. An unfamiliar voice joins their informal group, calling to the girls from the other side of a half dozen racks. On instinct, Matt drops the tease in his tone and scans the area. Only when his guard is down does he realize it should have been up this whole time. They’re here on business. They’re here because of the Circle.

He’s tired. He’s getting sloppy.

When a young man, not much older than him, weaves his way through the men’s section, Matt kicks himself for not having seen him sooner. He blends in perfectly with the rest of the crowd, dressed in a neat, navy button down without a hair out of place. He waves them down, flashing a chunky, silver watch and when he approaches, he brings the entire cologne section with him.

Matt looks to Joe, and Joe is already looking right back.

“Michael.” Rachel is hardly ever surprised, so it's easy to notice when she is. She doesn't have enough practice covering it up. “What are you—?”

Michael cuts her off with a hug that’s big enough to wrap around her two times over. She’s stiff at first touch, but loosens into a hug of her own, more delicate than any movement Matt's ever seen from her. “I knew you had to be in town for the picnic,” he says. “But none of my calls have been getting through.”

With Rachel compromised, Matt looks to Abby for something to go off of—a hint, a history, or some sort of extraction signal. When her eyes finally meet Matt’s, she holds up her hands in the shape of a heart, then splits it into two.

Matt's pretty good at reading signals, but this one leaves him with more questions than answers. Boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? Failed heart surgery?

“Oh,” says Rachel. “I’m sure the line has just been busy. Daddy’s all over the place right now. You know how it is.”

Michael pulls away, but he doesn’t let her go. Not entirely. His hands stay latched to her arms, holding her in place as he takes her in. Rachel takes it with grace as his gaze travels up and down her body, as though seeing her for the very first time, but she’s rigid. She’s stiff. She’s an agent, caught someplace she doesn’t want to be and searching for a way out.

Matt’s just about to give her an out, but Abby beats him to the punch. “Michael,” she chirps, words crawling with a disingenuous delight. She reaches out her own arms, and forces a hug of her own. “Long time, no see—what a surprise to find you here.”

Abby’s grip is more purposeful than Rachel’s, giving Rachel just enough time to slip away. Maybe it’s on purpose, or maybe it’s entirely on accident, but it doesn’t escape Matt’s notice that Rachel falls right between Matt and Joe. She takes a moment to straighten out her shoulders, but she spares no other movement. She is composed. She is confident. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Rachel Cameron is exactly where she intends to be.

Over Michael’s shoulder, Abby rolls her eyes at the rest of the group, then pulls away. He lets Abby go quicker than Rachel. “Yes, well,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I was just looking for an outfit to wear to the picnic—I swear it’s the event of the season, everyone’s so excited to be back.”

Michael’s already wearing an outfit that’s plenty suitable for a party and he’s probably got twenty more just like it at home, but Matt doesn’t say so.

“We’re excited to have you,” says Abby. “We’re going to have those shrimp puffs you like.”

“Something to look forward to,” says Michael, but it’s not long before his eyes are drawn to Rachel once more. “Maybe we’ll resurrect our annual trip out to the boathouse, and stuff our cheeks with them until we’re sick.”

Rachel’s smile is demure and dainty, as Michael steps closer and closer. “Wouldn’t that be something?” she says.

“It’s good to see you, Rachel.” He sounds wholly sincere, right up until he catches sight of Matt and Joe, as though it’s the first time he’s noticed their presence. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

It’s all the invitation Matt needs. “Matthew Morgan,” he says, stepping forward and extending a hand. “We’re—”

“Friends,” says Rachel, too quickly. “They’re friends from school. Matt and Joe.”

Matt shakes Michael’s hand, and Joe reaches out to do the same. “Ah,” says Michael. “Georgetown men. You know, I tried my damndest to get Rachel to come up to Harvard with me, but she had her sights set on DC.”

“DC’s pretty hard to resist,” says Matt.

Michael’s eyes keep giving him away, because now he sizes up Matt with a single glance. “I guess so,” he says, and his tone gives him away, too. Without much more trouble, he looks back toward Rachel with a smile that belongs in a magazine. “Listen, my mom will lose her head if I’m not back in time for dinner—I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll save you a dance,” Rachel tells him.

And that’s the only answer Michael needs. He turns away with a slickness to his step, then makes his way back to the main floor. “Abby,” he says as he goes.

“Mike,” is Abby’s only reply.

Matt’s not sure when, exactly, he and Joe ended up in front of Rachel, rather than beside her. It’s one of those instincts that only comes with years of closely-guarded secrets and long nights in the field together. When Matt turns around to look at Rachel, she’s still not herself, standing straight with tight shoulders, looking smaller than she ever has before. “Are you—?”

“You forgot the jacket.”

It’s a quick enough shift in the conversation that Matt can’t help but think he’s missed something. Skipped over a handful of seconds in time. “I did what, now?”

“The jacket.” She heads back toward Matt’s dressing room and flits behind the curtain. A stranger might think she was back to her usual, commanding nature, but Matt knows better. He knows her. This is a retreat, through and through. “I set out a jacket to complete the look—the outfit is ridiculous without it.”

How Rachel could be thinking about his outfit right now is beyond him. Matt hardly remembers putting these clothes on at all, his mind reeling with questions about Michael and his shrimp puffs. He looks back toward Abby, requesting some sort of backup, but she only shakes her head. As she takes a cross-legged seat back on the velvet couch, the message is crystal clear: drop it.

So what else can Matt do? He drops it.

When Rachel pops back out of the dressing room, she’s holding a solid black blazer, accented at the seams with matching silk. She doesn’t waste a breath before she holds it out to him, and he doesn’t waste what little patience she has left by resisting. He threads each arm through the sleeves and lets her do all of the straightening, swiping, and adjusting she needs.

When she's done, Rachel grabs him by the shoulders and turns him around to face the couch, dressed from head to toe in her finest selection. “Oh!” says Abby. “Wait, I love this.”

Rachel makes her way to Abby’s side. “See?” she says. “Way better. I just wish…”

They both cock their heads to the side, and Matt’s never seen a more terrifying sight. “Huh,” Abby huffs.

Rachel nods. “Yeah.”

“It’s just not—”

“Nope.”

“But he’s not gonna—”

“He might.”

Abby cuts her a downright daring look. “Wanna put money on it?”

And Rachel seems to know something she doesn’t. “It’s worth a shot.”

It’s a sisterly benefit, to have entire conversations without the need for complete sentences or thoughts. Matt’s no stranger to the unique Cameron language and while he would usually let the conversation fall to the wayside, he can’t shake the feeling that this time, they’re talking about him. “What?” he says. “What am I missing?”

Over their shoulders, there’s a streak of revenge in Joe’s smile, which ain’t really fair, considering Matt’s not the one who put him in a sailor suit. Regardless, Joe has somehow cracked the sisters' code, on the inside of their unbreakable back-and-forth, and he's entirely too happy about what he's hearing. “I hope you aren’t too attached to your hair," he says. "Because Abby's about to lose a bet."

#Full Circle #I love this little squad

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mymarifae · 4 months

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i just want to share my thoughts about akito and Death. because even now—even off the back of an event like burn my soul—people STILL talk about him like he's an explicitly depressed, suicidal character whose every action is cause for concern.

i think the idea that akito is suicidal has been floating around for a very long time. and while it's not entirely without merit (more on this in a bit), it's still a misconception. and it really feels like kashika exacerbated the issue. which is unfortunate! it's sad to see such a beautiful song be misinterpreted like this.

now don't get me wrong! kashika is about death. but two things:

1. kashika may have been written for akito, but it's not just for him. it's also deeply personal to ryo haruka. there are certainly similarities and haruryo undoubtedly understood everything akito felt during the events that led up to the crawl green incident, but i don't think it's entirely fair to equate his very real emotions and struggles to those of a fictional character. he and akito share kashika! you can interpret it through either lens, but trying to do so through both is where things start getting messy

2. whiiiiich leads me to my second point. who decided that the only way to interpret kashika and its themes of death is literally?

i think it's pretty common for people to automatically interpret any themes of death literally—or at least very negatively. we're naturally conditioned to fear death, and then we're taught to fear it even more. it's the change. it's the unknown. it's the very idea of an "end." most people aren't very fond of these things! understandably so. but personally? i think the symbolism that can exist behind death is beautiful.

Death is the 13th card of the major arcana. above all else, it symbolizes change (positive change; it's always, always about what's ultimately best for you). Death tells you it's time to move forward; this part of your life is done. there is more waiting for you—new opportunities, new experiences, a brighter, more fulfilling future—but you must be prepared to let go.

the habits and routines you have now? the mindsets that have kept you alive? your current sense of self? whatever it is, whatever Death is asking for, you have to let it "die." it won't serve you anymore. it will only drag you down. and it might be terrifying and you might not be able to comprehend what lies ahead and you might want to kick and scream and struggle, but you can't cling forever. endings are never easy, and sometimes they hurt like hell, but with each end comes a new beginning.

and yes if you've read burn my soul this should all sound very familiar lol:

looking at death from this perspective, kashika and the entirety of find a way out should read a lot more like akito caught on the cusp of a monumental transformation. suspended between "life" (the old) and "death" (the new) so to speak.

up to this point he's been fueled by spite and desperation. two very intense, very negative emotions—but it's an intensity that worked. everyone else on vivid street had years of musical experience, and he had 0. he needed to catch up and he needed to catch up quickly because it's not like he could put the whole world on pause. he could take his time to learn the basics, sure, but every other vivid street musician would continue improving and growing while he did that. there would always be a gap between him and Them.

unless... he worked harder—WAY harder—than all of them combined.

and maybe that wouldn't do it either. maybe he would be stuck in place forever, always playing catch-up, always struggling to stay afloat, always being left behind. he knew this. and he knew the amount of destruction he'd end up inflicting upon himself if he went down this path. but in his mind, it was okay. it was worth it. because he'd rather die endlessly pursuing what he loves most than live not trying at all.

but in find a way out, when facing off against his old bullies, he starts to realize that he was wrong. he's not just stuck in place. he bridged the gap a long time ago, and he almost didn't even notice. and where he's going now, spite and desperation are the wrong emotions to sing from. he needs to let the unhealthy, extreme mindsets die, but also it's hard to let go of something when you would have given up a long long long LONG time ago without it.

but with time, and enough poking and prodding from ken and luka, he does it. he lets go. he lets the old parts of him die, and he passes on to the next stage of his life.

akito's character arc has always been about growth. improvement. learning. Becoming Better. and not just in a musical sense although Yes That Is A Huge Part Of It. his arc is also about his growth as a person. it's about him becoming more confident, and learning how to be kinder and more patient with both himself and other people. it's about him learning how to let his walls down and let his loved ones in. and to trust that they won't start kicking him to death once they're in there.

it's about him learning to exchange the Spite and Desperation for Passion and Love.

it's about him becoming happier.

which is why it's so fucking startling when people talk about him like he's suicidal and on the verge of a breakdown. like, woah, what?

as i said though, kashika isn't the only source of this misconception and i find more merit in the other sources because they're actual aspects of his character and scenes in the story and not song lyrics that shouldn't have been read so literally in the first place. like, yeah. we've seen a ton of unhealthy behavior out of akito. he's had a very extreme perspective on his place in the world from a super early age, and while the severity frequently gets exaggerated in fanon spaces, the shinonome household isn't exactly sunshine and rainbows.

he's been moody, he's been prickly and abrasive, he's lashed out. he keeps most people at arm's length and builds walls so high not even toya can get through them at first. he had to! he wouldn't have survived if he didn't! like, he was targeted and bullied by a group of adults when he first started singing on vivid street. that is actually a genuinely traumatizing thing to happen to a kid!

so no, i'm not against the idea that akito has experienced depression and suicidal ideation in the past. kinda comes naturally with the territory he ended up in. but that's the key word: past.

i get confused when the idea is dragged into the present. because again! the whole point of his character arc is he's overcome all that PAST adversity! recovery isn't linear but we're not about to see him hit rock bottom any time soon. or ever, actually. you know why? because we've already seen his rock bottom. stray bad dog. that event was his big breakdown moment. that's what opened him up to try to start healing.

we're not getting another stray bad dog. stop expecting another stray bad dog.

he's alright, i promise. he's growing up. he's gotten better. he knows he belongs in vivid bad squad. he knows he's loved. he knows his friends will be there to catch him when he falls. he's always been strong, but now he's even stronger. he's excited for his future, and i think we should be too.