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kyrieren · 12 days

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Yashiro and/ versus Kageyama: The singularity of humanhood

Warning: Wall of text (about 1500 words) (ʘ‿ʘ) (ʘ‿ʘ) (ʘ‿ʘ)

"People ... are full of contradictions. They’re lonely. And then they’re not. They’re missed. And then they are not."

This monologue of Yashiro reveals the reasons why Kageyama and he are unable to forge a romantic relationship. The ways they deal with the outer world and themselves contradict each other, rendering them incompatible. Their respective mental burdens billow whenever they are together during high school. Yashiro confronts his homosexuality head-on, embracing it aloud, while Kageyama conceals it, even from his own awareness. It's a tragic paradox, where two individuals grappling with the same matter yet employing starkly contrasting coping mechanisms, making their interactions all the more painful to witness. However, no one is really at fault. People are just different, living in different universes, which entails the ultimate singularity of humanhood.

Yashiro has always been that observant and astute kind of person, perceptive enough to discern much about others, yet conversely, is taken into account and understood too little by other characters. Seeking for torture, aware of the world's inherent cruelty, Yashiro adopts increasingly questionable behaviors, inviting insults and even physical assaults, and hopefully Kageyama's notice too. This self-destructive persona becomes his armor against past trauma, a role he convinces himself to fully embody, albeit at a cost that may appear excessive to others, leading Kageyama to perceive him as self-centered. Despite the fabrication of his persona, Yashiro is candid about one aspect of himself: his attraction to men, a truth that challenges Kageyama's own understanding of himself.

On the contrary, Kageyama's obtuseness isn't inherent but rather a chosen path in life. Ignorance and conformity are his chosen coping mechanism. He follows the footsteps of his parents by enrolling in med school and becoming a doctor; dodges the “danger” of not being straight by finding a woman whenever somebody forces him to confront his true sexuality. Kageyama is that typical type of person who meticulously adheres to social norms, blending in with his family and the heteronormative world around him. However, this self-protective mechanism also endangers Yashiro whose deepest fear lies in rejection and emotional pain.

In this analysis, I’m going to consolidate Yashiro and Kageyama’s dynamic in two symbolism systems: the perceptions (lens vs glasses) and the defense (umbrellas, 2 vs 1).

1. The perceptions (lens vs glasses)

Lens

Lens is typically associated with observation, perception, and worldview. Yashiro’s act of stealing Kageyama’s lens case manifests his desperate yearning to be "seen" by his crush. Through various actions, Yashiro strives to show Kageyama who he is as a person and his aspirations for their relationship: he attends Kageyama’s father’s funeral, shares deeply personal information with Kageyama, and even sexually assaults his classmate to provoke a reaction from Kageyama.

As Yashiro takes the lens case, his inner monologue speaks, “But if he ever rejects me, it’ll probably hurt me. This is… obviously not… something I’m used to feeling.” Yashiro is acutely aware of the potential emotional toll of pursuing this unfamiliar feeling. Despite the risks of rejection and mental anguish, he still bravely proceeds for the desire to escape his perpetual solitude. All he truly seeks is someone who cares about him. Actually, he is asking for just a tiny meager.

Nevertheless, Yashiro's intense persona, shaped by childhood trauma, becomes too much for Kageyama to handle. Consequently, Kageyama consistently avoids and evades the possibility of being gay, which Yashiro persistently presents to him. In fact (or figuratively), Kageyama has given his answer before Yashiro even mentions about the matter.

This rainy scene involving Kageyama, his girl, and Yashiro conveys a profound message about Kageyama's stance. Though the simple dialogue is about Kageyama losing his lens, the underlying theme is about him losing his ability to truly "see" because he chooses not to. He deliberately avoids "seeing" Yashiro to avoid confronting the uncomfortable truth about himself and his sexuality. The girl's remark, "What a waste," goes beyond the monetary value of his loss; it hints at the greater losses Kageyama can imagine at that moment. He loses the world in its true form and his true, authentic self - which navigates us humans throughout life. He reserves himself by never letting that self interact and be reflected from people, leading to a gradual decline in his ability to empathize and grow emotionally. Ironically, his attempt to protect the self eventually ends up destroying it. That's why he grows into such a dense and apathetic bloke.

Glasses

I believe the glasses on his face are meant to be sarcastic. His eyes are not presented in the above panel, instead only his glasses. Glasses are typically a tool for better vision, yet in this particular case, become a symbol of his self-imposed blindness. As Kageyama can’t “see” the world with his own eyes, he chooses to rely on external aids – the social norms, to filter the world for him. A man with glasses is actually a blind man.

2. The defenses (umbrellas and 2 vs 1)

The visual storytelling in these panels is masterful, capturing the intricate dynamics and stark contrasts between the characters and their internal struggles. Here we have black vs transparent umbrella, being accompanied vs alone under the rain. Let’s not forget about the rain – the befallen suffering, and in this particular scene, it could be interpreted as the looming threat they pose to each other or the mental barriers they avoid confronting. Yashiro doesn’t want to be rejected and get hurt, while Kageyama is reluctant to acknowledge his homosexuality, given the societal stigmas.

The umbrellas

I once wrote an analysis including my interpretation of the transparent umbrella Yashiro gives Aoi, if you’re interested, please scroll to the end of this post to read. To summarize that part, that umbrella represents Yashiro’s deep empathy and the wish to end the suffering of somebody who experiences the same trauma he endures. Transparency stands for “being seen”, or at least, in this scene, the wish to be. With all normal to absurd acts, despite the risks, Yashiro is trying to make Kageyama realize who he is as a person (yet of course, acting out on his façade simultaneously). On the contrary to Yashiro, Kageyama’s black umbrella symbolizes his coping mechanism, blocking any outcast that possibly derails him from the safe uniformity. Yashiro, the friend behind him, becomes the epitome of the abject, representing Kageyama's own fear of straying from social norms.

2 vs 1

Additionally, the contrast between Kageyama being accompanied and Yashiro walking alone adds more weight to the scene.

Kageyama's aversion to be odd out drives him to seek validation through external factors, such as his relationship with women, to anchor himself firmly within social norms, which also echoes in “Don’t stay gold”. By being with someone, Kageyama subconsciously affirms his belongingness and shields himself from ostracization.

On the other hand, Yashiro, though broken and “twisted beyond repair”, is risking facing his utmost terror of being emotionally damaged. Walking alone signifies the will to keep himself survive without the buffer of external relationships or societal validation. It must have taken him aggrandizing bravery to reach that point of vulnerability, risking facing his utmost terror of being emotionally damaged.

As Yashiro persists, Kageyama withdraws further. Ultimately, Kageyama’s avoidance calls for Yashiro’s ultimate fear of rejection. The risk becomes too overwhelming for Yashiro to endure, prompting him to halt his pursuit. Eventually, they both settle into a common medium of ceasefire, which is friendship. While Kageyama maintains a superficial, pitying and somewhat indebted concern for Yashiro, Yashiro secretly harbors his unrequited love that spans a painfully long period, nearly two decades.

3. The singularity of humanhood

The oneshot closes with the scene where Yashiro cries at the balcony while clenching Kageyama’s lens case.

“People are… full of contradictions. They’re lonely. And then they’re not. They’re missed. And then they are not.”

Yashiro and Kageyama’s encounter invites an opportunity for a break from their homeostasis of solitude, yet eventually, it plunges them deeper into their initial mental state. Despite being friends and their shared attraction to men, they are universes apart, operating on different systems. They can't find solace from each other. They’re both lonely and yet they’re also not. They both exist, yet they also don't.

Yashiro has always been alone. However, he resembles a stray cat. A stray cat only becomes pathetic if adopted, petted, loved and then abandoned. If Yashiro is never rejected, he is never pathetic or truly lonely. He may be abjected, have nothing or nobody, but he retains the one constant: himself, the only ally that can accompany, protect and keep him survive.

On the very contrary, Kageyama, in conforming to societal expectations for safety, sacrifices his authenticity and inner connection. He may be with others, but he can’t be with himself. Kageyama is so empty inside. Living a life without an authentic self can be just as tragically lonely as physical solitude.

Now who really is the lonely one? Who will be missed and who will not? Yashiro the ever outcast with an overwhelming persona but nobody is taking him into account? Or Kageyama the self-deprived, while conforming to social expectations, lacks a genuine identity?

Read my other analysis including the transparent umbrella of Aoi here:

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momo-t-daye · 2 years

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Consequences had always been things that happened to other people.

Oh, Sirius had had his fair share of detentions (but he and James could make detention more entertaining than their initial shenanigans) and screaming matches with his mother (even if he couldn’t win those, he could at least make sure that Walburga lost); but those were just things that happened, those weren’t really his fault. He wasn’t prepared for consequences, he wasn’t prepared for any fallout, he hadn’t thought of anything past his plan to make Severus Snape go away.

He hadn’t expected Remus to be so upset. Remus wasn’t willing to talk to him, Remus wasn’t even willing to look at him! Remus was acting more like a martyr than a marauder.

He had expected Snape to be scared, he’d wanted Snape to be scared, getting Snivellus to go away was the whole point of it all, and scaring Sniv off was what success looked like. Watching Sniv skitter around corners, go quiet in the classroom, and fold in on himself— that was a victory, right?

He hadn’t expected James to be so angry. He couldn’t understand why James was so angry. James had never been angry at him before. Not really angry. Not angry enough to stop talking.

He had expected Dumbledore to be disappointed, Headmaster Dumbledore was an authority figure and he was very good at disappointing authority figures. But, even while disappointed with Sirius, Dumbledore had made sure to protect Remus, so it really should be all right (Remus shouldn’t be upset, James shouldn’t be angry, Peter shouldn’t be the only one of them willing to pass the salt or say good morning).

He hadn’t expected Narcissa to seek him out while he moped along the corridors in baffling solitude after a lonely lunch, to take his arm and guide him off to a quiet hallway soaked in dusty sunlight. He hadn’t expected her to say that she understood him, that dear Aunt Wally would be so very proud of him for his efforts to maintain and uphold the natural hierarchy, but (over his spluttering protests), that he really needed to pick a different half-blood to torment because Severus Snape was her pet project and she would be so dreadfully put out if anything ghastly happened to that boy.

She knew he knew about pet projects, she said with a pretty little smile, what, with Remus Lupin.

The bottom had dropped out of Sirius’ world as his cousin, with her pretty doll face benign and benevolent, began to insinuate a picture of a future he hadn’t bothered to imagine, a future he hadn’t expected.

Severus hadn’t told her about Remus Lupin, she said before his accusations could fly. He’d thought Dumbledore had fixed things, that it really was going to be all right, that Snape wouldn’t, couldn’t— !

No, Severus had been reticent, almost recalcitrant.

But Remus Lupin had confessed when Lily Evans asked. Remus Lupin had been ready to crack, absolutely bursting with guilt and boiling with grief. Why, Narcissa hadn’t needed to do anything beyond pointing dear Lily in the right direction.

So now she knew about Remus Lupin.

She surmised that Dumbledore knew about Remus Lupin, particularly given Sirius’ blithe attitude (wasn’t it amazing how fast that could evaporate?), but, she wondered innocently, did the Board of Governors know about Remus Lupin? Goodness, did the editors at the Daily Prophet know about Remus Lupin?

Her tone was so solicitous and soothing that it made Sirius sick to his stomach.

Certain pertinent information was readily available to anyone that could access and peruse the Lycanthrope Registry. Did Sirius remember that Bella’s former roommate, the surviving one that hadn’t run off to another continent before graduation, Rita (what a gem) was trying to establish herself as a full-time contributor to the Daily Prophet?

“You can’t,” he’d said, his mouth dry and his throat tight with terror. “Cissy, you can’t tell.”

“Oh, Siri,” she’d sighed and he couldn’t tell whether she was bemused or amused. “You’re wrong. I can, I can tell whomever I so please. The only question is whether I shall.”

Writing the right letter to the right person would be simple, Narcissa was little “Miss Missive”; but Narcissa wasn’t inclined to contact her darling papa or her dear sister’s former roommate about this little issue just yet. There was still a chance Sirius could aid her in resolving this situation discreetly.

She didn’t particularly dislike Remus Lupin. Even if she felt that introducing Sirius to those muggle velour tracksuits was completely unforgivable, she could admit that it wasn’t the sort of crime that really warranted death or Azkaban. Furthermore, while she didn’t particularly like Albus Dumbledore, she didn’t particularly loathe him either. Even if Dumbledore was a bit of a political nuisance, she found that an eccentric headmaster rattling around the school could usefully produce a number of charming little anecdotes to sprinkle into her regular correspondence (Griselda Marchbanks, for one, thought Dumbledore stories were delightful).

Still, Remus Lupin and Albus Dumbledore were sacrifices she was willing to make if Sirius would not cooperate.

She was, primarily, concerned that setting off the chain of events that could lead to the imprisonment and/or execution of a classmate (and/or dangerous Dark creature) along with the Headmaster’s removal and replacement would be dreadfully disruptive; particularly since their O.W.L.s were coming up in a handful of months.

Severus was looking forward to taking the O.W.L.s and Narcissa had no wish to deprive him or to distract or detract from his experience. Good marks on O.W.L.s could help when one’s blood hindered. Unfortunately, death or dismemberment would make it very difficult for him to take his O.W.L.s.

She would go so far as to tolerate Severus being disgruntled about disrupted exams if Sirius offered her no other choice.

He’d thought Bella, with her habit of breaking all his favorite things when she was bored, was the scary cousin. Prissy Cissy, with her pristine dresses and fussy golden curls done up with ribbons and porcelain doll face and her proclivity for keeping her hands clean and frivolous fondness for needlework and gossiping with the old ladies, had never frightened him.

Now Narcissa stood before him with a terrible little smile, unspooling a vision of a world in which she broke some of his favorite people for his imagination and he was frightened.

He was trapped in a web of his own making, he would dance like a puppet on a string for her or she would take that string spun from his web and use it as a noose for Remus. It was all his fault, no wonder Remus and James were both furious.

“What do you want?”

She looked at him as though she couldn’t decide whether he was dense or only pretending to be obtuse.

Very carefully, as though talking to a small child or a senile auntie, she informed him that he was to leave Severus alone.

There would be no hexing in the hallways, no shoving on the stairs, no cursing in the classroom, no jinxing in the Great Hall. He would no longer be permitted to torment, taunt, prank, or persecute Severus without risking her ire. And, for goodness sake, Sirius was to cease and desist with that utterly appalling appellation they’d stuck on the poor boy. It was juvenile and inelegant and dull.

She expected he would also enforce this new standard of behavior on cousin Jamie, that Pettigrew boy, and Remus Lupin. That bit wouldn’t be terribly difficult for Sirius, she said, as Remus Lupin was all but born to wave the white flag at any pitfalls in his path, the Pettigrew boy was all too happy to mimic the manners and morals of the more magnetic personalities in his vicinity, and Lily Evans was having a little chat with Jamie about some possible futures right about now.

She trusted that she and Sirius understood one another. It was so nice to have had this little chat, to finally have clear communication with her cousin.

Now she really needed to go find Severus and let him know that all was well, there was nothing to fear, that Sirius and his little cronies would behave from now on. They would behave, wouldn’t they?

With a chaste kiss on his cheek and a half-maternal pat on his head, she departed and Sirius, shaken by the genteel menace, stumbled towards the Gryffindor tower. He wanted to talk to James, he needed to talk to James. He hoped James would talk to him.

He met Lily Evans on the stairs, she was cold with rage and her eyes were hard.

“Oh,” she said, “Narcissa found you. Good.”

He froze as she swept past, red hair tied up with one of Narcissa’s embroidered ribbons. Green velvet. Very nice floral motif. Some sort of daffodil.

“Black!” She called up, as if in afterthought, “I expect Narcissa was rather too nice to you since you’re both family. If anything happens to Sev, if you hurt him ever again, just know that I won’t be nice at all.”

It should’ve been laughable. Lily Evans was just some middle-class muggleborn girl from some nowhere town. Who cared if she was or wasn’t “nice”?

She didn’t have Walburga’s temper or Bella’s humor, she didn’t have Narcissa’s connections, she didn’t have a Gringotts vault, she didn’t have generations of magical knowledge to consult or a childhood home full of really nasty curses. Yet she looked prepared to lay a flock of geas upon him.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll lay off Sni—” her eyes were narrowed and his tongue bent towards an unfamiliar articulation, “—aaape. Snape.”

He wondered, for a moment after she was gone, whether, or perhaps why, Cissy had given Evans that ribbon for her hair.

Remus’ bed curtains were shut and so were the curtains around James’ bed. Peter was nowhere to be found and Sirius didn’t have the map (he suspected Remus had monopolized the map over the last week and was using it to avoid him).

James didn’t come to dinner and Remus moved to the other end of the long Gryffindor table with Peter trailing behind him as soon as Sirius sat down. It was awful, and all the more awful when he noticed Snape watching him from across the Great Hall, flanked by Narcissa and Lily Evans, whispering to one another like sisters.

He hardly slept, he wanted to talk to James, or maybe Remus, or even Peter, but they had conspired to ignore him. He was still awake when James slipped out of the room before the clocks had managed to find their way to six AM.

Quidditch practice, perhaps?

Perhaps not, Otto Bagman wasn’t a fan of sunrises.

Sirius snuck out after James, if he could just corner James, just talk to James, just warn James, then maybe, maybe things could be all right. If he could talk to James, then they could come up with a plan together, and maybe they could fix everything.

James wasn’t in the common room loo, where Sirius had expected to corner him while his pants were down and he wouldn’t run.

Instead, perhaps anticipating pursuit, James had gone out to the sixth-floor bathroom. It was early enough there wouldn’t be a swarm of first years competing for the one good shower.

James’ eyes were puffy and red-rimmed and his expression went stormy when he spotted Sirius in the mirror sidling up to the next sink. He even went as far as to turn his back to Sirius and began to brush his teeth while perpendicular to the counter.

It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t awful, if Sirius didn’t suspect that James had been crying all night, if it wasn’t his fault for not thinking about the future beyond making Severus Snape go away.

There was a silent breach between them now that Sirius could not begin to broach.

Perhaps because he was overwhelmed with angst as he washed his face for the third time in eight silent minutes, waiting for James to finish brushing his teeth, Sirius was caught unawares. He couldn’t have expected Severus Snape to appear in the bathroom— the sixth-floor bathroom was well within Gryffindor territory and far from the depths of the dungeons where the Slytherins dwelt—, and wedge himself into the narrow gulf between Sirius and James’ silent back. It would be utterly uncharacteristic of Severus Snape to place himself, isolated and vulnerable, in their power, it was the last thing Sirius could’ve expected.

But Snape was there, practically touching Sirius, practically touching James, intent on his own reflection as he drew dark lines around his eyes like he wanted to be some kind of wretched raccoon.

James nearly choked on his toothbrush, which was enough to convince Sirius that he wasn’t hallucinating Snape’s presence and bizarre behavior.

“Hmm?” Said the horrid little gremlin, “Did you say something, Black? Potter?” And the question mark was shaped like a scorpion poised to strike.

“No-!” James said, all but frothing at the mouth, “No,” he said again, to Sirius this time. “Don’t.” It was the first thing he’d said directly to Sirius in the last several days.

“No, nothing, uh, no,” Sirius agreed, desperate for James to keep talking to him.

“Ho ho,” Snape murmured, now focused on applying appallingly black lipstick to his thin smirk. “Indeed, indeed. My, how the tables have turned!”

Then it hit Sirius like the wrath of the Whomping Willow: this was a test.

Narcissa, and Lily Evans perhaps, had established the boundaries of the new regime. Now, Inspector Snape had arrived like a malicious ballerina with toes en pointe upon the very line that Sirius mustn’t cross.

Over Snape’s head, James was urgently trying to beg Sirius to hold his tongue without uttering a word himself and Sirius was earnestly trying to convey via pantomime that he understood and would be as mute as a swan.

The wink, far more subtle than the semaphore, was a sadly limited method of communication, and neither James nor Sirius had ever learned sign language.

Severus, with feigned disinterest in the pair desperately attempting, and failing, to spontaneously develop telepathy, produced a small onion from one pocket and a rather large kitchen knife from the other. Then, with exaggerated care and precision, he cut the onion crosswise and appeared to savor the lachrymatory aroma.

Sirius and James froze, in a tableau of horror, as inky tears rolled down Snape’s smiling cheek.

“What the—?” Sirius gasped, his own eyes watering as Snape, blinking rapidly, proceeded to store the onion halves in a jar and rinse his kitchen knife.

“It’s called fashion, Black,” Snape declared with manic cheer.

“Oh, uh, very, uh, very pretty…?” James offered weakly.

Sirius nodded along, despite knowing full well that the list of the season’s top looks did not include ‘sad nightmare clown’. It was one thing to wear a fetching taxidermy koala on your head, but no one sensible wanted to go around looking like a miserable panda.

The unhinged lunatic, evidently satisfied with himself, smirked at the feeble compliments. Sirius had never seen Snape look so happy as he did right then, waltzing out of the bathroom to get a start on Saturday.

“He’s gone mad with power, hasn’t he?” Sirius whispered.

“We’re doomed,” said James, and Sirius felt his heart swell with joy.

They were a ‘we’ once more. They were friends again.

For James (and for Remus too, of course, of course), Sirius would endure ten thousand temptations from Severus Snape.

#Severus Snape #self-indulgent au #Sirius Black #I'm on team short Sev for the sake of comedic potential.#Fallout from the Whomping Willow incident would've been very different if Sev's friend(s) had his back #Narcissa Black #Lily Evans #James Potter #The new sketchbook has terrible paper for ink which is a pity #It started with a doodle and the caption took a day and an age to complete #Writers are amazing and impressive and my hat is off to you all who can just put the words together!#I'll add a follow up doodle later #Yes geas is singular and not pronounced like the bird but it was more entertaining that way #my art

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