coolerjunpei | expi inbox

[ he may be without his bag of tricks, here, but he does still carry around a number of useful items. and it'd have been silly to bring a bunch of bottles but no bottle opener, now wouldn't it?

the mention of his family makes charles smile and nod. ]

Cool. My Mum tried to teach me some Urdu, you know, until Dad thought it was stupid so we stopped. I tried studying on my own afterwards, but not like there were classes I could go to, and then St. Hil's had mandatory Latin — [ he shrugs; he'd tried asking if he couldn't learn what was his mother's native language, instead, but the headmaster had spouted some nonsense and denied him and that had been that, and anyway then he'd died. so that was the end of his language learning.

he laughs at the mention of wooden clogs, because, really? but, hm, ] Well, I've heard some people say that shit from home sometimes shows up here, yeah? Maybe your collection will show up, too. Save you from the evil clutches of Dutch shoes or whatnot.

[ and in the meantime... if he's able to find hoodies in the local stores, they gotta have sneakers, too. maybe this solves his problem of what to get junpei as a birthday present. ]

[Junpei samples the beer, meanwhile, and gives it a brief thumbs up of approval for not being grapefruit. Or the cheap crap he usually buys for himself. This one's a winner.]

If my shoes show up, I'm gonna have to get a bigger room. [It's not that many, but it's enough for a dedicated shelf, and where would he keep that in here.] But Latin, wow. Everyone I know who speaks even a little Latin is kind of a nerd, so... [assigned nerd. Congrats.] And Urdu iiiis... South Asian? I'm not a languages guy.

[Or a geography guy, really, so please don't ask him linguistic and/or geographical facts. He's doing his best.]

Oi, [ charles says, mock-offended, pressing a hand on his chest as if wounded. but it's true — he may have never learned much at school, but it's been impossible not to have picked up some things over the years, what with a lot of the spells edwin uses being in latin — but then, edwin also speaks ancient aramaic among other things, so maybe charles' metric of what's normal to know is a bit skewed.

instead, he gives junpei an easy grin. ] I'm half-Indian.

[ and then, with a teasing edge, ] You know that much of geography, yeah? Where India is on the map?

[Junpei gives him a grin right back— for the nerd thing, specifically. Ribbing him about the map is, also, a nerd thing.]

Yeah, I've seen a map before, I remember. It's huge. And kind of under China.

[R...right...?? He takes a heartier swig of the Good Beer and nudges Charles' leg with his foot, for getting on him like that. Have mercy.]

Before this place, I was in Nevada. Can you find Nevada on a US map?

[ shit, is it possible to have become some kind of nerd/jock hybrid... he's invented a new kind of being.

charles, in an answer to the little foot nudge, just knocks their shoulders together, ducking his head and laughing. ]

I mean, "under China" is a pretty broad descriptor, mate. [ but alright, fine, he'll let that go! what he won't let go is nevada — ]

Well, no, but you just described the most populous country in the world as being, I repeat, "under China", so... [ did he say he'd let that go? wrong. his grin is very, very pointed and very, very bright. ]

What were you doing in Nevada? Or is that where you live? You said you'd moved to the States.

Are you telling me it's not? It's there.

[There's no defense, but in Junpei's defense, he is 1.5 drinks in. Would his answer have been different before the cocktail? Maybe!

Probably not. He's giving himself a point for making Charles laugh, so like, should he learn geography? It seems to be working out just fine that he hasn't.]

I volunteered for this, uh, space mission test run thing? [Read: bullied his way in, but that's a) just details and b) something he now suspects was planned all along by people who weren't him, so.] We were supposed to be seeing how viable it'd be to send people to a remote Mars mission, you know, with limited company and nowhere else to go.

But I did go to school kiiind of nearby. Sort of. Not, like, the middle of the desert nearby.

Wait, for real?

[ because that sounds pretty fucking cool, that, and charles tilts his head to look at junpei, his expression both surprised and admiring.

(and yeah, he hears the "supposed to", and just — chooses to ignore it, at least for now.) ]

So you went to school for that stuff, too? Like — space, and all that?

Oh, uh, no. This was all volunteer. One of the guys there was a firefighter, and another one worked in an ice cream parlor— we were supposed to get paid at the end? I guess we were basically the mice in the Mars experiment.

[Not that that's necessarily a bad thing; yes, it turned out bad, there's that "supposed to" again, but a bunch of volunteers for an experiment is just how these things work.]

There were some volunteer studies in college, too, where they just wanted you to take a survey or whatever for a paper they were writing. So like that, but big and official.

[He did a lot of those for the complementary snacks offered, maybe, yeah. He hums and slouches down a bit, to enjoy his beer as he becomes progressively more boneless.]

Do you have a pen and paper somewhere in your mystery pockets? [carrying around a bottle opener has stuck with him, sooooo...]

Still, [ charles smiles, not at all deterred by the fact that it was all volunteer work, ] That was pretty good of you, signing up for that.

[ the question makes him snort as if it's a silly thing to ask; instead of getting up, he nudges at his coat with his foot and then pulls it closer until he can stick his hand into one of the pockets and pull out, yeah, a notebook and pen.

he hands them over with a little bow, just because he can, and says, his voice affecting a posh, sharp british accent clearly different from his own, ] A good detective never fails to carry with him the means of note-making.

Yeah, a job's a job.

[Here where job means he had ulterior motives, but that's still details! He puts his beer down to take the notebook and pen, flipping to a fresh page with a murmured oh, thanks.

And with a raised eyebrow and a little grin,] Dork.

[For the accent and the bow, that is. Anyway, this request was actually for space-and-all-that, kind of. He jots down his name at the top of the page, 天明寺 Tenmyouji (and then a smaller "淳平 <- Junpei" in the corner, for reference).]

Here, look. [He'll help, tilting sideways to knock against Charles' shoulder again and hold the notebook up. He points with the pen, adding notes in the form of little doodles, the first being just a dark scribble with a star next to it:] Ten, this one, that's "space."

[A tiny sun and moon next,] Myō, sun and moon, and ji is the earth. Well, if you read it like terra, so there's your Latin.

[That one is just a circle with wiggles on it. He's not good at geography, after all.] —So, Tenmyouji. It's a syzygy. I made my mom get me a telescope when I was like eight over this.

[ he doesn't protest the accusation (dork), less because it's entirely accurate and more because junpei is grinning at him, but that's — well, then he's knocking against his shoulder again and showing him the notebook and charles focuses on that, instead.

(well. if he focuses a bit more on watching junpei draw the explanations than the actual doodles themselves, no one needs to know that.) ]

Space, sun, moon, earth... pretty poetic, that.

[ then, with a lilt, ] Not sure you can call me a nerd for Latin if you got a telescope when you were eight.

[ and then with a kind of genuine delight, ] So this your last name, then? It's pretty.

[Hey, hold on, he's not a nerd, he's just a guy who knows the word syzygy and drops it in casual conversation. He scoffs, totally indignant, for real.]

It's an eclipse, so it's actually really cool. Just like the telescope. It was basically just a toy, but, you know.

[It was very cool. Idly he doodles a little telescope, or he tries to, but it comes out more like a hotdog on a tripod of sticks than a recognizable telescope. His grin softens in quiet appreciation of the banter... and he writes "telescope" under the doodle, in English, because it looks like a dang hotdog.]

But yeah, that's me. So I guess it was probably inevitable that I'd do some space-adjacent stuff eventually.

[ it's a good thing, then, that most of charles' conversations over the last thirty-odd years have been with a walking edwardian dictionary... anyway, he gives a little shrug and waves one hand in defense. ] I didn't say it wasn't, honest! Seen some eclipses over the years, and they're proper cool, you're right. [ a pause. ] Not sure I can say the same about knowing the word syzygy, though.

[ then he seems to remember that he's meant to be looking at the notebook, and shifts his gaze; he first laughs over the telescope drawing, but then moves his hand to trace his fingertip over the lines of kanji. ]

Always thought they look neat, you know. Like they're saying a lot more than just regular written words, yeah? [ his smile turns a touch wistful, then. ] We got a bunch of those comics recently, the black and white ones, all in Japanese. Maybe I'll learn how to read them.

[Junpei tilts the notebook a little more, so Charles can trace all the kanji he wants. English is what he defaults to these days, like he said, but he can see where that sentiment is coming from - if he knew calligraphy, even more so, but he has only his average handwriting.

Now then, looking the other way to grab his beer and not at all so he doesn't stare at Charles' tracing for too long, ahem— only to immediately look back at him- and a little up, as usual, now that he's slouched down here- with Renewed Verve.]

Wait, manga? What manga do you have?

[He's got opinions. Cancel movie night, movie night is now anime club and he's going to find old Gundam recordings or so help him.]

[ he stops idly running his fingers up and down the pen lines when junpei speaks up, because then he's snapping his fingers in recollection. ]

Right, that's what they're called! Manga, yeah. And, uh, a bunch of different things, I think? Some were — [ he pauses, then, suddenly, and looks away, for all the world like he might be blushing if ghosts were able to do that; for a reason, too, because niko had been into... well, edwin had confessed to him under duress that she'd described some of the comics she had as "sweet and explicit" (and definitely between two boys because when charles had leafed through one he'd dropped it on the floor and sworn out loud because bloody hell, he didn't know about sweet but the explicit part was definitely right) and maybe he just. won't talk about those at all — ]

I mean, we just got them, they belonged to a friend. But one of them was this series about this small detective guy? Seemed fun, that.

Some were...?

[Go on, please and thanks? He leans forward slightly, like he can figure out the manga mystery by just getting a good look at Charles' face. It doesn't work, but as a person who has read manga, he can only assume this response is because Charles accidentally looked at something kind of saucy and racy and not plastic-wrapped for sensitive eyes, which is both very funny and somehow endearing of him, so.

Well, he could needle about that, but! Ah, he knows small detective guy manga,] You really like detective stuff, huh. You know they're still publishing that one? It's going to outlive the universe.

[And he didn't read it, but whatever. He takes a moment to push himself back to a more upright sitting position.] If you ask me, the mobile suit stuff is usually the best.

[ to the initial question, he just mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, and when he's not asked to clarify he actually lets out a small, relieved sigh.

and he'll blame that relief for what he says next, not really thinking about it, ]

Well, yeah. When I was dying, Edwin read me some Max Carrados, and I guess I've just liked detective novels since then, you know?

[ anyway, that nice little tidbit about his dying moments aside — ] Do I wanna ask what mobile suits are?

[Ah—well, that kind of stops his plucky delight about Gundam in its tracks. He tries not to visibly falter, opting to go for a slightly-longer-than-necessary sip of beer, but he still manages,]

Like— mecha. Big robots with a pilot. There's a ton of series about 'em, you've got to have seen at least one.

[He'll even accept just walking by a Gundam DVD in a shopfront, that's enough. It'd be best to let the other topic face gracefully into the background, he knows, that's easily the neater and tidier option, but Junpei has never been anything but graceless, so before that can happen—] Your, uh, you...

[—it comes out in the wrong register, too abrupt, and he flips the corner of the notebook pages a few times before he tries again, softer,] It took a while? Sorry, that's— that sucks.

[That's what bothers him, he thinks; there isn't a cool and fun way to die, but quicker is better than not.]

Oh! [ now he gets it! it's even visible in his eyes, the spark of recognition. ] Yeah, once had a client who had all these collectibles, like, giant figures of these robot things. Haven't seen any movies, though, maybe we can put those on the list? You know, along with 80s records and city pop.

[ their little list to find things here and introduce each other to them, he likes that.

and then it dawns on him, what exactly he said, and he feels a bit like kicking himself, because while he's pretty nonchalant over his own death (or, more accurately, has learned to talk about it as if he's nonchalant while burying his actual feelings over it very, very deep), it's... not exactly a topic that living people tend to appreciate.

instead of apologising, charles shifts in place, moves his leg just slightly so it's pressed up against junpei's there on the floor, like the contact might help with what's going to follow. because then he tilts his head back, eyes focused on the line between wall and ceiling, and talks, quiet and yet terribly matter-of-fact, ]

There was this new guy at school, Aysar. From Pakistan. St. Hil's was, I told you, stuffy, right? And the lads, well, they weren't... great, always, but they'd never treated me like I was too different. But for some reason — anyway, saw them beating him up one day, like, it was real bad. So I pulled them off of him, told them off, because if they beat him for being Pakistani, well, how was I any different, yeah?

[ he chuckles, then, or maybe scoffs — it's hard to make out which the sound is supposed to be. ] Well, turns out I wasn't, not when I wasn't going along with them. It was November, and — they threw me in the lake, threw rocks, and — well, we were all in the cricket team, so the lads could throw. [ and yet, charles hadn't really realised how bad it was; not with the cold of the lake numbing him to the worst of the pain, not with thinking i've had worse, i've had worse, remembering the time his dad had thrown him down the stairs — in any case, he'd thought he'd be fine. sore, but fine. ]

I hid in an attic, you know, thought I'd just stay there for a tick. But it was real cold, and I couldn't dry off, and... well, turns out hypothermia kills just as much as internal bleeding does. [ he sighs. ] Not sure how many hours it took.

[Bootleg Gundam classics, right, add those to the list. Junpei nods but doesn't say anything, waiting for, well—the other thing. He keeps flipping the page corners, to stop himself from interrupting - until he isn't anymore sometime around "in the lake," and then he sits there and stares at nothing, somewhere between the notebook in his lap and their legs pressed together.

The worst part is, he thinks, besides the obvious—the worst part is he can't find it in him to be surprised that something like that would happen to someone like Charles. To anyone, really, but it hits harder when he's hearing the firsthand account; Charles is a good person who did the right thing, and he died for it, and that keeps happening. Junpei takes a drink, stilted, to quiet the tightness in his chest and the profound urge to—curse or something, yell at no one, whatever.

The worst part is still how unsurprised he feels about this dreadful truth. Junpei can recall with uncomfortable clarity the bottom of the barrel, the real worst of humanity doing the most abhorrent things possible to each other, plenty of pointless deaths—and it makes him angry in a different way that what happened to Charles fits right in with his lowest expectations. Being a PI is only charming on paper; in practice it's nothing but coworkers being thrown off buildings and children being tortured and guys being thrown into lakes and stoned, like it's the Dark Ages.

He takes a deep breath, ignoring the shake in it. He says,] Fuck those guys.

[A beat of silence followed by the clink of putting the beer down again.]

Fuck them, for real, you did everything right. That's... I mean— [Well, there aren't adequate words, not really. Some people are worthless and Charles deserved better, and in the absence of anything he can think of that sounds remotely good enough, Junpei simply turns to face him and holds out his arms. A little too abruptly, again, but fuck!!]

Don't say you're fine, just bring it in.

[ fuck those guys, junpei says, and charles huffs a wry laugh at that — because, yeah, sounds about right, that. and he's ready to leave it at that, too, casting about for another topic that might take them away from this one — except junpei's not done, and you did everything right hits him right in the gut, enough so that he lets out an involuntary exhale. because — well, yeah, there's stuff he's heard before, over the decades, stuff about how the lads were terrible and how it was unfair what had happened to him and that he hadn't deserved it; he knows all that, sure.

but somehow, for some reason, no one's ever commented on the reason he died. no one's ever said that it was right, that, and even if he'd known that, too... well. feels different when it's said out loud, by someone he cares about.

and yeah, maybe he's opened his mouth and started to say, ] I — [ — what, then? i'm fine does flit across his mind, then, but heavier are the words i didn't tell you to feel bad for me, because he hadn't — he'd just wanted him to know.

instead of saying anything then, he stares at junpei and his open arms for a second, blinking, and the gut punch from earlier has shifted into something warm in his chest, something that constricts his throat at the same time as it feels far too large to fit inside whatever spectral atoms make up his ribcage.

in the end, he folds like a wet napkin, falls into the hug, his arms going around junpei in turn, his face tucked against his shoulder. ]

Sorry, [ he mutters after a second, or five, or a minute, or two — he's a bit hazy on the time, here. ]

[Junpei is ready to insist if he has to, because of course all those other things are true, fuck those guys and so on, but Junpei has faced enough uncomfortable what-ifs for a lifetime (possibly several) and he knows that sometimes the thing he most wants to hear is, yes, that was correct. Yes, you did something difficult, and it ended badly, but you were right to try.

He hopes saying it once and then demanding Charles preemptively shut up and get hugged is conveying it the way he wants, but well, he's already committed to this method.

It feels like it's working at least, the way Charles sinks into him instead of snapping at him or turning away. And it feels less strained, less sharp around the edges than back in that storage room when he'd been trying to outpace his own infected mind. Good— or at the very least, better. Junpei squeezes his arms around Charles and scoffs.]

Don't worry about it. I'm the one who asked.

[About the incident and for this hug, technically, so those are both covered. He'll stay here like this until Charles decides it's done.]

And, uh, thanks. For trusting me with it.

[ eventually, charles does decide that — well, that he's probably gone over the time limits of a socially acceptable hug by so many seconds it's better to count them in minutes, and he really should let go, no matter how comforting he finds their current position.

so he pulls back, brushing the side of his thumb discreetly against his eye before aiming a small smile at junpei. ] Nah, no need for thanks. I wanted you to know.

[ wouldn't have said it all otherwise, right? but that — well, that sort of reminds him of something else he probably should have said, way before this moment. ]

Right, so, since we're already talking about all this... I wanted to say sorry. You know, for leaving you.

[ he doesn't specify, because frankly, does he need to? he doesn't think so. instead, he just goes on, before junpei has a chance to misunderstand, ] I would've come back if I could've. Just — I'd have never abandoned you, yeah? Never. [ and he can't bear the thought of him believing that. ]

[Hey, if he's going to cry, there will be more hugs. Fair warning. Junpei sits back only when he sees a proper smile, however small.

And—] Oh, that's not...

[Not what he thought Charles was doing, when he finally never came back? At least not with the word "abandoned" anywhere in the equation, considering how many times he insisted spending time elsewhere was the better idea. Did he assume Charles made the executive - and again, better!! - decision to look out for himself? Well... yes.

But abandoning him? No, not really.]

Sure, yeah. I was pretty in my head by then, so...

[Well, never mind anything he might have thought. That said, that "if I could've" is doing a lot of heavy lifting, isn't it?]

Kind of getting the feeling something pretty bad happened, though?

Yeah, [ charles interjects, quick and pointed, ] You were, and I told you bloody well I didn't care about that.

[ he'd have stayed, right until the end, whatever that end might have been — and the only thing, the only thing he'd regretted was that he couldn't be there for him like he'd said he would.

"something pretty bad" is not an unreasonable assumption nor is it far off the mark, and yet charles' first reaction is a defensive, ] Oi, it wasn't his fault. He was... pretty in his head, too.

[ he sighs, then, running a hand through his hair, messing up the already messy curls even more. ] I... well, I didn't tell you the whole truth about ghosts, then. For obvious reasons. See, we can be hurt, by iron. It's... not pretty. Makes us tangible, too, corporeal in a way that other stuff can hit us proper. And a ghost can die if they feel enough pain, just — disintegrate, yeah?

[ somehow, he manages to say all this like he's imparting some general knowledge on ghosts, and yet the look he gives junpei then, a kind of quiet, wordless apology there in his eyes — it says it's more than general, it says sorry i didn't tell you, it says sorry for letting that happen and not coming back to you. ]

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