Chapter Text
They find a cheap motel.
It’s by the emptier parts of Tokyo. The streets that still house 90s drunk pubs and raggedy kids who spit and flex their arms and steal your wallet if you’re not careful enough. The motel he finds is not too much better anyhow. It’s a small cramped room, with only one single bed, an armchair and a desk with a laptop at least a decade old. The bathrooms are not - too good either. Hardly any warm water. The lady at the front desk just shrugs when Sanzu mentions it. Just how the stuff here works. She tells him, pushing him away. Don’t like it, you can take your leave.
And oh, Sanzu would’ve left. He definitely would’ve. But Rindou is sick. He’s sick and he’s been in bed for three days straight; forehead burning, continous vomiting. He’s asleep most of the time. When he is awake, it’s just so Sanzu can force some bread and stale-flat water down his throat, and just so Rindou can cry and sob and scream at Sanzu late at night until he’d finally wake up. There’s someone here! He’d cry, and beg, and beg for Sanzu to check the bathroom and front door and closet. The windows, too.
It doesn’t matter how many times Rindou is wrong, and how many times Sanzu stops by the run-down pharmacy to get some meds; it all still continues. And soon, their three-day stay becomes four which eventually becomes seven - an entire week. And it’s only then, on the seventh day, that Sanzu finally drags Rindou out of bed; after lots of arguing and crying and gets him to sit on the bathtub, as the shower water runs.
“Cold.” Rindou huffs. He’s got his knees to his chest and he’s different - from before. Before it all. Quieter; more distinct. Almost small. Like a child and like he’s scared. “T’s cold, Haruchiyo.” He’s begun to call Sanzu Haruchiyo, too. He doesn’t know why - he just has.
Sanzu detaches the shower faucet - and tries to get in, too, but Rindou just won’t let him. Stay there. Please. He begs.
Sanzu kneels on the bathroom tiles, instead.
“Yeah.” He agrees, bringing his hand to the faucet. The water is cold - too cold for a shower in December. But there’s nothing, literally nothing, that Sanzu can do. “It’s cold.” He sighs, bringing his elbow to the edge of the tub. He runs his fingers through Rindou’s hair. It’s damp; from the sweat and tears and blood and vomit.
“But it’ll be quick.” He begins, quickly. “Then you can get wrapped up in a towel - and go back to bed, yeah?”
“No. It’s cold.” Rindou repeats, slowly, like Sanzu does not understand. But he does. The water is cold - and Rindou is cold. That’s all there really is.
Sanzu sighs, drops the faucet down. onto the floor of the tub instead. “Come on, Rin. Five minutes, I’m telling you. Please.”
“No.” Rindou whispers, like he’s scared. Sanzu can see him shivering, shaking and he just wants to cry. Cry and hug Rindou close - so close that he can feel his pulse; make sure he’s living, rather than just surviving. He wants to help. God; Sanzu wants to help so bad. More than anything. If he could; he would’ve taken the hits instead. The beating. In a single heartbeat - he wouldn’t have even had a single thought. Wouldn’t have even hesitated.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t take the beating and Sanzu is the one left standing; he’s the one who got away. And he needs to snap out of it; his sickly twisted fantasies, where he’s knight in shining armour, and accept it. This happened - and it’s not okay, and it will never be okay but it happened; and what can he do about it?
“Three minutes.” Sanzu promises, and without waiting for another reply, he begins to lather cinnamon and vanilla shampoo and something else sweet on Rindou’s hair with his right hand. And with his left hand, he manages to dig out a cigarette from his pocket and light it; passing it to Rindou. And of course, as the addict he still is, he takes it. Inhales all the nicotine and benzene and reduces his life line by another eleven minutes. As if Mikey’s beating wasn’t enough. But Sanzu can not find it in him to be angry. No. How could he be angry at Rindou - his sweetheart, Rindou; who tries to hide the fact he is so obviously crying, as Sanzu’s washing the shampoo off his scalp. Rindou whose hands shake and lips tremble. Rindou with his blood-shot eyes, fragile broken voice. Rindou who always has that homely scent of smoke stuck on him; no matter how much vanilla and cinnamon and other shit Sanzu massages his head with.
“It’s okay.” Sanzu says, almost humming. There’s a synchronised kind-of harmonic peace; silence. The only sound is water hitting against the tub. Rindou sucking on his cigarette. His light, feathery breathing. Sanzu draws circles on his back with his palm. “It’s okay, Rin. It’s okay. I know it’s cold - but it’ll be okay.”
He doesn’t even know what he’s sayingg, at this point. What his words mean - if they had meaning to begin with.
“T’s cold.” Rindou mumbles, once again. “Sanzu…”
“I know.” Sanzu interrupts. “I know, okay?”
“..why didn’t you leave me to die?” Rindou asks, abruptly, his head low, gaze still beneath. Like he’s too ashamed - too embarrassed to look at Sanzu. And Sanzu thinks Rindou hasn’t quite grasped it yet. How utterly in love Sanzu is with him. It’s all he can think about; nowadays.
And so, Sanzu doesn’t even stop to pause, in shock. Or to even think of an answer. It’s on the tip of his tongue. “Because I love you. How the fuck could I leave you?” He says; almost. angry that Rindou would even bother asking that. But he’s only almost angry.
“Sanzu.” Rindou drawls, slower, words slurring against eachother. “I wish you let me die. I don’t want to do this no more.”
Sanzu stops, this time. He stops everything; the absent-minded massaging, and the heavy breaths he hadn’t realised he hadn’t been taking. In that moment - he’s at a loss for words. Nothing to say.
“Tired. I’m so tired.” Rindou continues, voice cracking. “The skys gloomy. The waters cold. The foods gone stale. And I’m tired. So so tired. What’s the point; anymore,”
“New york.” Sanzu tries to finish. “You want to go New York, don’t you? I’ve thought about it. We will - don’t worry. You just need to get better; and we’ll be off. To New York. A new life, huh?”
Rindou’s mouth hangs open, and Sanzu knows he’d intended to say something else. But he just looks away, again. Shuts his lips and looks away, taking another drag out of his cigarette. He doesn’t offer to Sanzu. He’d always used to offer to Sanzu.
When they’re finally done dawn has already cracked and there’s gold winter light glowing through the blinds, shining on their sheets. Sanzu gets Rindou to sit on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a cotton towel, just as he had promised he’d be. There’s not much in the room - but there’s a lotion that smells of lavender and Sanzu puts it over his cuts that has turned into scars and wounds that will always be wounds.
“Does it hurt anymore?” Sanzu asks, as he’s combing Rindou’s hair.
“Sometimes.” Rindou whispers, and he’s seemed to calm down again. Become fragile and small and oh-so-delicate but Sanzu rather him giggling and gleaming and smiling so stupidly. He misses Rindou; even if he is there, right in front of him. He misses what he used to be - wonders if he’ll ever be that person again.