[ you are reborn tonight ]

. . .

headcanon
a new year, the acceptance of flaws;
an opportunity, given to those who are lost,
to restart—to find home

. . .

WE'RE not coming back.

As he enters the deserted headquarters of Feida, Saryuu Evan feels a tight knot in his chest. Staring at the ruins of his home, he could only frown. He takes long strides to reach the other side of the room, where his chair stands, untouched. He raises his hand to touch it, and his breath hitches when he does. It no longer has the same powerful aura as it did back then. Still, he pulls it back.

And he sits.

Staring at the ruins of his home, he closes his eyes. This is where everything began. Where he carefully constructed the rebellion. Where he gathered those who are like him: the outcasts, the freaks, the abandoned. Where he found his purpose, and his ambitions. Where he accepted his ephemeral life, and rejected the idea of giving in to the ignorance of boring humans. Where he welcomed death like an old friend. Where his power undoubtedly thrived.

He bites his lower lip anxiously.

This is where he shared laughter with his peers. Where each of them showcased each other's abilities. Where they discussed things only they could understand. Where they exchanged knowing smiles when they prepared to attack. Where they had their childish arguments. Where they act and think like adults, even if they're kids.

This is where he felt like home.

Now, everything has changed. Just a few months ago, El Dorado had offered him a chance to redeem himself—by giving him a vaccine that could remove the SSC genes. Getting rid of the genes only meant his powers will perish forever. However, he would be able to live a longer life. And despite himself, he accepted the offer instantly. Nobody had forced him to do so, but Saryuu felt like he had to set an example for his people—for his family. And one by one, most followed him. There were rebels, of course, but they easily gave in.

The removal was a success, and Feida was no more.

We're not coming back.

In the new headquarters of El Dorado, where he and the others Second Stage Children are being monitored, he has been given therapy and other medications to adjust to his now normal life. It was difficult at first, not using his powers. Not being able to admire his aura in an ampule.

Saryuu has never felt so strange before. Being a Second Stage Child is all that he knows, ever since he was younger. He's accepted his short time in the world, so he'd been reckless and ambitious. He did everything he could to support himself and the other Second Stage Children through all the hardships and cruelty they've endured. (All the threats and lies everyone else ever told him is written in stone. He never forgets.)

Before, as delicately as he can, Saryuu crafts new words of encouragement in his bones, to remind himself that he is gifted. Every day, he reminds his people that they are special. He reminds them that the low-life humans are nothing compared to them.

With his powers, he has a clear path ahead of him—to lead those who are like him, to make his kind well-known (and feared). With his powers, he is proud. With his powers, he is himself.

Now, Saryuu is devoid of all that. Now, he is no longer himself. He is weak, and fragile. He is disgustingly ordinary (—disgustingly human).

He is everything he hated becoming.

And he became nothing.

We're not coming back.

Saryuu Evan, the emperor of what once was a thriving organization, is scared. He doesn't want to admit it, but he is. Scared of being isolated. Scared of what people thought of him. Scared of his scarred pride. Scared of not knowing who he truly is. Scared of not having a purpose. Scared of being lost again.

"Saru."

The silver-haired boy opens his eyes abruptly.

The last time he saw his peers was on the final day before the extraction of their powers. That was also the last time he's been called Saru. Hearing it is strange. Saryuu never imagined it being used again; he got used to considering it as a distant memory, something he can no longer reach.

By the door, there stands Fei Rune, who still looks the same as before, staring at him. His gaze is soft, and (unfortunately) unreadable. Saryuu wonders if his ability to read others like an open book has disappeared along with his powers. His chest only grows heavier.

"Fei." Saryuu acknowledges the other boy's presence, forcing a confident smile on his face. It feels terrible, having to pretend he's unfazed by the changes.

He watches as Fei shifts his attention to his surroundings. The boy looks at him again, smiling. "It feels different, doesn't it?" Fei comments, gesturing to the empty room.

"Yeah, it really does." Saryuu says in agreement. It's too different.

"I wonder what Meia would say if she finds out they got rid of her flowers." Fei muses, chuckling slightly.

"Why are you here, Fei?"

Saryuu notices the other boy stiffen to his words. Even through the limited light illuminating the room, he sees Fei's grim expression. And for a moment, Saryuu is able to understand the raw emotion on Fei's face: Concern.

"I... had a feeling you'd be here." Fei replies.

A single laugh escapes the silver-haired boy's lungs. He's grateful for the short-lived, light feeling in his chest, even if it wasn't so sincere. "Is that so?"

Fei frowns. "Saru, you don't look okay. What's wrong?"

The room is soundless for a short while. Saryuu rises up from his seat, pacing over towards a window in large strides, with the satisfying sound of his boots clashing with the wooden floor echoing about. He lifts his head up to the clear sky, where the bright stars twinkle. He feels Fei's gaze burning on his back.

Licking his dry lips, he says, "I'm afraid, Fei." His voice quivering in the slightest bit. "Very afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Fei whispers.

Of the judgemental stares. Of being alone again. Of losing myself. Of the remnants of our home.

"Everything." Saryuu answers quietly, clenching his fists. For a moment, he wishes that Fei understood him. That he understood the uneasy feeling spreading in his lungs. That he also knew what it felt like.

But he could only rely on hopeful thinking.

We're not coming back.

"We are afraid too, Saru."

He heeds another voice—Meia's. Surprised by the sudden interruption, Saryuu turns around quickly, only to meet the gazes of every single member of Feida. Of his family.

(Saru. Saru. Saru. Why are they calling him that—)

"How long have you guys been listening?"

"Long enough to know you're bothered by the changes." Giris counters, standing next to Meia. He takes his lover's smaller hand, giving it a light squeeze. "It's really strange, right, Saru? Being powerless. Being human... It's like something important has been removed inside you, and you can't take it back. Ever."

An uncomfortable pause. The silver-haired boy remains noiseless.

(Still, he's failed them. He's pathetic. So—)

"We know you're as lost as us, Saru." Meia speaks softly, "You don't have to try leading us anymore. You are free from that burden. You don't have to suffer. No matter what happens to all of us, everyone's here for you. Even though we're different now, we're here still... by your side."

Fei takes a few steps towards the silver-haired boy, who's frozen in his spot. He places his hand on Saryuu's shoulder. He looks at the boy in the eye, his lips forming a genuine smile.

"Saru." The way his name sounds in Fei's voice sends shivers in his spine. "You're not alone. You don't have to be a God."

(A God, huh?)

"This is not our home."

Saryuu Evan feels a comfortable warmth on his hand, and he glances down to see Fei's other hand squeezing his own. He looks up at Fei again.

"Saru."

Fei's voice is loud, Saryuu notes. Then later, he realizes it wasn't Fei who called him. He lets his eyes trail behind. All the eyes of his companions are on him. Their gazes are uncomfortable, and Saryuu's chest tightens.

Perhaps it's fear, or shame, or even the feeling of being a failure that's caused the knot in his heart. He isn't particularly sure. He isn't sure he knows anything anymore.

"Saru."

The old emperor's attention drifts to Fei again, who simply nods. His pale green eyes hold a certain intensity—the mesmerizing type.

"Look again," They seem to tell. "Look at them. Look at them again, and realize that it's respect in their eyes, not judgement."

Saryuu, although hesitantly, does so, later realizing Fei is right. He sees his friends smiling at him, eyes full of trust.

"Saru."

Fei says once again, this time more quietly. Just a mere whisper. "This is home."

A few seconds left before midnight; all Saryuu Evan sees are his friends. Those who supported him. Those who gave him a reason to fight. After all this time, he has been blinded by his obsession of being noticed by mankind. He learns that it never mattered in the first place.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

"Whoa! It's finally here!"

One by one, everyone moves closer to the windows, admiring the amazing sight beyond the glass surface. Saryuu blinks, and curiously takes a peek outside the window. He doesn't hear the excited voices from his friends, as the boisterous booming of the fireworks clouded his hearing. He does notice Fei standing beside him, whose eyes are innocently glued to the previously dark canvas above.

"Happy new year, Saru!" The others say, laughing.

The colorful explosions light the midnight black sky up. It's a mark of a new year. A chance for redemption. A fresh new start.

Even when the fireworks cover the sky, Saryuu is aware that the stars are still there, twinkling with all their might. And he concludes that just like the stars, his identity (despite being flawed) is still unique, even without his inhumane abilities.

For the past few months, Saryuu was so far from home (the ambitions that formed Feida, his abilities, his pride, his greed for gaining control over the world).

And he's not coming back there. Not anymore.

(There's nothing to pack, nothing to lose. Not anymore.)

He's already found his true home (his family).

"We're home, Saru." Fei whispers.

We're not coming back.

And Saru smiles, truly, for the first time in a long while.

We're not coming back.

We're not coming back.

I'm not coming back.

〆

[l.] - everything's just begun.