[As he hid himself in Minato's arms and closed his eyes, it had felt like time had stopped. The roar of the traffic in the distance, the city beyond these houses, the chirp of birds, the scuttle of squirrels, and the rustling of the autumn breeze through the trees all faded away, muffled as if blocked out by a pair of headphones. But Minato's voice rings out loud and clear despite not being spoken so loudly at all, and with it, all the sounds return as well.
And Ken lets out a long, quiet breath, the tension in his shoulders finally dissipating, his grip on the other's shirt not as tight anymore. He doesn't pull away, though.]
... Yes, [he says in return.] I'm just fine, Minato-san. Just let me stay like this a little longer.
[But he's still reluctant to detach, even minutes later. When he finally does he still keeps his hands lingering at Minato's sides as if they might get torn apart if he pulls away completely. But as he looks up at him, there's no real visible changes to him -- his hair is still long and untamable, he's not any taller or shorter than before, and when it came to any injuries he may have sustained during his trip back... Kala-Nemi's superior healing had taken care of it all.]
[He's paralyzed to move, to refuse Ken this extremely simple gift of his presence. It's such an easy thing to do for him, Minato feels no impulse to regain his space. He's done so much more for Ken, for all of them. Something like this is easy... isn't it? Even if it's making his chest tighter and tighter, squeezing with some emotion he can't identify.
For Ken, he waits there silently nonetheless, wrestling down that unwelcome, unfamiliar feeling.]
... I know you'll be safe no matter what, [Minato says quietly, since he knows what he thinks is Ken's future back home, and he can't exactly die here,] but having you come back, and remembering everything... I'm happy.
[He doesn't look happy. Just quiet. But surely that's at least one piece of what's straining inside him.]
[As always, none of Minato's emotions show on his face. I'm happy, he says, with an expression that's almost starting to be a frown. But Ken knows his sincerity so he nods to the statement, softening his own expression into a smile for the both of them. He can do that. Neither of them were terribly demonstrative, but he can do this easier.]
I am, too, [he agrees.] I'm glad I'm back, and I'm glad I'm still myself. There are still lots of things I want to do.
... I'm glad to be back, so I can still be with you as me, Minato-san.
You're always you, [Minato says faintly, exhaling a quiet breath.] Even if you didn't remember, I wouldn't mind. I'd do every step of that journey with you again if I had to.
[Sometimes, Minato is frail and human and doubting himself and all of his choices. He's ambivalent, or filled with trepidation, or just plain afraid. He can be selfish and miserly with his feelings, not to mention cold and distant.
And sometimes, Minato is every inch the person who had stalwartly faced the Dark Hour night after night, who'd watched lives torn apart or outright be killed because of it, and pushed forward to become the Great Seal without a spec of hesitation. There's specific times where his frailties fade away, and his core of strength-- that dark, black band that let him survive all those years after his parents without removing his capacity to change for the better-- shines through.]
... But. [Now he finally smiles slightly.] It is easier this way. I don't have to explain that you shouldn't eat the convenience store food, for example.
[Those aren't empty reassurances from Minato, and Ken knows it, so he lets them fill him up with warmth and smiles, agreeing silently. If Minato disappeared and returned without his memories, no matter what time he may have come from, Ken knows he wouldn't let that discourage him either. Minato-san was Minato-san no matter what. But they don't have to worry about that now.]
I would've figured it out, but you're right. It's easier this way. ... Can I sit with you for a bit?
[What he's most glad about is not the convenience of having memories, or the ease that comes with not having to explain things over and over. It's this; all shared memories forge bonds, and he's so grateful he didn't have to let go of this one.]
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And Ken lets out a long, quiet breath, the tension in his shoulders finally dissipating, his grip on the other's shirt not as tight anymore. He doesn't pull away, though.]
... Yes, [he says in return.] I'm just fine, Minato-san. Just let me stay like this a little longer.
[But he's still reluctant to detach, even minutes later. When he finally does he still keeps his hands lingering at Minato's sides as if they might get torn apart if he pulls away completely. But as he looks up at him, there's no real visible changes to him -- his hair is still long and untamable, he's not any taller or shorter than before, and when it came to any injuries he may have sustained during his trip back... Kala-Nemi's superior healing had taken care of it all.]
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For Ken, he waits there silently nonetheless, wrestling down that unwelcome, unfamiliar feeling.]
... I know you'll be safe no matter what, [Minato says quietly, since he knows what he thinks is Ken's future back home, and he can't exactly die here,] but having you come back, and remembering everything... I'm happy.
[He doesn't look happy. Just quiet. But surely that's at least one piece of what's straining inside him.]
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I am, too, [he agrees.] I'm glad I'm back, and I'm glad I'm still myself. There are still lots of things I want to do.
... I'm glad to be back, so I can still be with you as me, Minato-san.
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[Sometimes, Minato is frail and human and doubting himself and all of his choices. He's ambivalent, or filled with trepidation, or just plain afraid. He can be selfish and miserly with his feelings, not to mention cold and distant.
And sometimes, Minato is every inch the person who had stalwartly faced the Dark Hour night after night, who'd watched lives torn apart or outright be killed because of it, and pushed forward to become the Great Seal without a spec of hesitation. There's specific times where his frailties fade away, and his core of strength-- that dark, black band that let him survive all those years after his parents without removing his capacity to change for the better-- shines through.]
... But. [Now he finally smiles slightly.] It is easier this way. I don't have to explain that you shouldn't eat the convenience store food, for example.
no subject
I would've figured it out, but you're right. It's easier this way. ... Can I sit with you for a bit?
[What he's most glad about is not the convenience of having memories, or the ease that comes with not having to explain things over and over. It's this; all shared memories forge bonds, and he's so grateful he didn't have to let go of this one.]