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"Rio spent three days and three nights consuming nothing but water, right?" Tsukasa begins, and Rui tenses, knowing immediately where this is heading.
It’s a bad idea, is his first thought. But if Rui is going to turn down Tsukasa’s suggestion, he’ll need a basis for doing so, a leg to stand on, some kind of better alternative to offer up, and Rui frankly has been feeling quite lost himself.
His second thought is that he should have seen this coming. Method acting. It makes perfect sense, as an organic extension of Tsukasa’s process. Rui's diagnosed this early on—their star is the type of actor to bring himself closer to his role until he's able to possess them wholly out of sheer empathy. Closer, closer, always closer, and now—
Tsukasa is going to starve himself, is Rui’s third thought.
His frustration at his own helplessness has grown dull, so instead Rui’s chest flickers with irritation towards Rio, of all things, curls with exasperation for this musical he used to like. Forget bad, it’s a terrible idea frankly. Three days, with their current crazy schedule? Workouts, then rehearsals, then his own practice… This is going to push Tsukasa past his limits.
That is the point though, isn’t it? Tenma Tsukasa at 12000%? Tsukasa's trying, noticed his own light flickering and is upping the voltage, nevermind if it hurts. The commitment to his craft is fascinating; Rui would love witnessing this more if he loved Tsukasa less.
But Rui can’t stand in his way. What he can do, though, is make it safe.
He recalibrates. His mind shrinks to focus on the singular point that is Tsukasa is going to starve himself and from there it expands out with new plans and new considerations. It’s alright. Guiding Tsukasa into controlled falls is both Rui’s job and hobby, routine at this point. He excels at it.
Tsukasa will be fine.
Rui considers all of this in the space between two of Tsukasa’s breaths, so that by the time Tsukasa declares, “then I will do the same, too,” Rui’s already decided he will let him do this.
.
.
That night, in the privacy of his bedroom, Rui sits with an afterthought. It feels a lot like vindication.
This is why you stayed, something in him murmurs, this is why you’re still here. When a star collapses it’s supposed to lose its gravitational pull, but even struggling with Rio’s role Tsukasa is so wonderfully inspiring, a drowning man’s breath of oxygen. Rui wants more than anything to see him shine brighter and brighter, and isn't that exciting?
Life is so vibrant by Tsukasa’s side. How could Rui ever leave?
It takes him some time to shed the wonder from that question and reveal the apprehension underneath. Letting Arkland slip from his grasp felt both like self-reinvention and self-betrayal. For a while in that train, there was only bone-deep relief, a brief peace. It was hard to feel any regret when Tsukasa was sleeping against his shoulder, after all.
But then it trickled in—the truth, bare and impossible to justify. The amount of power he’d doled out to Wonderlands x Showtime, the big chunk of himself he cut out and handed over. For so long Rui kept his eyes fixed on his future, and now he’d turned away from it to be able to gaze at his friends just a little longer. For so long it was him alone, in full control of every single aspect of his shows.
He wants to be in control again.
He wants to stay with his friends.
He wants to be both people at once. The rage of Caliban seeing his own face in the glass and the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in the glass. Rui’s no different, really. He wonders if he will ever be satiated, if he’ll ever actually let himself just eat, no care in the world.
Though that might be the wrong question, Rui supposes, thinking of Asahi staring at him with a sad smile, eyes full of pity. I wish you could see the face you’re making right now.
… huh. Rui can’t lie to himself anymore. He misses the ability, but just like a lot of other things he no longer can do it. It’s most definitely the wrong question, but it’s too late to ask the right one. He is already eating, fingers dripping with the sticky-sweet of green grapes and pink cranberries, with breadfruit soaked in gold honey. He knows he's setting himself up but he doesn't think he can ever stop.
.
.
The next morning, as usual, he hears Tsukasa before he even sees him. “...just you watch, Seiryuin Sakurako!!”
“Yes, yes, see that you do! And you don’t have to say my full name every time, you know!”
Hehe, how lively. Rui is already grinning as he waves and nods his way through the group, exchanging greetings and inane pleasantries. The air is crisp and pleasantly refreshing, early morning bathing the park in a soft yellow glow. It doesn’t take him long to locate Tsukasa, his eyes wandering almost mechanically. He’s wearing loose sweatpants and a different hoodie than yesterday, blue sleeves bunched up around his elbows.
His hands hang listlessly by his sides as he watches Seiryuin jog away, ponytail swinging down her back. And — Rui notices — in sharp contrast to the spirit in his voice, his face is resting in a strange look. One could call it wistful.
Looping a finger around his keychain, Rui makes a small berth to avoid being seen, walks right up to Tsukasa’s back and presses the metal of his keys on his neck.
None of that, now.
Tsukasa yelps as he whirls around. “Wh–oh, Rui!” he exclaims, half accusatory and half delight.
Rui smiles. “Good morning, leader. How are you feeling?”
It’s too early to even be close to worried, he reasons. Rui’s skipped so many breakfasts before.
Tsukasa places his hands on his hips. “Nothing short of perfect, naturally,” he boasts. “One skipped meal is nothing! What about you?”
“There is some soreness,” Rui admits, shifting his weight, feeling the pull of his own aching muscles. He wonders if Tsukasa will tell him, if he starts feeling bad. “But I think I’m starting to get used to this rhythm. Have you stretched yet?”
“I was waiting for you,” Tsukasa turns away, hand reaching out to tug at his sleeve. “Come along!”
Rui has given up on being surprised at this warmth pooling in his stomach. “Tsukasa-kun,” he sing-songs, following him towards a patch of grass, “you didn’t have to wait.”
“No?” Tsukasa shoots him an unimpressed look, unfooled. “Just yesterday you were acting as if I had done something unforgivable warming up without you. Didn’t you say a knife to your gut would have been less agonizing?”
Rui had said that. “I don’t recall.”
They’ve established a certain routine when they stretch together. Full body, top to bottom, hold for twenty seconds — though they’d shared an alarmed glance after getting acquainted with the Phoenix crew’s workout regimen and silently agreed to double it, so it’s forty now.
Tsukasa is fun to spend time with, all endless running commentary and overflowing praise, most of it directed at himself. This time though, Tsukasa doesn’t say much, goes through the routine distractedly, a meditative look in his eyes, sporting a small frown. Rui keeps waiting for him to say something, to no avail.
Rui sits on the grass to stretch his legs. “What was that earlier with Seiryuin-kun?” he asks conversationally.
“Seiryuin Sakurako…” Tsukasa grits out almost instantly, from his own position bent forward to touch his toes. Rui grins to himself. Tsukasa really likes the sound of Seiryuin’s full name. How cute.
“She challenged me earlier, if you must know. She thinks these runs would be perfect for further immersion—Rio chasing the Phoenix, and all—so I’m going to try to tackle her. Which is an excellent idea. I was just thinking I’d feel guilty asking for more of her time but this is something we’re doing together anyway. Am I right?”
Rui frowns. “You should pace yourself, Tsukasa-kun. It’s only your first day of fasting.”
“Yes, but—”
“These work-outs are easily something you can cut corners in,” Rui interrupts, pushy. “Since you’re plenty fit already.”
There’s a beat. “No,” comes the predictable rebuttal, quieter than expected. “I have to do everything I can. Even a millimeter counts.”
Rui doesn’t know what to say to that, so he lets it sit in the air for the remaining ten seconds and says, “that’s forty.”
Tsukasa makes a noise of acknowledgement, breaking form without missing a breath. He straightens, takes the time to roll his shoulders as Rui stands up.
“May I ask you something, Rui?”
Rui offers him a hand. “You may,” he allows him nobly. Tsukasa’s fingers curl around his and Rui easily pulls him up the way he’s done a thousand times before. This time though, Tsukasa does not let him go even as he stands firmly on his two feet.
That is new.
“Be honest,” Tsukasa says—demands, begs, staring at him with a slight frown and looking fully present for the first time this morning.
Rui blinks. “Tsukasa-kun?”
“You told me you thought I couldn’t handle playing Torpe. And you chose Asahi for the lead role of our last show. I fully trust you to be honest with me as my director, but—” he stops, lips pursing in frustration. Instead of finishing his sentence, he squeezes his hand and repeats, “Be honest, Rui. Okay?”
"What is it?"
“Will you... If I,” he starts. His fingernails dig crescents into Rui’s skin. “If I don't, I mean, if I never… that is…”
Tsukasa dissolves before him, his face falling in front of what he can’t seem to say. His brows are pulled into a frown, his lips pressed together into a wobbly uncertain line, and Rui stares at him with surprise because—
(If I never, will you...?)
He doesn't know, Rui realizes.
He doesn’t know?
He doesn’t know.
How could he not know?
How could he not see—
I should tell him, Rui realizes, in the same breath.
He is so used to have to tone himself down, to thinking of his interactions with other people in terms of how to make himself bearable to them; it didn’t even occur to him to tell Tsukasa. They were… personal things, his future plans, his art, but his art hasn’t been just his for some time now, has it?
The words are on the tip of his tongue: Arkland made me an offer and I’m still here. Or, no, perhaps more. More than that. How to say it? How to even do it justice with mere words?
I weighed you against the single most important thing in my life and found the latter lacking.
“Ah, I probably,” Tsukasa ducks his head, and a new thought must have occurred to him because he suddenly seems troubled, “I probably shouldn’t ask this of you. You made it quite clear that you’re… I mean! Well.” He takes a self-fortifying breath and smiles at him, genuine. “Nevermind, forget it.”
Rui can’t even begin to know what Tsukasa’s thinking. He opens his mouth but no words come. Tsukasa’s working so hard. It’d feel cruel now, to let him know about Arkland’s offer. He’s missed his window.
“If you say so,” Rui says carefully, and tugs his arm back. It jostles Tsukasa forward with it, just enough that Rui can reach up with his free hand and brush blonde locks off his forehead, fingers carding a loose strand back into place. His skin is warm and damp, the humidity curling his peach tips inwards.
Tsukasa blinks up at him, something in his eyes going soft. It's a pointless gesture, not helpful in the slightest. It's the only thing Rui can offer.
It’s not even funny.
And yet Tsukasa takes it, inexplicably.
.
.
In another life, he tugs Tsukasa forward and kisses him.
In the world where the lonely alchemist is still lonely and unshackled by such things as other people, the dimension where he says we are simply not compatible and turns away without remorse or a second thought—in that world, Rui does what he’s always done: reach forward and take what he wants.
In that world, he kisses Tsukasa in the last act.
In this life, Rui fixes Tsukasa’s hair and he goes behind his back to talk to Seiryuin. It’s not even a thought. It’s not even a concept, stepping out of the delineations of his own role. He doesn’t think about it. He can’t think about it, even though Rui hopes that one day… Really he shouldn’t even be thinking about it. Because…
Well, just look. That miracle, so small and so simple that other eyes would glaze over it. Won't you look at it?
‘Rui hopes.’
Isn’t he so lucky?
.
.
Emu is tying Tsukasa’s shoelaces.
They’re both sitting on the floor of the Wonder Stage—Tsukasa with his arms around his knees, and Emu cross-legged, reaching forward to redo his laces. It’s an absentminded gesture, one that exists in that realm where meaning collapses to routine, fingers swiftly working the strings the way he’s done many times for her in the past.
They’re talking, but Rui’s too far to catch the words. Even Tsukasa’s voice isn’t carrying, which is a definite motive for concern. Rui stands still on the mouth of the path leading to their clearing, watching. He looks well, he thinks. A bit exhausted, understandably, but not on the verge of collapsing, not at all in pain. Tsukasa looks like himself when nobody is watching—deep in his thoughts, a little tired.
Rui stares at them, up on the stage. Emu tightens the knot of Tsukasa’s shoelaces and pats his ankle with satisfaction, like he is her dear pet.
He feels a bit like he stumbled on a play right in the middle of it.
Rui takes a step forward on pure instinct; every single inch of him is drawn to his stage. But… he hesitates. Tsukasa’s voice isn’t carrying, and Emu isn’t smiling. They are talking so softly, sitting so close to each other.
Would he be intruding?
He takes two steps back.
… Tsukasa looks well. That's all that matters.
Rui hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder and turns around. He leaves, a contrite smile playing on his face. He wonders when exactly he stopped being able to just live with the hunger.
He's truly gotten so spoiled.