Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Akito doesn’t bother waking himself up anymore. It’s like he’s adrift on the ocean, floating in and out of consciousness. Time stops and starts at its own volition. He loses himself in crowds of students, and when he finally finds himself, he’s in an entirely different place.

This isn’t new. In the past, teachers have called this habit of his being ‘disengaged’ or ‘understimulated’ or other things along those lines. They’ve asked him to fix it. Akito would just shrug and tell them he’d try harder, and the cycle would continue. He didn’t want to tell them the truth: that the best compromise for both parties would be if he could just drop out.

It’s not like anyone seemed very appreciative when he did wake his brain up all the way, either. At first, he was just a particularly rambunctious little boy, and then in elementary school he was “a bit behind the maturity curve”, as one of his report cards had said. In middle school this started turning into frequent detention and talk of “behavioral issues”.

He still remembers how his mom used to talk to him about it, saying things like, “What are we going to do with you?” She never seemed angry, just worried, a little helpless. He didn’t like hearing her speak in that tone of voice, as if he were a lost cause. It got especially worse after he’d insisted on quitting soccer, the one thing the adults in his life had kind of counted on as an outlet for all his energy.

It was annoying, the way he was treated – like a bomb about to go off. Everyone was too careful, too nice. He knew he was a C-grade-average student who would never see success in anything, and the way adults seemed to dance around that fact pissed him off a little. He got that it was coming from a good place when they felt responsible for him, but it just made Akito feel even more shitty when he inevitably did something disappointing.

Getting into street music made life a little easier. No one cared where he went, what he did, or who he was with. He could spend an entire night singing in a dark city alleyway, and the only creatures that would ever miss his presence were the alley cats when he left in the morning. They’d sit and listen to him all night. Back then, Akito liked to think they were his friends, but now, Akito knows they’d only hang around because he’d bring them food sometimes.

But people at the Academy do care what he does, for better or for worse. Even though Akito loves music more than anything else in the world, it’s not enough. He has pointless classes and a strict schedule and about a million other clarinetists to differentiate himself from. He can’t go out and sing until he’s hoarse anymore, so he saves himself and everyone else the headache by staying half asleep.

After dinner on Friday, Akito goes out alone. He’s a little underdressed for the weather, but if he’d been inside any longer, he probably would’ve suffocated to death.

Besides, there’s something about being in the cold that he likes. The air feels fresh on his cheeks and in his hair, and all his senses are sharper somehow. He can almost taste the petrichor in the air left over from the afternoon rain, and the murmurs of a few other groups of students in the courtyard are faint but as crisp to his ear as the sound of his footsteps on fallen leaves.

He makes it through the courtyard without anyone so much as glancing in his direction, which is nice. If it were any lighter outside, someone might think he looks suspicious, and start a rumor about him or something. As if it’s his fault that he’s out here alone.

I want to be alone, Akito reminds himself. Right, that’s why he was so quick to leave, before he had to risk crossing paths with Touya. Not that Touya would want to come along or try to keep him from leaving—all he would do is frown to himself when Akito left the room.

As Akito passes by the first-year building, just by habit, he looks up at the third row of dorm room windows and finds his, directly to the right of the old oak tree. The light is on. Either Akito forgot to turn it off when he left or Touya’s back from rehearsing already and Akito just barely missed him.

The windows look even more ridiculous from the outside, just dark little holes in the wall separated by awkwardly large expanses of brick. There are items placed on some of the windowsills: a potted cactus, anime character standees, stuffed animals, and picture frames; ordinary objects representing a student living inside the room. The small displays of individuality only make the building itself look more dismal, and to Akito something about the sight is kind of pathetic.

At times like this he’s kind of like a small child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. The logical part of his brain can’t really find anything to distract himself with, either. No music to listen to, or clarinet score to stare at, or soccer ball to kick, or boring novel to read until he falls asleep. The best he can do is Hey! Don’t freak out! Look at this dirty cement path! And that’s about it.

The yellow glow of the streetlight casts shadows that make the path look rougher and grimier than it is, and Akito can’t stop himself from swerving to the side to kick up a pile of dead leaves. Maybe his parents were right, and he shouldn't have quit soccer; clearly, he still gets the urge to kick things to calm himself down. Not that it matters anyway, it’s too late to go back now.

The moment Akito takes a step into the darkness outside the reach of the streetlight, the heavy starless sky caves in and smothers him. Even though it’s still twilight, suddenly it’s like it’s so pitch black that it’s impossible to see. If only he had a flashlight, or his phone, or a match; something to light his way.

It’s not a fear of the dark, it’s more like an unexplainable bout of claustrophobia: the world closes around him like a fist. He has to run somewhere where the monotonous sludge won’t reach him, and let it all out, every scrap of impatience and anger and hope and hunger in his body. It’s the same thing that was happening in the dorm earlier and why he came out in the first place, but now even the night has lost the sensation of novelty it once held.

The feeling doesn’t go away when Akito steps into the light of the next lamppost, and his pace quickens. He’s not really panicking, he just needs to find somewhere on campus that’ll scratch this itch of his for the night, until he makes it to Aokusa tomorrow morning.

Aokusa is a whole other can of worms that he shouldn’t open, so of course he does. Akito doesn’t know if Touya’s planning on coming, and he’s had to continually remind himself that he shouldn’t even care. (To no avail. He does care.) Touya probably has more important things to worry about than whether or not he’s going to hang out with his weird roommate and his weird roommate’s weird friends, anyway.

However, if Touya doesn’t come, that means Shiraishi An will inevitably take the opportunity to drag the truth out of him. Akito knows he can’t put that off forever, but he’d prefer to delay it for at least another week. She already knows the worst of it, anyway, and it’s not her responsibility to fix his problems. But he knows how An gets when she feels like someone she cares about is slipping out of her grasp.

It was just last weekend, but it feels like forever ago. Akito’d been standing on stage with An and Kohane, looking out over the mostly empty cafe lobby. His chest had tightened at the sight of Touya, softly smiling as he sipped coffee and gazed out the window. It took Akito a little too long to realize what he was doing, and he’d spun back around only to find himself face to face with An. She’d studied him silently, her golden eyes intense, as if to ask Who is he to you? Why haven’t you changed?

It was during that meaningful look she gave him, just for a few moments, when Akito finally put the pieces together. An has always had this funny way of figuring out exactly what Akito is too afraid to acknowledge for himself and making him face it, whether she means to or not.

An had spared the both of them by proposing they do another run-through, and Akito had swallowed his anxiety and agreed. He didn’t deny anything, or overcompensate, or ask her why her expression had held ghostlike traces of panic. He’d just moved on, and she did too. And that was all the confirmation they’d needed from each other to know that something was up.

Shiraishi An can be a handful, but she’s smart. She can tell when things are serious and she should keep her mouth shut. It’s one of the many things Akito sincerely appreciates about her.

Five minutes later Akito finds himself sitting on a bench near the gym. Ahead of him is the downward slope of a hill, and then a chain link fence, and then a dumb little pond beyond it surrounded by some trees. He's already been here once—with Ena, on the first day of school.

God, it’s only been like three weeks since then – the realization makes Akito feel so restless he stands up again and starts walking in circles. It feels like it’s been three years.

Then that gets boring, so he stands in front of the bench and starts singing the first song that comes to mind. The sensation of vocalizing is relaxing, and his mind starts to sink into it: he thinks through every breath he takes, every transition into his falsetto and back down again, every nuance in pitch, every note he should keep steady, every note he should send spinning with vibrato.

“Akito!” The interruption comes from close behind. It scares him so bad he yells a word he probably shouldn’t yell, and he whips around to suddenly find himself in the company of his older sister.

Ena is leaning on the back of the bench, her arms crossed over her sketchbook: whether it’s because she’s annoyed or cold, Akito’s not sure.

“Geez. Watch your language,” she sounds painfully unimpressed.

“What are you, some kind of ghost? Halloween’s not for another two weeks.”

She raises her shoulders the same way a cat puffs up to appear bigger. “Call me a monster one more time, you little brat…” Akito almost rolls his eyes, but surprisingly Ena stops mid-threat and takes a deep breath. “No, I’m not falling for it. What are you doing out here?”

The look Ena gives Akito tells him that she expects an actual answer. “Seriously? What did it look like I was doing?”

“Are you pretending to be stupid to piss me off?”

“Now you watch your language.”

“‘Piss’ is not even – you know what? Never mind.” She sits down on one end of the bench, throws her sketchbook into the grass beside her with a little too much force, and then gestures for Akito to sit. “Come here.”

“The grass is still wet, you know.”

Ena looks down at her sketchbook for a moment and then shakes her head. “Don’t care. There’s nothing worth saving in there, anyway.”

Akito swallows, and then without saying a word, he walks over to her side and picks it up himself, hardly breaking his stride. As he walks around the back of the bench, he turns it over in his hands: it’s a little soggy at the corners, but thankfully otherwise unharmed.

“I said I don’t care.” Even so, Ena’s words lack any kind of bite to them. Akito shrugs as he sits down at the other end. She holds her hand out as if to say give it back. Akito obliges.

Ena puts the sketchbook down in the empty space between them. They both stare at it for a little bit until Ena picks it up again, scoots a little closer to Akito, and then puts the sketchbook on the other side of her.

Ena finally speaks after a few long, awkward seconds. “So. What’s wrong with you?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? Why are you moping around outside?”

“I’m not ‘moping around’. I’m just hanging out.”

“Just ‘hanging out’? In the dark?”

“Yeah.”

“In the cold? Without a jacket? All by yourself? Just… ‘hanging out’?”

She has a point.

“I’m fine,” Akito puts his hands in his lap. Even if he knew how to explain what was bothering him, that doesn’t mean it’s any of Ena’s business. Somehow, she’s got to figure out that he’s not her responsibility.

But Ena’s too good, she knows how to look through his words. “You didn’t do something stupid, did you?”

“No.” If anything, it’s what he didn’t do that’s weighing on him more.

Ena moves a little closer to him so that she can gently – but firmly – punch him in the arm. It doesn’t really hurt, but she gets her point across. “I know you’re upset. It’s no use being stubborn with me, dummy.”

“I’m not being stubborn, I just answered your question.”

She huffs. “I’m not here to argue over semantics.”

“No, seriously, Ena. I don’t know what to say. I guess I just had a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

“The usual.”

“Ah. You were thinking yourself into a corner again. Had to go outside and run around to blow off steam. Typical Akito stuff.”

Akito helplessly frowns at her. It’s too bad how well she knows him.

Ena seems to find the silent response satisfactory. “You need to touch up your dye job.”

“I know.” God, it’s just one thing after another with her. “I’ll get to it somehow while I’m stuck here. Maybe An would let me do it at her apartment, or something.” Ena’s being nice, it actually looks like shit—his brown roots are clearly noticeable, and the dye’s half-washed out, leaving patches of his hair more yellow than orange.

Ena doesn’t reply, but instead, she wraps her arm around his shoulders in a side-hug. It’s kind of awkward, and she has to pull Akito down into an uncomfortable lean for it to work, but she’d be mad if he pulled out, so he just deals with it. Akito knew this was coming, anyway—she wouldn’t have followed him out here just to tell him he should touch up his hair, she’s not that petty—so he just lets her hold him for a little while.

“I’m sorry.” Ena says in his ear.

He furrows his brow. “For what?”

“Are you seriously going to make me explain?”

“I literally don’t know what you’re apologizing for.”

Ena sighs. “For not telling you sooner. About me and Mizuki. I couldn’t find the right time.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m not mad about that. I’m happy for you, really.” He is a little surprised – he didn’t know Ena isn’t straight – but now’s not really the time for that. As long as she’s okay, he’s okay.

“You’re being sarcastic,” she sticks her tongue out and leans her head on his shoulder.

“I’m not.” Akito deadpans. Ena knows he’s not being sarcastic.

A few moments pass. Aren’t there questions people usually ask about this stuff?

“So…. When did you two start…you know…”

God, he sounds awkward. He can’t even finish his sentence. This stuff is so embarrassing to talk about.

Ena sits up. “None of your business, really.”

As if she’s not going to start asking him about the same kinds of things in five minutes. “Sure. Maybe I don’t really care, then.” He straightens, and Ena’s arm falls from his shoulders.

Groaning, Ena crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You’re being pushy.” She seems to wait for him to protest. He doesn’t, because he knows she doesn’t mean it.

“Fine. It was last year, I guess. I…” Ena seems to have trouble getting the word out. Maybe she finds it as embarrassing to talk about as he does. “Confessed. At the end of the year. Mizuki told me she’d think about it over the summer. I think” – her voice cracks – “she was expecting me to move on.”

“Last year?” That’s way earlier than he’d expected.

“She was thinking maybe I misjudged how I was feeling, or it would all come to pass, or something. It might surprise you, but Mizuki is careful about revealing herself to people. She wasn’t going to admit how she felt… not until she knew I was absolutely sure about how I felt. Too much of a risk.”

“Wow.” Mizuki had always seemed like someone who wore her heart on her sleeve. Considering how stubborn Ena can be, the idea of her being in love with Mizuki for that long without giving up hope makes sense, though. Akito shares the trait, unfortunately. “So you started dating at the beginning of this year?”

“No. We just sort of pretended to forget about it until a few days ago.”

“Ah.” He bites back a comment about how ridiculous that is; she’s probably already painfully aware.

“It’s ridiculous, I know. Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

Akito rolls his eyes, not bothering to tell her she’s right. “Whatever. So who else knows?”

“Kanade, Mafuyu, Airi, and Kamishiro-kun know,” She lets out a tiny gasp and looks up at him.

“Did you just realize that’s four whole people you told before me?”

“Just because you’re my little brother doesn’t mean you have to know everything about me all the time.”

Akito waits silently for what she actually means to say. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and to his surprise, there’s something in the right one: a yo-yo, the one he thought he’d lost a long time ago. He pulls it out and inspects it as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world to him right now.

“Okay. I wasn’t keeping it from you on purpose.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Couldn’t find an opportunity.” And really, he doesn’t mind, there wouldn’t be any reason to hide it from him anyway. He honestly couldn’t care less about the details of his older sister’s love life, as long as she’s happy.

“Right. We’re just trying to be extra careful.”

Akito loops the end of the yo-yo string around his index finger. “Trust me. I get it. That’s just the world we’re living in.” He’s been out to Ena himself for probably a year and a half, and they’d both long accepted the realities of what it meant. “I’m proud of you, though, for figuring that out.”

“Thanks.” Ena sounds genuinely surprised at the comment. Akito throws his yo-yo down, watches it spin, and catches it in his hand again. He can’t really remember how he learned how to do this, but he’s always liked the rhythm of it. “And Aoyagi-kun…” She laces her fingers together and puts them in her lap.

Akito keeps throwing his yo-yo as he glares at her. “What about him?”

“Well, he was there too, wasn’t he?” Ena frowns at him. “All I was going to say was that he didn’t seem to mind. God, you’re so combative.”

“Whatever. I guess you’re right.”

Ena shifts her posture a little, as if she’d been waiting for the conversation to go here eventually. “He’s in our Chamber group, so he probably would’ve found out at some point. He really does seem like a nice person.”

“He is.” Akito’s voice comes out more brittle than he’d expected. Sometimes it feels like it’d be easier if Touya wasn’t so nice, then he could just give up and move on.

“You know, Akito…” Ena takes a deep breath. He catches his yo-yo in his hand one last time and leans back on the bench with a groan.

“What.”

“I don’t think you’re being very fair to yourself or Aoyagi-kun. That’s all I’ll say.”

Akito could shrug off the advice, but something tells him not to. Maybe it’s the way Ena studies him, like she’s waiting for a sign that her words got through his thick head. Maybe it’s the hope he has that something good could come out of whatever he’s feeling.

“Sure.”

He’s never told Touya he swings both ways simply because it’s never come up in conversation before. If Touya asked, he'd (probably) tell him. It’s common knowledge to most people he’s close to, anyway – Ena had known first. And then An. And then Ken-san. And so on.

Ena gets him back on track. Maybe she can tell he’s spiraling, she usually can. “Are you having any other problems with Aoyagi-kun?”

“Nope.” He leans forward and rests his head in his hand. “Just the same thing as always.”

“Oh. Okay. And your homework…?”

“None of this is really your business, you know.” Something in the dumb little pond dives under the surface, and the ripples break up the reflection of the moon in the water. “You can stop worrying about me.” She should’ve stopped worrying a long time ago, this problem isn’t new.

Ena persists. “You’re acting so depressed right now that I’d worry about you whether I wanted to or not.”

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I’m not here to tell you what to do or anything–”

Akito stares back at her in disbelief, resisting the urge to laugh. “Seriously?”

Ena takes a deep breath. “Would you maybe just let me finish what I’m trying to say?”

He relents and looks back at the darkness in front of him. Ena takes that as her cue to continue. “I’m not going to question your choices, but I am going to worry about you when you’re obviously in pain or burnt out.”

“Sure. I guess.”

“I’d help you with your homework like I used to, but–”

“Touya already does,” Akito leans back on the bench. He’s kind of getting sick of sitting.

Ena raises an eyebrow. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

The tips of Akito’s ears grow warm. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You’re the one assuming I’m implying anything. Anyway, I can’t help you with your homework anymore, but I can keep having faith that you’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Don’t bother.”

“I refuse to always expect failure from you.” Ena’s answer is firm: she’s clearly already made up her mind. Her slightly defiant tone hides the fact that she’s coming from a place of fierce care. So even though Akito is sure she’s just signed herself up for constant disappointment, he can’t argue with her.

“Whatever.”

Ena rolls her eyes at his lukewarm response. “Alright, well, you should go to bed. Maybe try wrapping your head around that tomorrow.”

“I thought you said you weren’t here to tell me what to do.”

“Fine. I’m going inside, I’m sleepy,” she rises from the bench. “You can stay out here and freeze to death, if you’d rather do that.” Ena’s right: if it was any colder Akito would probably be able to see his breath.

Akito sighs as he gets on his feet and stuffs his hands in his pockets. By now, it’s gotten completely dark. The stars and the moon in the dumb little pond are the only lights visible, since his back is to the city and the courtyard. It’s comforting to look far into the distance and see only stars.

Ena stays with him in silence, and he feels like he should say something. “Thank you.” He can’t say it any louder than a whisper.

“What was that?” Ena smiles at him.

Akito raises his shoulders in defense. “Nothing.”

Ena leans her head against him for a few moments and then rocks back onto her feet. “Let’s go, then.”

The clock in the entrance hall reads eight thirty-four p.m.: twenty-six minutes until curfew. They both nod at the security guard at the front desk and go down the front hallway to the main hall, where the music and dormitory buildings meet.

The place is eerily empty this time of night. Usually there are people in the student cafe, squeezed into the far-left corner of the main hall, or coming in and out of the library, which has a side door at the far-right corner. The side door is built into floor-to-ceiling glass paneling, which extends past the second-floor mezzanine. There might be another door to the library up there, too.

Akito pauses for a moment and considers going to check if Touya’s still in the music wing, since he tends to lose track of time while he’s practicing, but he decides against it. He’s still got nearly half an hour, anyway. Ena can tell he’s thinking about something, but she doesn’t ask, she just waits for him to decide. He shakes his head, and they continue on their way to the dorms.

As his hand touches the cold metal of the door handle to his room, fragments of thoughts swarm the inside of his head like angry bees: Aokusa. Touya. Ena. An. Algebra. Dad. God, if only he could wring his brain like a wet rag. Being in the dorm isn’t going to help, either.

Some nights being in the dorm room with Touya feels like being in a cramped fish tank, and the two of them are just supposed to swim laps around each other until they die. They move around in silence and look at the walls and at words on sheets of paper and sometimes at each other (but never at the same time). The atmosphere in there gets suffocating after too long, as if it were filled with water, and then the static in Akito’s head gets louder and he feels like he has to fight to keep his brain from leaking out of his ears.

The room itself doesn’t do much to make Akito feel any better, either. It would be perfectly symmetrical, except that Akito’s side of the room is cluttered and messy while Touya’s is so neat, it looks like one of those showrooms at an IKEA furniture store.

Directly across from the door is that awkwardly small window in between the two beds. Though the view’s partially obstructed by the huge tree right outside, if you look hard enough during the night, you can see Aokusa’s skyline. Akito doesn’t like to waste his time staring at it.

Touya is perching cross-legged on his desk chair and doing homework when Akito finally opens the door and walks in. His dark hair is damp from a shower and he’s wearing his pajamas, meaning he’s clearly been done practicing for a while (Touya takes very long showers). Really, it just makes Akito wonder if he even practiced at all.

He doesn’t have the right to accuse Touya of lying about something so small, but the annoying part of Akito’s head holds on to the chance that Touya did mean it personally. God, it doesn’t even matter. Why does he even have to care so much?

“Yo.” Akito tries to act as normal as possible.

“Hello.” Touya glances over at him as Akito closes the door and hangs his coat on the back of his desk chair. “You’re back later than usual.” It’s nothing more than an observation, because that’s what Touya does: he observes.

It’s not that he’s preoccupied or disconnected from reality. There’s just a quality about him that makes it clear that he understands his surroundings in a different way from everyone else. His expressions are hard to read, so it’s not easy to know what he’s thinking, but he seems to find the most mundane things and people fascinating.

When they first met, Akito found this puzzling, if not a little endearing. But the thing is – it didn’t ever end. Touya never seemed to get tired of him – aside from trivial, mundane things. Whenever Akito would talk about street music, or about the city, or whatever it was that felt important to him, Touya would listen in silent curiosity. No one’s ever cared so intently for every little thing Akito has to say.

But it’s not because Akito’s special. Touya does that for everyone.

“Ena held me up.” It’s not a total lie, but guilt still stings the back of his throat as he says it. At first, lying to Touya - or at least not telling him the whole truth - was easy. Recently, though, it’s been more and more difficult. Touya made it clear that he’d meet Akito halfway: if Akito’s not going to open up, Touya’s under no obligation either. It’d been a mutual agreement. It’s just that with every little lie, Akito’s regret weighs heavier on his chest.

“I see.” Touya’s voice is light. For a split second, it looks like he smiles a little to himself, but it might just be the dim light of the room playing a trick. Akito’s heart sinks into his stomach – how long is Touya going to let Akito lead him through this stupid song and dance?

Despite himself, Akito’s committed to this pathetic little waltz, and sure not to let them fall out of rhythm. “How did your practice go?”

Touya writes something down in his notebook, his handwriting as neat and perfectly controlled as always. “It was fine. I’m still working on the same piece as before.”

“The Chamber piece?” In any case, Akito should probably figure out what to wear out tomorrow. He lets out a tired sigh as he opens his closet, his eyes landing on a yellow sweater vest. He almost brings it out to study it but has second thoughts: it’ll bring out the yellow patches in his hair. Doesn’t he have something less summer-y?

“No. Chopin’s Nocturne no. 20. The piece I was playing with Tenma-sensei.” From the sound of Touya’s voice, his attention isn’t completely focused on the conversation. Casual exchange is fine, even preferred. Akito doesn’t have it in him right now to worry about choosing his words carefully.

Chopin’s Nocturne no. 20. – that’s familiar. Akito pages through his memories until he lands on the mental image of the sheet music on a table in the library. In front of Touya. Two days ago.

“You seem like you’re more in touch with your emotions than me,” Touya had said. Then he’d combed his hair back with his fingers, one of his little fidgety nervous habits. His hair had looked so soft and feathery – or whatever – and Akito had replied in a daze, saying something stupid before he could even realize the words were coming out of his mouth.

It’s surprising that Touya would even mention that little episode again. It’d been obvious Touya hadn’t suddenly gotten a headache, or whatever he’d claimed had happened. Something was up – but what should Akito say about it, do about it? Had it been his fault?

The moment – and the moments afterwards – have started to seem more like a dream than an actual memory. It’s one of the fragments of time that replay on loop whenever he closes his eyes, like the moment with An in the cafe. Does Touya think about it as much as he does?

“Right. That one. Have you figured it out?” Akito distracts himself with a dark green jacket. It’s a nice color for October, so he hangs it on the door of his closet.

“Maybe. It’s hard to tell when I’m playing alone.” The sound of Touya’s pencil stops and he shifts his weight. Now he’s turned to observe Akito with mild interest, his feet up on the seat of his chair, chewing on the eraser tip of his pencil. Yet another nervous habit.

Another interesting quirk of Touya’s: sometimes he’ll sit and watch people intently, like he has no idea others can register his presence in a room. He doesn’t mean anything offensive by it. He does it to Akito sometimes when they’re alone in their dorm, and while it used to be slightly odd, Akito’s gotten used to it by now. As humiliating as it is to draw the comparison, the tendency is endearingly puppylike. Also, it’s not like Akito doesn’t sit and watch Touya sometimes, either.

Akito goes back to his closet. There’s a dark grey button-down shirt hidden under a red graphic tee. He takes out the grey shirt to examine it – it’s not too wrinkly, thank god. “Do you want me to listen to you play it sometime?”

“No. Don’t worry.” Touya doesn’t miss a beat. Akito opens his mouth to protest – he’s not worried, he’s trying to help – but Touya changes the subject. “What are you doing?”

“I’m putting together my outfit for tomorrow morning.” He very pointedly doesn’t ask if Touya wants to come. If he does, he’ll ask Akito about it by his own agency. Otherwise, it would just sound annoying. Touya is a good student and he’s probably thinking about other, more important things.

“Right. Aokusa,” Touya sounds completely monotone, like he’d been thinking about it this whole time. He’s quiet for a moment. “You don’t mind if I come again, do you?”

Akito takes a shot of adrenaline to the chest, pivoting before he even thinks to play it cool. Touya furrows his brow momentarily at this, and he bites his lip nervously. (That’s another one of Touya’s fidgety-habit-things – he does this one when he’s thinking. Not that anyone’s really keeping track.)

Akito does his best to be normal as he hopelessly splutters, “What? No. ‘Course I don’t mind. Why wouldn’t I want you to come?” He’s not doing himself any favors; his surprise despite himself is probably painfully obvious.

If it is, Touya is kind enough not to point it out. “I just didn’t want to assume anything. They’re your people.”

They’re your people.

Akito’s stomach tightens as the words wash over him. Right. It’s just like Touya to be so clear-sighted.

He hums. “No, it’s okay.” Touya stops chewing on his lip (which is now bright pink) and nods, content. Akito returns the gesture. At least Touya’s nice enough to let him pretend for another week.

“Okay,” Touya smiles, just a little. “Thank you.”

Akito shrugs and hides his warm face in his chest of drawers. “It’s not something you need to thank me for.”

“Maybe not. But thank you anyway.” Touya’s voice is soft, but he sounds certain of his words.

A single glance over his shoulder tells him Touya is still studying him, his expression unreadable apart from the slight glint of determination in his eye. “You’re welcome?” Akito tries to match his softness, but it just comes out weak. Touya nods again, and he focuses his attention back on his homework.

Akito finishes setting out his outfit for tomorrow, changes into his sleep clothes, and sits down at his desk. He probably couldn’t get any homework done right now even if he tried. It’s frustrating: he wants to do his homework and pass his classes, he just can’t. Not with the loose threads of thought and emotion and inconsequential memories and phrases of music tying his brain into a knot. Having Touya there is helpful sometimes (when he’s not focusing on Touya more than the homework itself), but it gets embarrassing to ask. Touya has his own work to do.

He has all weekend to troubleshoot his defective head, so instead he takes out his sketchbook and starts designing.

Sewing had gone well on Thursday, although Mizuki has a much better handle on the sewing machine than he does. It makes sense, Akito’s never used one before. He’s better at coordination than designing actual garments, so his concepts were focused more on the big picture than the individual pieces themselves, but the other members of the club seem to like his ideas anyway.

It’s nice to practice one of his more casual hobbies for once. Somehow, it’s even managed to help him find common ground with Mizuki; they’re serious about clothes, and the two of them seem to see eye to eye about things even though their personal styles are so different.

Getting to know the in-laws. As he doodles a graphic for a t-shirt, he has to bite back a laugh.

When he runs out of ideas for things to draw after about fifteen minutes, Touya is still peacefully writing. He’s perched on his chair with his legs crossed, hunched over his desk, deep in thought. His dark hair falls over his eyes, and he rests his head in his hand in a position that hides the rest of his face. Touya’s posture isn’t consistent – sometimes he curls himself into a ball like he’s doing now, sometimes he sits up so straight and rigid and perfect that it almost seems unnatural.

Touya shifts his gaze somewhere else on his textbook and puts his hand in his lap, his profile now visible. Somehow, even just this simple view of Touya at his desk, illuminated by the dim golden light, manages to leave Akito a little spellbound. It’s not fair.

The nine o’clock bell rings, and Touya glances up at the ceiling for a moment, like he’s letting the sound pass by before he continues.

After switching to a clean page in his sketchbook, Akito studies Touya’s face for a few seconds and makes a few preliminary lines on the page. It feels strange: he hasn’t drawn from reference in what feels like years. After all, he doesn’t really do art for art’s sake, at least not anymore. Drawing is nothing more than a means to the end, a convenient tool he just happens to know how to use. It’s not something he has any desire to pursue anymore, no matter how good he might be at it.

Time flows by like a river. How long does he draw? Two minutes, two hours? Who knows. Touya becomes a collection of gracefully intersecting lines and shapes and Akito studies each carefully, eventually falling into a kind of trance.

If Touya notices him looking, he doesn’t mind it. For a little while, they just exist with one another in peaceful silence. Akito doesn’t count every passing minute like he’s waiting for something to happen. Touya doesn’t wring his hands out of the anxiety that runs just under the surface of his skin. (Akito wonders, if he were to lay his head on Touya’s chest and close his eyes, would he hear it rumbling softly like distant thunder?)

“Akito.”

Touya’s voice is soft, like he’s trying not to disturb the quiet, but Akito still jumps in surprise, panic setting in. Touya must’ve noticed Akito staring at him. What does he say? How does he play this off?

“Yeah?” God, he sounds stupid. He swallows and then turns to look at Touya again.

In the dim light, the silver of Touya’s eyes glows softly. Akito’s ears turn pink. Touya is pretty. It would be nice if Akito could look Touya in the eye without thinking that, but he can’t.

“I think I’m going to go to bed.”

Akito’s heart falls out of his throat, and he swallows a sigh of relief. Touya must not have noticed anything after all. It’s a little surprising that Touya is going to bed this early, but Touya’s been a little under the weather the past few days, if the Wednesday episode is anything to go by.

He almost asks, but instead, Akito keeps the question general. “You’re early. Are you feeling okay?” He almost makes a joke out of it. Not a funny one, but a joke nonetheless.

“Yes. I’m just tired.” Touya’s expression is unreadable, the attempt at humor clearly lost on him. He neatly stacks his textbook and notebook on his desk and stands up. “Don’t worry about turning off your light.”

“Okay. Good night, Touya.”

“Good night, Akito.”

The truth is, once Touya goes to bed, Akito doesn’t really have anything to do. He puts his pencil down and stares at his drawings a little more – he should really fix the nose on one and the eye on another, but whatever – and then he closes his sketchbook completely. He should probably go to sleep too, but the problem is, he doesn’t really want to. He’s not really a fan of sleeping. So much wasted time.

Akito pulls his folder out from where he’d stuffed it into his bag earlier, among all the crumpled loose papers from the past week or so. He should probably organize his stuff soon. It sounds so easy in theory, but Akito knows it’d be agonizing.

He flips through his folder and takes out the sheet music for the piece he’s been working on during his private lessons – the first movement of a clarinet sonata by Camille Saint-Saëns. It’s a nice song, but it’s kind of hard; Akito may as well stare at the score for a little while. It’s better than staring at the wall.

He turns out his light and gets into bed a little after the ten o’clock bell rings. Facing up at the ceiling, he puts his arms up in front of him and balls his hands into fists, opening and closing them once, twice, three times. Then he lets them drop onto his chest, and he exhales softly into the dark.

The last thing he remembers before drifting off is matching his own breathing to the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Touya’s chest.

The next morning, Akito awakes to the bell after a completely dreamless sleep. Eyes bleary, he sits up and takes a quick moment to orientate himself to his surroundings. A glance to the foot of his bed reminds him of the outfit he’d coordinated last night – and why he’d coordinated it in the first place. Aokusa.

He swings his legs to the side and puts his feet on the floor, consequently facing Touya, who’s still in bed. He lay on his back with his arms bent in front of him, palms covering his eyes like he’s trying to block out the daylight.

“Morning,” Akito gives him a sideways smile as he stands and goes to get dressed. “Give me a minute to change.”

“Good morning,” Touya doesn’t move his hands. “Okay.” He is clearly not all that excited to get out of bed anyway.

“Today’s the day,” He’s almost just trying to keep Touya awake.

“Yep,” Akito can still hear the sleep in his voice. “I’m looking forward to the coffee.”

Akito laughs lightly. “Not surprised to hear that.”

“Not looking forward to the cold, though.”

“Right,” Akito pulls his shirt over his head. “You know, you seem like someone that wouldn’t mind the cold.”

“I’ve been told that before. I mean, ‘winter’ is even in my name.” Touya takes his hands away from his face and lays them on his stomach.

Akito considers this. “I was wondering. Is your birthday in winter or something?”

“No. It’s in May. The twenty-fifth,” Touya seems to speak intently to the ceiling. “The naming thing is a tradition. My father has the character for spring in his name, my oldest brother has summer, my second oldest has autumn, and I have winter.”

“Ah. That’s cool. Makes sense.”

Touya hums. “When’s your birthday?”

“November twelfth,” Akito runs a hand through his hair. “I’m done changing now.”

“Oh.” Touya thinks about this for a moment as he sits up, finally making eye contact with Akito. “That’s really soon, isn’t it?”

“Around two weeks. It’s whatever. I don’t really care about my birthday,” Akito shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t really care about mine, either,” It’s only there for a moment, but Touya directs a lopsided, almost melancholic smile to the ground. “Did you open the window again? It’s cold in here.”

The quick change of subject is obvious, but Akito can’t deny he’s thankful for it. “Nope. It’s just cold.”

Touya frowns and hugs himself as he stands up. Akito watches over his shoulder as he opens his wardrobe: he hardly owns anything other than various neutral toned sweaters. The grey one from last week is hung neatly at the end of the row. This week, Touya chooses one in an ivory color, and a black turtleneck to wear underneath.

The crowd of students at breakfast is lower energy than usual. It’s probably the change of seasons – the days are getting shorter, and the weather is getting colder. They’re also up early, and there’s no line at the serving counter, so he and Touya can get their food immediately.

Touya takes a single piece of toast and half a cup of black coffee. It’s not probably worth it to remind him they’re going to a cafe, because Touya still looks half asleep, and could probably use something to kickstart his brain for the day. He watches drowsily as Akito serves himself pancakes, humming something under his breath.

Akito waits for Touya to finish taking a sip of coffee before he asks, “Where do you want to sit?”

Touya shrugs. “Tsukasa-senpai is over there,” he gestures to the left with his toast, and sure enough, Tenma Tsukasa is sitting at a table monologuing about something to his other weird friends. How in the world Touya gets along with any of them is a mystery; Akito and Tsukasa are always butting heads during Chamber rehearsals. “Asahina-senpai and your sister are there,” Touya gestures to the right with his cup of coffee.

Ena and Asahina are sitting with Tsukasa’s little sister, along with three other girls Akito has seen around, but never met. Ena seems to be in surprisingly high spirits for the morning: she’s speaking to a well-built girl with ashy hair tied in a side ponytail. Asahina is looking at some print-out with a dark-haired girl who might be in Akito’s Chemistry class.

“We could sit alone,” Just as Akito suggests it, Ena glances up at him and beckons him over. “Never mind.” Touya must see her too, because he follows Akito over without a word.

“Good morning, Shinonome-san, Aoyagi-san,” Asahina is the first to greet them. Her voice is tight and controlled, as is her smile. Akito hasn’t talked to her much, aside from getting roped into sitting with her and Mizuki during dinner last Sunday, that time Touya was late. She’d only really spoken when Mizuki had addressed her specifically, and even then, didn’t ever have much to say.

Akito remembers how, that evening, he and Mizuki had been discussing their Music Theory class. It’d been impersonal, dull small talk, and their individual performances in the class hadn’t even come up. Yet Asahina had offered, during a natural dip in the conversation, to help them work through the course content sometime. Her suggestion felt hollow, automatic, like a preprogrammed response. Akito had politely declined.

He’s been around Asahina Mafuyu enough to know that she is the ideal example of an Academy student, or at least the most dedicated to playing the part. She is so many things Akito will never be: perfectly content, passive, spotless, placid. Part of him really, really wants to hate her for it, but he can’t. It’s not her fault, it’s his.

“Good morning, Asahina-senpai.” Akito gives her a polite smile. A dark look crosses Ena’s face for not longer than a second, and he just ignores it. It’s too early in the morning for any of this.

The only two unclaimed places to sit at the table are either right next to Ena or across from her, and while he’d rather not sit by his sister, she’d probably take offense or something if he avoided her. He sighs as he puts his plate down and drops into the seat to her right. Touya settles into the other spot at the table, politely greeting Asahina and Saki, who are positioned on his right and left respectively. He sits with perfect posture, which is rare for him in the morning.

“Touya-kun, Akito-kun, good morning!” Saki waves animatedly. The sleeves of her oversized cardigan cover most of her hands, so all Akito can really see are the tips of her fingers. He returns the gesture, and Touya returns the words.

They exchange introductions and morning greetings with everyone else at the table: the dark-haired girl on Asahina’s other side is Hoshino Ichika; between her and Ena is Mochizuki Honami, who presses a small sketchbook into her chest like she’s trying to hide it; and the girl with the choppy silver wolf cut and cool piercings sitting between Akito and Saki is Hinomori Shiho.

Touya joins Asahina and Ichika’s quiet conversation. From across the table, Akito can’t really tell what they’re talking about, nor does he think he would probably have anything intelligent to add, anyway. The only person he can imagine himself befriending here is Shiho, who slouches at the table and rests her elbows on her crossed knees, twisting her rings as Saki muses on and on next to her.

“Well, authentic gyaru clothing brands can be really expensive. Remember, I had a job over the summer, and I still only got one Jesus Diamante blouse. And I mean, Jesus Diamante is like a super well-known himekaji brand, which is really fun, but it’s kind of hard to style with the rest of my stuff, ‘cause I got the rest secondhand. I can’t wear a himekaji blouse with plain old jean shorts, you know!” Saki twirls a piece of hair around her index finger as she talks, and Shiho nods along. What Saki’s saying is kind of interesting, but Akito doesn’t really know enough about gyaru to comment.

On his other side, Ena and Honami huddle over Honami’s little sketchbook. Akito hears Honami sigh, and Ena raises her hands as if to calm her. “No, it’s good, it’s good! I think you’re just pressing a little too hard with the pencil, and it’s making your lines kind of jagged and thick and dark…”

Akito knows better than to interrupt that conversation, so instead he just sits and eats his breakfast silently. Only a little while until they board the train and get out of here. He can make it.

Ten minutes later, he thinks he’s doing a fine job just minding his own business without looking like a loser, but his sister has to make a point of it anyway. Right after she finishes giving Honami drawing advice, Ena leans over and mutters in Akito’s ear, “Still mopey?”

Akito glares at her. “Can I help you?”

“He’s coming along again.” Ena nods her head at Touya, as if it wasn’t already obvious who she’s talking about.

Akito quickly scans the faces of everyone else at the table, just to make sure no one’s paying attention. Thankfully, Touya is still engaged in discussion with Asahina and Ichika, and Honami has started nodding along to Saki’s enthusiastic explanation of the slight differences between two similar sub-styles of gyaru that are commonly confused with each other.

“So? Where’s Mizuki?” Cheap attempt at deflection, he knows.

Ena rolls her eyes. “Nice try. She’s over there, sitting with Shizuku-chan, Airi-chan, and their friends.” She points to a far-off table and sure enough, there’s Mizuki, sitting with Shizuku, Airi, Haruka, and Minori. “They’re working on some kind of project together. Mizuki and I are spending the rest of the day together, so it’s fine. Anyway, is Touya-kun running for student council?”

Where did that question come from? “I don’t think so. He hasn’t mentioned it to me. Why?”

“That’s what Ichika-chan and Mafuyu were talking about. Maybe it’s something else,” she shrugs.

“No. He’d tell me.” Touya wouldn’t have any reason to not say anything about that, and it’s not the kind of thing he’d forget to say, either. If he’d decided to run, he wouldn’t be wasting this time he could be using to perfect his campaign, anyway. Because that’s the kind of student Touya is.

“‘Kay.” Ena studies him for a second, silently, and then turns back to her breakfast and keeps eating. Akito looks down at his own plate and forces a forkful of scrambled egg in his mouth.

“Oh, Touya-kun!” Saki drums her fingers on the edge of the table excitedly, as if she were playing an upbeat phrase on the piano. Akito raises his head just as Touya is turning around to answer – is it just his mind playing a trick, or does Touya’s gaze rest on him for just a second too long?

“What is it, Saki-san?” Akito blinks, and Saki has Touya’s undivided attention. Akito was probably just imagining things.

“I just remembered! My mom wanted me to mention, if I saw you, she’s hoping you’ll stop by her office sometime this weekend.”

It’s unusual, but not all that surprising. Tenma-sensei’s been helping Touya with his solo piece recently. Also, she’s the conductor of Symphony, and Touya’s the first chair. They probably have important stuff to talk about. None of Akito’s business. He eats more scrambled egg.

“Ah. I’ll be sure to meet with her. Thanks for letting me know.”

Next to Akito, Ena drinks the rest of her juice, and looks at the clock above the cafeteria door. It’s an analog clock and trying to read analog clocks makes Akito feel like he’s turning his brain inside out, but it’s no problem for her.

“The train’s gonna be here soon.” She eats the last of her toast.

At her words, Touya swirls the coffee around in his mug, drinks the last of it, and then stands up. “Excuse me.”

Akito’s about to ask where he’s going, but he doesn’t, and Touya doesn’t seem to have any intention of waiting for him. He leaves the table without another word or glance in Akito’s direction.

“Is he acting weird?” Ena wipes her hands with her napkin. Akito watches as Touya hands his coffee mug to the dishwashing staff through the kitchen window, thanking them with a grateful smile. “I feel like he’s acting weird.”

“A little. I think there’s something on his mind.” Akito puts his fork down on his plate as Touya disappears through the cafeteria door. “I’ve tried to get him to tell me what’s up, but he won’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s… complicated.” “It’s my fault” is what he should say, because that’s the truth, and he knows it. But he can’t admit it to his sister yet. “I’m kind of surprised he’s–” his throat forces him to swallow the rest of the sentence and then cough it up again. “...coming with me.”

Ena frowns at him incredulously, like, What the hell is wrong with you? Thankfully, she doesn’t say it out loud.

He grimaces. “Touya doesn’t owe me anything, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’re not…as close as you think we are.”

“So what, you don’t care? Or do you mean you’re keeping things from him, too?”

Akito stares at her hopelessly, like, Are you really going to make me answer that?

She relents. “I know, I know. Remember what I said last night?”

Yes, of course he does. “I don’t think you’re being fair to him or yourself.”

“Whatever.” Akito stands up and picks up his dishes. He’s done with this conversation.

Five minutes later Akito is still waiting for Touya, standing by the back door, which is in the middle of the cafeteria’s back wall. They’re not in too much of a rush yet, although Akito can’t pretend he hasn’t already anxiously wondered if maybe Touya’s just left forever and he’s never coming back, like a few days go. But he’d looked so different during that episode on Wednesday: it was as though he’d been walking at the very edge of a high ledge and nearly taken the fall before he’d been pulled back at the last moment. In the days following, he’s just seemed kind of stiff, more like he was at the beginning of the school year.

But even so, the cafeteria is rapidly clearing out. Ena and Mizuki have already left and started walking to the train platform; so have Shiho, Saki, Ichika, and Honami. Only Tsukasa, Minori, and their respective groups of friends are still there, and Akito doesn’t know if they’re planning on going to the city, anyway.

To Akito’s relief, Touya reenters the cafeteria in the next two minutes or so, seeming a little more alert and personable. Akito notices when Touya finally reaches him that his cheeks are a little pink and the tips of his bangs are wet, like he’d splashed water on his face.

“Thanks for waiting.” Touya sounds a little embarrassed.

“You’re fine. Are you ready to go?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Sorry for suddenly leaving again.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Akito pushes open the heavy door and the two of them finally make it outside. It’d only warmed up a little since last night, but the air is so fresh Akito can almost taste it.

On the train ride to Aokusa, Touya watches out the window like usual. Akito steals glances at him a few times – his hair looks silvery in the morning glow. It matches his eyes.

Whenever they ride the train, Touya seems distracted by the view outside the window, though it’s become increasingly clear that his gaze is elsewhere. Who knows what’s going through his mind – if the past few weeks are anything to go by, Touya’s not going to tell.

Sometimes Touya is so lost in thought it can take him a little while to find his way back into reality. Akito doesn’t mention it, but he notices.

With a sigh, Akito shifts around in his seat to rest his head against the wall of the train. Touya sits mostly still, though he mindlessly and rhythmically rubs his thumbs over the calluses left on his hands from playing the violin. His fingers are long and thin and pale. Touya moves his hands like they’re made of porcelain, and he might shatter them if he’s not careful.

Akito closes his eyes, not because he’s tired, but because he’s run out of places to look. Train rides are awful – it’s anxiety-inducing to just stay stagnant and wait for his station to finally come. He’d prefer to run all the way to Aokusa, really. He could probably use the workout anyway.

He opens his eyes a bit to look at Touya again, who hasn’t moved at all. The cold metal of the train isn’t very comfortable to rest his head against, so Akito shifts around again and sits up straight. It’d be better if he could think of something to talk about, but nothing really comes to mind.

Surprisingly, Touya beats him to it. “Akito,” he sounds cautious, like he doesn’t want to disturb the peace, “Are you okay?”

Akito blinks at him. He doesn’t want to talk about himself, of all things. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seem anxious.” That’s a little iconic, coming from Touya.

“It’s nothing,” Akito shakes his head. Touya gives him the look that says he really doesn’t believe Akito’s telling the truth but doesn’t say anything else. Akito tries not to shut him down so quickly. “It’s just – I don’t like train rides.” That’s basically the truth, anyway.

“I know,” Touya turns back to the window. “I don’t mind them.”

Akito smiles at him, despite himself. “I know.”

They escape the train a few minutes later. The heart of Aokusa beats restlessly to the melodies of the people and the engines and the sirens in the distance. Even the concrete of the city streets seems viscerally real, almost alive. The air is cold, but the rising sun is so bright it lights everything on fire.

He doesn’t take a moment to sigh with relief and admire the view, as beautiful as it is – Akito only starts walking, letting the city breathe life into him again. He glances to his right for just a moment and finds that Touya is studying him again with that glint of fascination in his eye.

Sometimes it bothers Akito to be looked at like that, like he’s some kind of incomprehensible spectacle, because it’s so clear Touya thinks of the two of them as fundamentally different. But at times like this, walking into the city in the early autumn morning, without the added comments of “your people” or “I think it’s nice that you’ve found something to be passionate about [but that could never be me]”, it feels like something else. Something a little less sad and a little warmer.

The way that thought makes Akito grow aware of his own heartbeat is enough to prove to himself that he’s alive, too, even if just for a little while. After all, in the end, Akito knows that today will be simply another Saturday spent reaching for the life he’ll never fully grasp in his hands.