And then, these journeys
and my sea of renewal:
your head on the pillow,
your hands floating
in the light, in my light,
over my earth.
It was beautiful to live
when you lived!
— Pablo Neruda, "Finale"
They both graduate high school, if just barely. Neither of them much have a passion for academia, and that didn't change just because they moved to a "normal" school, one without a fascist student government and weird caste system based on the magic properties of your uniform.
The Rinne High School graduation ceremony is a quiet one, uneventful compared to what they went through at Honnouji. Not a single evil clone in sight. Ryuko is almost disappointed. Almost.
Satsuki attends. She brings flowers, and she goes out with them and the Mankanshoku family for dinner afterward. Of course, she insists on paying, and the Mankanshokus are shameless about accepting, ordering the most extravagant dishes at the restaurant and not even pretending to fight her for the bill.
They've been leading a comfortably middle-class existence in Yokohama—she supposes that makes Barazo a mid-alley doctor now?—but still, some things never change.
The day after graduation, Ryuko and Mako move into their new apartment.
When they left Honnou for good and settled in Kanagawa, Ryuko stopped living with the Mankanshokus—officially, at least. She got a very small apartment two doors down from the family and every morning she would knock on their door to drag Mako to class, and every morning Sukuyo would stuff her full of breakfast and shove a boxed lunch into her arms despite Ryuko's weak protests. After school, she and Mako spent many evenings exploring the city, sometimes shopping or going to an actual restaurant, but usually just picking up cheap street food on their way to whatever strange adventure Mako thought of that day to avoid doing homework.
Other evenings Mako would drag her home with her, and Ryuko felt like she got just as many loud, chaotic family dinners as she did living in Honnou. The only difference now was that at the end of the evening, she would lean down and press a chaste kiss to the corner of Mako's mouth at the front door (while Mataro made gagging noises until Sukuyo dragged him away by the ear) and say good night before returning to her own place.
(Then, more often than not, Mako would, as if by magic, materialize in the hallway outside Ryuko's apartment as soon as Ryuko turned around, and she'd pull Ryuko into a decidedly less chaste kiss, sloppy and deep and always enthusiastic, just like how Mako approached most of life. She'd chirp a final, "Good night, Ryuko-chan," leaving her to blush at her doorknob for a stunned, blissed-out twelve seconds before she finally turned the lock and went inside.)
It was irritating how easily Ryuko still blushed, after everything. Sometimes she considered calling Satsuki up and asking if there was some kind of willpower exercise she could do to train herself out of it. She was 80% sure Jakuzure could flash Satsuki in the middle of a public park without Satsuki so much as batting an eye, much less flushing red.
Ryuko, meanwhile, felt her face and ears glow hot even when talking to Mako's mother.
She was helping Sukuyo with the dishes after dinner one night, which she'd do a lot more often if the woman would only let her, and as they turned off the faucet and put away the last plate, she had mentioned, trying as hard as she could to be casual about it, that she and Mako were thinking about getting their own place after graduation.
She stuttered through half a speech about how she would take good care of Mako, and that she would of course treat their daughter with the utmost respect, and they could trust her, and they had a new place scoped out and should be able to take care of rent on their own—
Before Sukuyo laughed in her face, placing a gentle hand on Ryuko's arm.
"Ryuko, are you asking for my permission?" She leaned in conspiratorially, a sparkle in her eye. "Or, maybe, this is a conversation about something else? Are you trying to marry my daughter right out of high school?"
"N-no!" There was the blush. "No, ma'am, of course not—we've barely been dating a year—I wouldn't—"
"Oh." Sukuyo sighed, disappointed. "That's a shame."
Ryuko coughed. "Um. Should we get married? Are you not okay with us living together until we're married, or—?"
"That's not what I'm saying, Ryuko." She gave her a warm smile. "That is entirely up to you two. It's just, dear, of course you don't need my permission to move out with Mako. We all trust you more than anybody but—more than that, you're already part of our family. Don't we tell you that all the time?"
Ryuko tried to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat.
"Yeah," she said eventually, the corner of her mouth lifting up. "Yeah, I guess you all do."
For the first week of living together, the only furniture they have is a mattress on the floor. Mako dances through the empty spaces of their new home, grabbing Ryuko's arm and dragging her into a poor waltz, a worse tango, twirling her in circles until Ryuko is laughing so hard that her feet get trapped under Mako's own, making her trip.
Ryuko catches her, of course, reflexes as sharp as ever, tuned now to the pitch of Mako's idiosyncrasies. Still, the momentum just means they both go tumbling toward the ground, and Ryuko only just manages to direct their fall so that they land on soft bedding instead of the hardwood floor.
Mako straddles her hips, unhurried, unbothered, grins down at her like this is exactly where she wanted to end up all along.
"Ryuko-chan!" The way Mako says her name, it always feels like she's saying it for the very first time. "You caught me."
"Yeah." Ryuko smiles, still pinned beneath her. Not a bad place to be. "I caught you."
"You're always doing that," Mako marvels.
Then they're kissing, soft and sweet until Mako's hand is trailing up Ryuko's leg, distracting enough that Ryuko is blindsided when the pillow whacks her in the face.
There are a limited number of activities available when a sort-of bed is the only thing in the apartment, and Ryuko and Mako make the most out of all of them.
Ryuko still has nightmares. Of Ragyo, her father's house swallowed by flames, the sickly sweet taste of Nui's lips. Sometimes the dreams are just of empty, echoing halls that never seem to end, the sound of her footsteps her only company as she wanders, and wanders, and wanders.
She always wakes from these nightmares with her muscles locked and aching, a sheen of cold sweat on the back of her neck, her clothes feeling too tight and itchy no matter what the fabric is.
She flips over in bed with a shaky breath. Mako is the world's heaviest sleeper, and she almost never wakes unless Ryuko actively tries to make it happen. The rhythm of Mako's snores now is more familiar to Ryuko than her own heartbeat, and inch by inch, she feels herself relaxing as she listens to her breathing, watches the steady pool of drool grow on the pillow squished against her girlfriend's cheek.
"Boo." Mako's eyes blink open. "You perving on me in my sleep, Ryuko-chan? How scandalous. I never knew you were that kind of woman."
Ryuko makes a face and throws a pillow at her.
Mako catches it, hugs it to her torso as she sits up, beaming at Ryuko in the dark. They're both upright in bed now, knees touching like schoolgirls sharing secrets during a sleepover. Or so the movies tell her—Ryuko's never exactly had that kind of experience, unless she counts the months she spent rooming with Mako's entire family.
"What are you doin' awake?" she asks.
"I was having this really amazing dream about a wagon I stole from a frog," says Mako. "Then I got this tickling feeling on the back of my neck like someone was watching me, and the frog told me to look out for pervs, and I opened my eyes, and there you were."
"The frog's kind of right," says Ryuko. "It's a messed-up world out there."
"I'm not worried. Why do I have to watch out for anything when I've got you next to me?"
"Hey, don't put all the work on me," she complains. Her mouth quirks. "Besides, didn't you just call me a perv?"
Mako answers her by planting a quick, feather-light kiss on her nose.
Ryuko blinks. "What was that for?"
"You're just cute," Mako explains, grinning. "It's every girl's dream to have another super cute girl creepily watch them sleep, you know."
In the dark, her hand finds Ryuko's, tangles their fingers together and squeezes. Ryuko squeezes back, maybe a little too tight. She feels like Mako's about to ask what she was doing up, ask her about the big bad dreams they both know she has. She wonders if Mako has bad dreams, ever. She thinks she'd want Mako to tell her, if she did.
"What do you think happens inside a dishwasher when it's on?" says Mako. "Do a thousand little tiny hands come out from the sides and start scrubbing all the plates and stuff with soap? It's always so loud. Do you think there are tiny slave gnomes trapped in there, calling for help?"
Ryuko breathes, slow, steady, Mako's hand warm in hers. The key to getting you to relax. She blinks, and the memory of his voice is gone, too quick, like water slipping between her fingers. Still, her pyjamas don't feel as itchy as before.
"Yeah," she says, leaning forward until her forehead is resting on Mako's shoulder. "Yeah, Mako, I think you're probably right."
Their home ends up being a very cluttered one; once they begin filling it with stuff, it's as if they can't stop, Mako coming back from every shopping trip hauling a new houseplant or antique globe or oversized plush doll. There's no consistent theme or colour palette with their furniture and decor, which always dismays Satsuki when she is in town to visit. That's how Ryuko knows the place is utterly perfect.
(Ryuko still gets the same rush of deep satisfaction whenever she manages to get under Satsuki's skin. That's probably a sign that she was always meant to be a younger sister.)
It's good that their apartment is so jumbled and full. When Mako is around, Ryuko can't care less about her surroundings—the thing about Mako Mankanshoku is that she kind of commands all of your attention, makes everything brighter and louder around her. But every so often there are days when Mako goes out—to see her family, to hang out with Gamagori, to feed birds or watch movies—and Ryuko just doesn't feel up to it. Days when Ryuko feels like a stranger in her own skin, when she doesn't think she can stand the feeling of sun and wind on her, of eyes, always so many eyes, following her every movement.
She hides it all from Mako, knowing she'd worry, and not wanting to keep her from even a second of the full, glittery life she deserves to enjoy.
On those days, when Ryuko is alone in the apartment, the empty spaces always feel larger without Mako to fill them. But at this point their place is so cluttered with souvenirs of their outings together that there aren't many empty spaces to begin with. Ryuko likes it this way, distancing herself from the chasm of her father's mansion and the sterility of boarding school after boarding school as much as possible.
Between the two of them, Ryuko is the more experienced cook, since Mako's had her mother to rely on for all of her life. Sukuyo taught Ryuko some of her recipes when Ryuko first moved out after Honnouji, and while she's sure her croquettes can't compare to Mako's mom's, a part of her enjoys the elaborate, exaggerated praise Mako pelts at her whenever Ryuko makes an attempt at keeping them fed. On the days that Ryuko is alone, she prepares a huge meal, hot and ready for Mako's arrival home, which always happens the same way—
Mako barrels in through the door as if being chased, and no matter what Ryuko is doing or where she is in the apartment, Mako finds her and tackles her, and Ryuko drops anything she might be holding to catch her in her arms. She spins her around once, twice, as if they're long-separated lovers reuniting at an airport, and then Mako cradles her face in her hands and drags her into a long, bruising kiss that only breaks when one of them inevitably starts to giggle, or when Mako notices the food.
After maybe about the fourth time that Mako says she wants to catch a movie or visit the docks and Ryuko finds an excuse to stay home, though, having one of her days, Mako puts her foot down.
"Okay," she says, flopping back into bed. "Then I'm staying home today, too."
Guilt settles heavy in her gut. "Don't do that for my sake, Mako," she says, jabbing her gently in the shoulder. "Go have fun."
Mako rolls her eyes, grabs both of Ryuko's shoulders and drags her into bed next to her. "Dummy," she says fondly, "right next to you is where I have the most fun. If I go out without you, I'm just going to spend the whole time thinking, What would Ryuko-chan say about this person, or Ryuko-chan and I should buy a boat, or Ryuko-chan would never accuse me of harassing the pigeons, shut up, Gamagori."
"Babe," she says very seriously. She inches forward until her forehead is pressed gently to Mako's, her warm breath tickling her cheek. "Mako, you probably, absolutely were harassing the pigeons. I have faith in that."
"That's not fair." Mako frowns. "As my best friend and my girlfriend and my Ryuko-chan, it's in your contract to be on Team Mako 100% of the time."
"I'm on Team Mako," she assures her, "even if Team Mako is anti-pigeon. Birds are shady motherfuckers anyway."
Mako laughs, and everything is okay again.
The truth is—the truth is—
Their life together is more than either of them thought they could ever have.
Sometimes in the small hours of the morning, when the sun is just beginning to rise and throw shafts of yellow light across their forms entangled on the bed, Mako traces with her thumb a too-familiar divot on the corner of Ryuko's brow. Ryuko has many scars, but this one, this one is hers.
"Do you ever still think about Fight Club?" Mako asks once, her face buried in the crook of Ryuko's neck.
"Sometimes," she says easily. "Why?"
"That's the only part I have bad dreams about," Mako whispers. "I dream about hitting you, over and over, and how you just let me. In my dream, I don't stop. I—"
"You did, though," says Ryuko. "You did stop." She presses her lips to Mako's hair. "When I say I think about it—I mean... I think about it as a good memory."
Mako pulls away to gasp at her. "Ryuko-chan! You really are a masochist, after all, aren't you?"
Ryuko smirks. "For you, yeah. Probably."
"Ooh. That's making me think the sort of thoughts a lady should never think until she lies in her marital bed. How could you, Ryuko-chan?"
"Jeez." She rolls her eyes, trying and failing not to blush. She's pretty sure they've both more than defiled their nonexistent marital bed beyond salvation, at this point. "No, I mean—some parts of the whole thing were sad, and painful. But our fight, at the end, that was the easiest part. Because I knew if my faith in you was wrong, then there must be nothing in the world that's right, I guess."
"So if I did kill you, that would just mean you're better off?" Mako places a hand on her forehead. "That's so morbid, Ryuko-chan. You're not just a masochist, you're a martyr. A martyr for my love."
"What? Why did you have to go that dark?" Ryuko protests. "I was trying to say something sweet."
"I know." Mako softens. She scoots closer again, this time hugging her so her chin is resting on the top of Ryuko's head, her nose nudging the hollow of Mako's throat. "It's okay. I'm not really that upset about it, you know. I know I could never, ever, ever hurt you like that again. I'd die before that happened." She says it perfectly earnestly, cheerfully.
"Now who's being morbid," Ryuko mumbles. But she's smiling, despite herself.
"Besides, you went crazy and tried to kill everyone like three different times, sooo..."
"Mako!"
Ryuko tackles her until they both end up rolling off of the bed. The sun rises as they lie tangled on the floor, the fabric of her pyjamas feeling smooth and natural against her skin, Mako's laughter and teasing filling the whole room, the gaps between Ryuko's bones, every cold corner of the world they share.
(Later, later, Mako will take Ryuko's wrist and lay her palm flat over the strong and steady thud-thud-thud of her heart. She'll beam and say, "We'll be okay, you know," and Ryuko will believe her, more ferociously than she has ever believed anything. And, well, whoever, whatever else she's been, she has always believed in a lot.)