[[angst]] because hope is a tiny-winged thing
The most inconceivable thing was that he had given up. But it wasn’t merely the fact that he had given up that was inconceivable, but the fact that when he realized that he had given up had not been a realization of that moment then and there, but something which had built up inside him. He had given up long ago, as much as he hated to admit it. He had given up long ago that he would ever find love, as fast-holding as Icarus and Yume. Now, those were two people who were meant for each other. Every move they made was like a mirror of the others, although not quite so pronounced. But there was just something in them that screamed, I know you, and you know me, and we are a part of each other for the rest of time.
They couldn’t possibly be like that–not when he was what he was, and she was the exact opposite, and it hung between them like some sort of grim reaper–it was the grim reaper. And at the beginning, he had tried to reach out–to hold on to her as Icarus held on to Yume, enclosing her in his arms. But she was more fragile than he had imagined, more fragile than Yume ever was, and every time he reached out to touch her, he found instead that rather than be comforted by protecting her, he was afraid he might break her in two–or she would disappear before he could get a real look at her. She was moving faster than he could ever hope to catch up with, strength and speed or not, and somewhere along the line, Shuichi had just given up completely.
But maybe his expectations had been unreasonable from the beginning. Icarus and Yume were one in a million–no, a trillion. They were that ideal love, perhaps–how could he possibly expect to find something like that. Was it even love, the way he was so reluctant to even touch Keiko the wrong way, let alone change her? Icarus hadn’t hesitated to change Yume, when it came down to it. With Keiko–every time he thought about it, he just couldn’t do it. So instead, he gave up. He gave up hoping for love, he gave up on forever. He let now come as it would, but now was cruel, and soon, he was giving up in more ways than one, until the day came when he had to hold her hand in his, and tell her that it wasn’t her, it was him.
Him, unchanging, and her, the wrinkle-lines beginning to appear. Him, repeating high school for what seemed like the thousandth time over, and her daughters, entering the same grade for the first and only time this year. He had given up, perhaps, because he couldn’t bear to think about what would come after.
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