[ The smile softens on his face, disappears and retreats to his eyes instead, and he lets that silence answer Minako's question.
It's obvious in hindsight, isn't it? Two birds under the same roof, holding an invitation to be let in. It had barely been two months since Minato moved to Recollé— he couldn't have owned very much, and with his penchant for not wanting to own too many things that he'll inevitably have to let go again, the only thing consistent to his name has been his past and his baggage.
Whatever reason that had spurred him to giving her those keys feels so jumbled now- no clear cut reason, but instead a multitude of ones. There was a little bit of running away, as was his mindset way back then: if Minako held onto those keys, he would have burned that bridge and would never be able to return home again, leaving him with the only option of marching forward. There was longing for the exact opposite- to go home, together, because from his point of view, Minako was the one who was taken away from him and that day, fifteen years ago, had torn to shreds any semblance of family and home that he had. He wanted that back, or to remake something like it.
He wanted to be with her again. He'd given her the time and the space, waiting for her to piece together the words he never spoke aloud— the house as "home," two birds meaning "together," keys for "open." The entire gift was a physical means to make that happen. Selfishly, he wanted her to figure it out for herself, telling her again and again that she wasn't ready for him to be the one to say it- him saying it would be giving up on her ability to learn how to read his silence again, and he didn't want to give up on that.
But now, it's too late.
No matter how far they get, Iwatodai does not exist. There is way to go home. No home to go back to. These keys that he'd gone to retrieve will be thrown away, and he'll have to find something else. ]
...I knew you could do it, [ he whispers, lifting a hand out of his pockets as he turns. ] I'll see you later, Minako. Bye, Koromaru.
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It's obvious in hindsight, isn't it? Two birds under the same roof, holding an invitation to be let in. It had barely been two months since Minato moved to Recollé— he couldn't have owned very much, and with his penchant for not wanting to own too many things that he'll inevitably have to let go again, the only thing consistent to his name has been his past and his baggage.
Whatever reason that had spurred him to giving her those keys feels so jumbled now- no clear cut reason, but instead a multitude of ones. There was a little bit of running away, as was his mindset way back then: if Minako held onto those keys, he would have burned that bridge and would never be able to return home again, leaving him with the only option of marching forward. There was longing for the exact opposite- to go home, together, because from his point of view, Minako was the one who was taken away from him and that day, fifteen years ago, had torn to shreds any semblance of family and home that he had. He wanted that back, or to remake something like it.
He wanted to be with her again. He'd given her the time and the space, waiting for her to piece together the words he never spoke aloud— the house as "home," two birds meaning "together," keys for "open." The entire gift was a physical means to make that happen. Selfishly, he wanted her to figure it out for herself, telling her again and again that she wasn't ready for him to be the one to say it- him saying it would be giving up on her ability to learn how to read his silence again, and he didn't want to give up on that.
But now, it's too late.
No matter how far they get, Iwatodai does not exist. There is way to go home. No home to go back to. These keys that he'd gone to retrieve will be thrown away, and he'll have to find something else. ]
...I knew you could do it, [ he whispers, lifting a hand out of his pockets as he turns. ] I'll see you later, Minako. Bye, Koromaru.