pharmakon

There’s something to be said for starting small, but Tatsuya forgets whatever it is (unimportant) when he sees the look of awe on Shuu’s face. “That’s a—how did you—it’s,” he says, as if he can’t adequately form what he wants to say. Tatsuya tries not to look pleased with himself. “Practice. I’ve been working my way up.” “How long? What can you—?” “It’s limited,” says Tatsuya. “At least I am. Tangible things, based in the real world. This is a real body, real engine, real color—a couple of models based in reality. They can’t defy real-world physical limitations when you take them out.” “So…” “You can’t automatically make yourself the best driver,” says Tatsuya (or the best basketball player; God knows he’s tried). “But you can give yourself a good helmet, get some practice on a track that feels real, a road where you don’t get hurt when the cars flip you over. And then take it into the real world.” Shuu says nothing; he’s still staring at the bike, the shine of the paint even in the field lit only by the moon through the smog and the distant highway. Tatsuya hops on; there’s room enough for two. He gestures to Shuu, and Shuu doesn’t need telling twice. Tatsuya tries not to savor the feeling of Shuu’s arms wrapped around his waist or Shuu’s chest pressed to his back too much. He’s only doing this because he wants something, and soon enough Tatsuya will find out what it is—and if it’s not something he can provide, once he’s given Shuu the push to make it himself he’ll [[go away]].

Riding a bike is nothing new to Shuu, if Tatsuya believes the stories he’s told him—and he does. But riding a bike and whizzing past ethereal landscapes, skyscrapers bursting forth from rice terraces and wheat fields at impossible angles, colors jumbled and impossible to describe, renders the trip a whole new experience. It reminds him of that night Tatsuya had stayed up watching //Fantasia//, nebulae reflected in his eyes as abstract images dance across the screen, golden bursts of magic swelling in his mind. A fantasy that could only play out in a dream, he’d thought as he’d gone to bed. And, well, here they are. This is a world of possibilities and almost-realities. “This feels so real,” Shuu whispers. “It can be real if you wish for it hard enough,” Tatsuya says. It’s not a wrong statement, but it requires work and a strong will to keep things tangible. However Shuu doesn’t look deterred at all, he has a gleam in the eyes and they’re shining with fascination. “Good thing I don’t half-believe in stuff, then.” They stop right in the middle of the road—there is nobody around, because Tatsuya wished for it. He can’t summon beings that don’t exist or create things he can’t picture, though, but the extent of what he’s capable of is enough for him. Shuu looks around for a few minutes, frowning in concentration, and suddenly beneath their feet are drawn white lines of a basketball court, two hoops spring up, and it took only a blink of the eye to happen. Shuu radiates with pride and satisfaction. “This is awesome!” [[Tatsuya smiles.]]

“There’s something you want, though,” Tatsuya says, hopping off the wreck of his motorcycle, still half-high from the adrenaline. Shuu’s managed to stop his, shred the tire and leave a black streak in his wake like a messy dragon’s tail. His boots are impossibly light on the dreamscape asphalt (for someone with no dreamsharing experience he picks it up awfully quick). “I want to take this back with me?” Shuu offers. Tatsuya reaches for his hand; even in a dream the weight of it’s familiar, like a basketball hefted toward the hoop (they feel the same in dreams, too, always). It’s not quite as badass as walking away from something he’s exploded himself, but there’s a fire in his bike’s engine still, and he’d rather have fewer distractions right now. “I want—I want a cure for my dad,” says Shuu. “Is that feasible?” Tatsuya’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of it sooner; when he says it like that it’s obvious. “Medicine is tangible,” says Tatsuya. “If there’s a chemical cure, we can make it here, or take it from someone who has.” (It’s not a promise, not technically, but he’s still holding out the fruit, the basketball he’s about to pass inbounds just before the clock violation. It’s not a promise he’s sure he can keep, but from the way Shuu looks at him it’s a promise he’s going to have to keep.) “Let’s do it,” says Shuu, voice cracking [[in the wind]].

Tatsuya takes stock of the people he finds milling around; wiry retired neuroscience professors, residents popping into view for the few minutes of REM sleep they're able to get per 24 hour shift, if any. He's told he can't do it; he'd had to dream up hospitals and laboratories, microscopes and cells to study; there's no way he could outpace current research with his lack of knowledge. Tatsuya won't deny that book smarts aren't his strength, but the way he sees it, these guys have been messing around for decades with no results; maybe they're the ones who have been going about it the wrong way. He reports back to Shuu, who, for all his initial enthusiasm, looks a little tired. Shuu rubs at his eyes. “What's wrong?” Tatsuya asks, face softening just a touch as he looks at Shuu. “Tatsuya,” Shuu begins, and Tatsuya tries not to stiffen against the caution he feels in his voice. “When's the last time I saw you in person?” Tatsuya stares ahead at the horizon in front of him. He doesn't want to know the answer. [[Act solo.]] [[Ask what he wants to do.]]

“Do you want to try again tonight?” They’re sitting on the top of the hill, above the smog and far enough away from the city lights that they can actually see a few stars. Shuu sighs softly, leaning on the handles of his bike. It still looks good, shiny, well-kept; Tatsuya’s been more careless with his own and the fender is bent and rusted out (he’s been so spoiled by always having the ability to make or get more, he supposes). “I just…we do it every night. We’re still no closer than when we started—I don’t want to keep doing it if it’s not going to pay off.” Something twists behind Tatsuya’s ribcage. “How do you know if you don’t try?” (His voice is not as light and even as he wants it to be.) “We are trying,” says Shuu, tone rough-edged and fingers curling around the handlebars. “We’re trying our damn hardest and nothing fucking works. I’m doing this; I don’t have enough time to spend with my dad—even if we find something, maybe it’ll be too late and I’ll have spent all this time looking when I could have had it with my dad and I’ve already wasted enough time without him, and—” His voice breaks off; Tatsuya’s still stuck a few words before, the wasted cutting through like the edge of a surgical knife in the very real world, slashing across his face. “[[Wasted?]]"

Tatsuya has tried not to fully commit himself to helping Shuu. He does want to help his friend, to erase that sorrowful expression Shuu sometimes wears in the open, but it feels wrong on so many levels to be that dedicated to a cause to the point of losing his grip on reality. Shuu is right—when was the last time they had a conversation face to face, in a real café with a real drink? Playing basketball for fun, and not for solely polishing skills or testing the limits of a power they don’t understand, goes way back when they just met. Tatsuya has tried, is trying, but the results are here and he has lost count of the number of times he went back in the dreamscape, again and again, to look for something he shouldn’t toy with. He’s probably trying to prove he can fix things, even though nobody asked him to. He’s walking among people, who feel real enough, and he’s tired. Only tangible things can be brought back. Time cannot be rewinded, [[however much you want to]].

“Yes! Fucking wasted! What if my dad dies while I’m off trying to dream up a fucking pill? Do you even get it?” Tatsuya stares back at him. “How can you just give up?” “I’m being realistic! Sometimes you have to give up! This is about me, so why the hell aren’t you letting it go?” His voice echoes into the empty sky, and Tatsuya swallows. This was bound to happen, wasn’t it? He’d come up inadequate, promised something he couldn’t provide; even when it’s someone else’s considerably-less-selfish dream he can’t achieve it. “Fine,” he says, swinging his leg over the side of the bike. “Give up. Your choice.” “Tatsuya, wait—” He’s out of earshot before Shuu’s next word even starts. [[Let it go.]] [[Keep moving.]]

Hours, days, weeks go by. Tatsuya still flits in and out of the dreamscape, but barely—an hour, a few minutes, if it even matters anymore. Shuu doesn’t call. Rationally, he knows he’s blown it, but some part of him, some too-sentimental, too-hopeful part of him… You were the one who told him to give up. Even if Shuu calls back—would he have the courage to pick up the phone? To look into that world once more if what reality dictates is that he can never live up to those lofty words he’d etched out of nothing? Just thinking about it [[jolts him from sleep]], each time.

Tatsuya goes back every night; even if Shuu gives up it doesn’t mean he has to. There have to be some unexhausted avenues, unturned stones; there are people and places he’s never tried to use as resources, things he’s never tried to do. He blows up a building trying to make the chemicals react right again, gets thrown and this time it actually fucking hurts when his back lands on the ground. He wonders for a second if he’s losing this, too, if his inadequacies have deemed him ineligible, but when he wakes up there’s no pain or aching and clutched in his hand is the lighter he’d used to ignite the burner. He purposefully avoids the places he knows Shuu’s likely to be, particular street courts and grocery stores and coffee shops, the racetrack in the dreamscape. Even if Shuu’s avoiding them too, it hurts too much to think about being there with him, the kind smile he’d reserve for Tatsuya even when Tatsuya had known he didn’t deserve it. [[Be found.]] [[Don't give up.]]

A few days ago, maybe a few weeks, Shuu told him he stopped dream-diving. “My dad died.” And he left, just like Taiga did, not even turning back to give Tatsuya a chance to say something, to see what remained of Shuu. Dropping cursed words as if Tatsuya himself wasn’t concerned by the whole situation, as if he could dismiss the endless hours they spent together in a world made of fantasies and illusions, to in the end discard it all. Perhaps Tatsuya is doing this for himself. He’s walking aimlessly, watching the crowd around him, his eyes as focused as they are empty. He has no time for useless information and useless tangible things. In the distance he sees the shadow of a ghost. He walks faster towards it. Days after days, he has dived head-first into this world that has become his second home and now he’s seizing it with his two hands. Mastered the power, maybe. “Nijimura-san?” The man faces him, features not fully drawn, a sketch made of memories and what-ifs, but it’s the beginning of something greater. Tatsuya hasn’t found a cure; he can bring back the person whom it was destined to. Tatsuya risked everything, after all. ([[Was it worth it?]])

<center>You've reached **the worst end.** //Sometimes, you just want something so bad you have to lie about it.// — ADA LIMON [[REWIND->in the wind]]? [[START OVER]]?</center>

Maybe Shuu had gone back there alone, maybe he hadn’t. Tatsuya wouldn’t blame him if he hadn’t, even when deep down the most desperate part of himself still longs for some reprieve of what had transpired. Why did I do that? You know why, his mind whispers back, in the dark of the night. If you couldn’t do it… Even then, he has no cause to give up, Tatsuya tells himself. Even if in reality that number burned into his phone never seems to work anymore and the basketball courts stay empty, empty, empty, maybe Shuu will appear again, in a dream, in the way their fateful meeting from long-ago seems to Tatsuya now. ([[But of course Shuu never does.]])

<center>You've reached **a bad end.** //Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.// — RICHARD SIKEN [[REWIND->Wasted?]]? [[START OVER]]?</center>

Shuu catches up to him where he doesn’t expect him, the overgrown parking lot by the abandoned gym, the sight of which always makes the ring around Tatsuya’s neck feel like a lead weight. The headlight of his bike is turned off; his engine is quiet and maybe he’s been tailing Tatsuya the whole way; Tatsuya’s not sure if he should run away or approach this like a confrontation so he does neither, leaning back on his bike seat, giving himself an easy out if he needs it. “Hey,” says Shuu, but he waits a few seconds to start approaching. Tatsuya lets him, before raising his arm in a wave. “Listen,” Shuu says when they’re closer, almost close enough to reach out and touch each other. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think I’m blaming you for this, or that I’m mad at you. At all. You didn’t have to do any of this, and I really appreciate how hard you’ve tried. Thanks.” Tatsuya swallows; his throat is dry and it hurts all of a sudden. Shuu steps a little bit closer, reaches out a hand. Tatsuya wants to move away but his body betrays him; he leans into the touch, and doesn’t resist when Shuu pulls him into a hug. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help,” Tatsuya says. “You did,” says Shuu. “You gave me somewhere to escape; you showed me things that took my mind off how worried I was and how I had to be strong in the real world and take care of my family, and all the stresses of being here and adjusting—I had that to look forward to, and it felt like I was doing something to help my dad, you know? Even if it wasn’t anything real, it helped me feel like I was in control until I could accept that I wasn’t.” (How is that something anyone can accept? Tatsuya doesn’t want to; he can’t let himself—Shuu squeezes him tighter and Tatsuya almost sobs; his breath shakes [[enough for Shuu to notice]].)

He's used to his efforts turning out less fruitful than he'd like. He supposes it's one of his few redeeming qualities that it's never held him back from planting the seeds. Let Shuu surrender to regret, to hopelessness, to fear. Tatsuya will just have to do twice the work in his stead. (Rationally, he knows he's too invested in this, too invested in Shuu, and that's why his rejection hurt so fucking much, but he's never been in the habit of letting things go without leaving claw marks behind.) It takes a while. It takes a long time—of ignoring Shuu's calls, of migraines from sleeping in too late and taking in too much information beyond his current capabilities, of fighting off the thought that Shuu was right and he was wrong—and he can't say he didn't understand Shuu's reasoning. There's no way a couple of kids can do this, even kids who can cheat their way into making dreams a reality. If only he'd ever learned to take no for an answer. [[If only—]]

“Hey,” says Shuu, softer. “You’re not sick, too, are you?” “No,” says Tatsuya. “I’m not—I just.” He wants to tell Shuu, so badly—Shuu’s told him everything; Shuu doesn’t think less of him for failing; but maybe this is it. Maybe this is the thing that’s going to make Shuu look away in disgust at his selfishness, at his inability to cede control. “You don’t have to tell me,” Shuu says. But he does—even if it means this is it for the two of them. Someone like Shuu deserves more than giving his attention to a false version of Tatsuya. “You know what I said about being tangible?” Tatsuya says. “Yeah,” says Shuu. “I…for the longest time, I tried to bring back talent. I tried to practice my way into unlocking potential I didn’t have; I tried to push my desire into a physical thing and bring it back into reality—I needed to keep up but I couldn’t keep up, and. If I couldn’t do that, at least I could help you, when what you wanted was more likely to be tangible and came from a less selfish place. And I couldn’t.” “You did help, though,” says Shuu. Shuu can keep saying that, but it doesn’t feel like it, and this time Tatsuya does sob, but Shuu’s already holding him tighter, rubbing his back. He hasn’t told him everything, only the broadest of strokes, the lowest resolution, but that should be enough to get Shuu to [[want to escape]].

<center>You've reached **the end you have to live with.** //Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried.// — TIM LAWRENCE [[REWIND->Keep moving.]]? [[START OVER]].</center>

But life finds a way. Tatsuya shows his hand and ends up with a winning streak, beating out the odds and every other jackpot and bingo in the world, it feels like. He pulls from the subconscious of doctors and scientists, pulls on every ounce of stubbornness and conviction in his bones, and finally, pulls the cure into waking life. None of it seems real: not him taking a new bike with him so he could ride to Shuu's house faster, not the initial expression on Shuu's face when he shows up (relief?) and not the one it turns into when Tatsuya presses the pillbox in his into his palm, so small a thing to have caused so much trouble. "I think this is it," he says, and never mind their fight or the months they spent not talking. Shuu looks like he might kiss Tatsuya—to be fair, he'd looked like he'd wanted to ever since they met—but thinks better of it, at least for the moment. There are no questions left between them. All Shuu says, his eyes shining with either tears or belief or both, "let's go save my dad." Tatsuya has never before felt so much [[like a hero]].

The thing with heroics that he has forgotten is this: everything comes at a price. Shuu's father makes a miraculous recovery, astounding, at first, the hospital staff, and then the experts who hear about it from miles and miles around. Last Tatsuya's heard, Shuu's family spends most of their days fending off the attention, which is a far cry from the days they spent waiting for Nijimura-san to breathe his last. Tatsuya goes to bed with his chest light, like he might just wake up with the same smile he wears to sleep. For nostalgia's sake, he brings back a basketball—he can't find his old one anywhere—from his dreams. Or he tries to. He wakes up, unsmiling and empty-handed, and wonders if his chest felt light because it had been hollowed out. Heart pounding, he wills himself to sleep again, trying to bring back something, anything, starting with his usual fare (a motorbike) to the smallest thing he can think of (a single pill.) Nothing. When he sees the latest bike he’d conjured, he’s vaguely hit with the urge to crash it, bile rising in his throat at the thought that it’s the last one. It makes sense, if he thinks about it, all that energy devoted into creating something impossible, but acceptance is a bitter thing to swallow. Nothing. [[He has nothing left]].

He knows, almost immediately, that he has to leave. Being around Shuu will be nothing but a reminder of what he'd lost in the process, even if what he'd gained is so much bigger that they shouldn't even be compared. "I'm going back to Japan," he says, when he sees Shuu again. "Check out my prospects there." "You always were out of my reach," says Shuu, his smile wistful, a mystery Tatsuya's running out of time to solve. "I can't thank you enough, for everything." Tatsuya doesn't have the heart to tell him the truth. He won't be selfish, just this once, even if he's selfish enough to lean in and steal a kiss from Shuu's mouth like he owed them both at least this. "You'll still see me," he says, the lie sweet on his tongue, "[[in your dreams.]]"

<center>You've reached **a bitter end.** //Let’s talk about the things that haunt us. In other words, let’s talk about the consequences.// — TRAVIS CEBULA AND SARAH SUZOR [[REWIND->Keep moving.]]? [[START OVER]]?</center>

<center><big> //We met for a reason, either you’re a blessing or a lesson.// — FRANK OCEAN</big> [[START->START OVER]]</center>

There is something juvenile and soothing in the way Shuu acts, like a child who is trying to contain all the excitement he’s feeling. He’s beaming, completely taken with this new game. It’s the first time Tatsuya has seen him with such an open expression of joy, and of hope. (He can recognize hopeful gazes anywhere. He’s not very proud of that.) “Do you want to play, then?” Tatsuya asks. Shuu nods, a smirk floating around his lips. They’ve played a few games before, assessing each other’s skills, and it’s nice to have an opponent as strong as Taiga—there is once again a concrete objective to reach. They shoot a few created balls, Shuu is having fun changing the sizes of the balls and of the hoops just to practice something different and completely crazy, which is amusing to witness but also slightly scary how at ease he is with all this. “We could spend the whole day here to improve,” Shuu remarks. Tatsuya reins his face in. “We could, but this is just regular practice.” Shuu is too distracted by everything to pursue the topic, and Tatsuya is glad he doesn’t have to speak more about [[power-ups]].

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<center>PHARMAKON</big> [[(fall asleep?)]] </center>