It's such a blow to his pride: Manabu remembers assuring, in no uncertain terms, that he'd disregard the powers that be and simply hang onto his memories. Because those are his to control, right? And that's not even factoring how it might've hurt Brendan to have been separated for however long.
And so much has happened since...so much that was out of his control. The dimensional attacks. Vega Platoon. Bruce...
"Khh...hh..."
His hold's maybe a bit too tight, as if anything less is going to see Brendan ripped away from him. His teeth grit tight while he fights his tears back, pressing his face into his shoulder. I'm better than this. I'm--I need to be better than this!
The door slides open, and the squat, faceless conductor holds out his hand.
"Tickets plea...se..."
After just a beat and a couple finger twitches, the door slides shut without any argument. Manabu makes a weird, wheezing noise at the click of the door, finally deflating out of this worked-up tenseness he's gotten himself all up into.
He sniffs, withdrawing to hold Brendan at arm's length, looking up. Still up...he's still taller. Still...him. The soft, sad, constantly keen eyes and mess of hair. He's exactly the same as he remembers, because he remembers it barely being a day, even though it's been more than that.
Time and space are weird.
"Brendan..." He gulps, clearing out some of the knot in his throat. "How--"
The blaring whistle cuts him off, as does the rattle of the car under their feet. Manabu blinks, realizing where they are -- and going -- and that Brendan's not...
"Wait, first!" He gives Brendan a little push for him to sit down, himself climbing onto the seat opposite on his knees, fidgeting with the latches on their window. He slides it down as the 999 starts away from the station, toward the launchpoint: the tracks that climb higher and higher in the slope of a J to send them up and out of the atmosphere.
"You've never seen this before. You need to watch!"
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And so much has happened since...so much that was out of his control. The dimensional attacks. Vega Platoon. Bruce...
"Khh...hh..."
His hold's maybe a bit too tight, as if anything less is going to see Brendan ripped away from him. His teeth grit tight while he fights his tears back, pressing his face into his shoulder. I'm better than this. I'm--I need to be better than this!
The door slides open, and the squat, faceless conductor holds out his hand.
"Tickets plea...se..."
After just a beat and a couple finger twitches, the door slides shut without any argument. Manabu makes a weird, wheezing noise at the click of the door, finally deflating out of this worked-up tenseness he's gotten himself all up into.
He sniffs, withdrawing to hold Brendan at arm's length, looking up. Still up...he's still taller. Still...him. The soft, sad, constantly keen eyes and mess of hair. He's exactly the same as he remembers, because he remembers it barely being a day, even though it's been more than that.
Time and space are weird.
"Brendan..." He gulps, clearing out some of the knot in his throat. "How--"
The blaring whistle cuts him off, as does the rattle of the car under their feet. Manabu blinks, realizing where they are -- and going -- and that Brendan's not...
"Wait, first!" He gives Brendan a little push for him to sit down, himself climbing onto the seat opposite on his knees, fidgeting with the latches on their window. He slides it down as the 999 starts away from the station, toward the launchpoint: the tracks that climb higher and higher in the slope of a J to send them up and out of the atmosphere.
"You've never seen this before. You need to watch!"