Major tags: Referential animal death Additional tags: Mental health issues Word count: 534
Shinkai had never befriended an animal before.
That was not quite true, he reasoned with himself, considering his own parrot, considering Yuuto's fixation on small rodents, considering Juichi's solemn birdwatching in-between riding and study sessions. Yet, he could not shake the feeling of difference about Usakichi. The warmth in his hands when he would hold her, in gentle calloused fingers, when she would scrape her nails along his belly as he laid next to her cage, when she would look up at him with an attentive twitch every day he arrived with food and a book to relax to.
Usakichi was not like a bird who had been raised to speak alongside humans, nor was she like a hamster bred for households and running wheels. He did not own her. She was not for keeping. She merely had nowhere else to go, and he had no other way to absolve himself.
He didn't have a type when it came to people - he liked a stern childhood friend - a prideful new climber - an angry former pitcher - all of whom were strange, struggled to understand Shinkai himself, but always meant well. But the more he sat at the hutch, allowed himself to touch someone warm and small without flinching for fear of what his hands might turn into at the last moment, that blood could appear and trickle out from some wound Usakichi had hidden - that the blood she would accidentally give rise to when she scrambled along his arms could poison her and make her waste away - the more he realized he did have a type. Given the proper clause to pin onto whatever rules his classmates would make up for dating games.
People sometimes asked if he took up the duty for caring for the animals the school kept out of some kind of want to impress, as though cyclists would gain accolades for a sort of display of kindness to being weaker than themselves. It was possible Usakichi was weaker than him. She was smaller, and he had learned well the fragility that came with such delicate bones and careful eyes. Yet, he could not shake the feeling that he was on her level, even as his body grew, even as he gained muscle and speed and remarkable sturdiness in form.
He was complemented, by his fellow cyclists, even by adults and scouts, but Usakichi sniffed at him as though he was the same he ever was, no matter how many centimeters he gained. If he could match his emotional state, Shinkai would sit at her level, and not feel much weaker for it. As long as she was there, it was strangely simple, no matter how many days passed.
She was as alive as he was, and the two of them would ensure one another in their quiet gaze in the mornings, after class, and in the goodbyes he could allow himself when it was time to leave Hakone.
Even in college, people would express their shock at Shinkai's lack of a dating history.
"Sorry, I'm just trying to be faithful," he would answer with a smile. "I've got a girl at home. She loves carrots."
FILL: TEAM AOYAGI HAJIME/IZUMIDA TOUICHIROU, G
Additional tags: Mental health issues
Word count: 534
Shinkai had never befriended an animal before.
That was not quite true, he reasoned with himself, considering his own parrot, considering Yuuto's fixation on small rodents, considering Juichi's solemn birdwatching in-between riding and study sessions. Yet, he could not shake the feeling of difference about Usakichi. The warmth in his hands when he would hold her, in gentle calloused fingers, when she would scrape her nails along his belly as he laid next to her cage, when she would look up at him with an attentive twitch every day he arrived with food and a book to relax to.
Usakichi was not like a bird who had been raised to speak alongside humans, nor was she like a hamster bred for households and running wheels. He did not own her. She was not for keeping. She merely had nowhere else to go, and he had no other way to absolve himself.
He didn't have a type when it came to people - he liked a stern childhood friend - a prideful new climber - an angry former pitcher - all of whom were strange, struggled to understand Shinkai himself, but always meant well. But the more he sat at the hutch, allowed himself to touch someone warm and small without flinching for fear of what his hands might turn into at the last moment, that blood could appear and trickle out from some wound Usakichi had hidden - that the blood she would accidentally give rise to when she scrambled along his arms could poison her and make her waste away - the more he realized he did have a type. Given the proper clause to pin onto whatever rules his classmates would make up for dating games.
People sometimes asked if he took up the duty for caring for the animals the school kept out of some kind of want to impress, as though cyclists would gain accolades for a sort of display of kindness to being weaker than themselves. It was possible Usakichi was weaker than him. She was smaller, and he had learned well the fragility that came with such delicate bones and careful eyes. Yet, he could not shake the feeling that he was on her level, even as his body grew, even as he gained muscle and speed and remarkable sturdiness in form.
He was complemented, by his fellow cyclists, even by adults and scouts, but Usakichi sniffed at him as though he was the same he ever was, no matter how many centimeters he gained. If he could match his emotional state, Shinkai would sit at her level, and not feel much weaker for it. As long as she was there, it was strangely simple, no matter how many days passed.
She was as alive as he was, and the two of them would ensure one another in their quiet gaze in the mornings, after class, and in the goodbyes he could allow himself when it was time to leave Hakone.
Even in college, people would express their shock at Shinkai's lack of a dating history.
"Sorry, I'm just trying to be faithful," he would answer with a smile. "I've got a girl at home. She loves carrots."