Chapter Text
Soulmates are bonded together, but you should know that already... right?
I mean, you were the one that told me that over and over again after all, Misaki.
“Why do you want to go this way?” Fushimi grumbled, unable to keep the scowl off of his face as his eyes darted from side to side, watching for any danger.
Yata shrugged, trying not to fidget as his thoughts kept circling back to their small fight earlier. “I thought it’d be nice to take the long way home sometimes.”
That doesn’t mean we have to take this street.”
“What’s so bad about it?” Yata’s eyes were wide with curiosity as he looked up towards Fushimi’s frowning face. It was hard acting like they hadn’t just had a fight a few minutes ago, but they’ve had enough in the past for them to know that they’d get over it before they reached home.
Their fights never lasted long.
“There have been a lot of reports about thugs around here.” He muttered, risking a quick glance towards Yata before looking out for danger again.
Yata stopped in his tracks. “Well shit , Saruhiko, let’s turn back then!”
Fushimi turned back to look at Yata quizzically. “We’re already almost home, and you want to turn back now ?”
Yata shrugged. “You’re not comfortable. I know you’re sour because you’ve been wanting to go home for the past few hours but still…”
Fushimi sighed and stood in front of Yata. “It’s okay.” He murmured. “I’m… sorry about getting mad earlier.”
Yata managed a tight smile before tugging Fushimi back. “I’m sorry too, Saru. So let’s just… go where it’s safe, okay?”
Fushimi exhaled; there was no way he was going to win this without starting another argument. His eyes flicked around the street again before he agreed to walk back. “Are you sure about this, Misaki?”
“Of course!” His smile was warm as he held Fushimi’s hand. “I want you to be comfortable, and who knows what else is around here, right?”
There was a crash and a woman suddenly appeared from an alley across the street. Fushimi noticed the way she seemed to radiate with fear and immediately stood protectively between the alley and Yata.
“Get back here!” Another voice called, and another person appeared from the alley - a man dressed in dark attire, most likely a robber of sorts. He grabbed onto the woman and that’s when Fushimi noticed the flash of silver in the man’s hand.
He tugged hard on Yata’s hand. “We need to go.”
“But the woman…” Yata was struggling against his flight instinct and his perpetual need to help other people. She needed help, and he guu definitely can’t win two against one!
“Misaki, we don’t have the time -”
Before Fushimi could finish his sentence, the woman seemed to have started fighting back considering the amount of noise they were making. He whirled around, ready to push Yata back so that they could escape unnoticed.
“Saru…” Yata stepped to his right, ready to run into the fight. “We have to help!”
The silver item was being waved around, a finger on the trigger. “Misaki, no!” Fushimi shouted, pushing Yata with all his strength, and right before Yata could so much as begin to protest -
a shot rang through the air.
Even after one dies, they wait for their soulmate to join them so that when one is ready to be reborn the other will know where to go.
The memories will be gone... but the instinct will still be there.
Hollow .
That’s what Yata felt like right now. After the gunshot and the sudden rush of that memory flooding his mind , everything just became hollow .
It wasn't like he didn't feel the pain in his heart, no. Everything just felt numb, like he wasn't even keenly aware of the fact that Fushimi was gone, that the small gestures and the warmth by his side was nothing but a figment of his own imagination, that he had been making up the person that was next to him the entire time. Somewhere in his mind he knew that Fushimi wasn't there, but something was telling him that it'd be better to think that he was, that he wasn't a ghost of his past.
He knew Fushimi wasn't there, he really did - but it hurt so much that he would rather keep up the lies and keep imagining his soulmate by his side, with his soulmate mark full and stronger than ever.
It wouldn't hurt anyone if he kept up this small lie, right?
So he had kept lying, kept believing that the memory was nothing but a bad dream, and spent his birthday under the covers in his warmth, not caring about the lack of a birthday cake on the table or the television not being set to some shitty channel they wouldn't be paying attention to anyways. He talked and talked about how much of a waste it was that they were indoors, but he was sore and he didn't sleep yet so it was probably better that he stay in bed since he had work the next day.
If he went to work the next day, that is.
"We should go somewhere." Yata murmured. "Somewhere far away, just the two of us. Just for a little while."
But where would we go? The voice asked, tentative and calm and warm all at the same time.
"I don't know." Yata chuckled, vaguely feeling his heart being squeezed painfully. "Do you have anywhere in mind?"
It was quiet for a moment. I might.
"Then let's go there." Yata decided. "Where is it, though?"
The voice didn't answer. The fake warmth by his side wasn't as warm as it was a moment ago. The light outside was dimming, welcoming the night.
"Happy birthday to me." Yata suddenly murmured, turning onto his back so he could stare at the ceiling. He scratched his chest absentmindedly, wincing as the scabs peeled off bit by bit. "And..." many more to come? The thought of a gunshot flashed through his mind and he smiled wryly. It's a one-way ticket to home. He thought, a laugh escaping his chapped lips. "Home, home," he sang as he dug deeper into his skin, "I'm going home ..."
He shut his eyes and let the darkness of his mind pull him into another dream, another image of a gunshot and Fushimi, except this time the barrel was pointed right in-between Yata's eyes.
Out of habit, Yata woke up too early the next morning and checked his PDA for the first time in a while. There were happy birthday messages and fourteen missed calls, along with a couple of spam emails and a notification of a new audio clip. Nothing remotely interesting, so he cleared the notifications, turned the PDA off, and sighed loudly, dragging his tired body through the usual morning routine and finally scowling at the last gingerbread scented candle in the cupboard.
"Christmas is so far away, too." He muttered darkly before taking the lighter and dragging the flame over the pad of his left forefinger. It wasn't enough to satiate his need to feel , but it was enough to get food ready for his trip later.
He got a cup of coffee ready and downed it in one go, ignoring the burning sensation on his tongue and washing the cup right away. He didn't make much - just a couple of sandwiches and his 'famous' Yata-fried rice. It was enough, though, because Fushimi never really ate much anyways. He left the apartment at precisely nine in the morning with their food in his backpack, and headed out. Screw going to work, he thought with a frown.
"Where to?" Yata asked, looking both ways of the street.
Just follow me. There it was again, the voice that could never match Fushimi's but it sounded so much like Fushimi's that it was easily to forget that it wasn't. Yata followed the quiet instructions that danced across his mind until he somehow landed at the train station. He paid for two tickets and boarded the train, standing close to the exit because Fushimi hated being anywhere but there. He was told to exit after seven stops, and Yata almost wished he didn't follow, didn't allow himself to step onto the station that was too close to him .
The gates were too high for Yata's comfort. The cherry blossom trees were too bare, too dead looking. The stones shined too bright, the birds were too loud, and the morning sun was too warm. His thoughts were suddenly quiet, and Yata could only laugh weakly at the stone structure right in front of him. His wounds tingled with the need to be scratched but he kept his hands down, too caught up in the storm inside his mind to comprehend the voice in his head telling him to hurt, hurt, hurt.
"Why?" Yata whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. It was getting harder and harder to keep his hands in place. "Why are we here?"
Because , the voice was too cold, too warm, and too comforting all at once, it's Misaki's turn .
"Turn? To do what?" Yata couldn't look at the... the thing ... that was in front of him. "What's going on, Saru?"
He didn’t answer for a long time. The breeze ruffled Yata’s hair and it almost reminded him of when Fushimi would play with it, and suddenly his heart was breaking again - but it felt so much worse this time.
Accept the past.
It’s stupid, honestly. Humans are very selfish creatures. When we die young, we want nothing else but the company of our one true love - and that’s the terrible part about us.
We want them badly. So badly that we’re even willing to coax them into an early death just so that we can satisfy our own desires.
"Tatara." Anna had been quiet all day, lost in thought as the clock ticked and Yata was nowhere to be seen.
Totsuka smiled and patted Anna's head. "It's alright." Totsuka sang. "Let him have the day off today."
"But," Anna protested, raising her arm to pull at Totsuka's sleeve, "Misaki's...."
He laughed suddenly, causing all the others to look at him with worry etched in their eyes. "It's okay." His soulmate mark tingled slightly, reminding him that it really will be okay, because Fushimi isn't gone.
He'll help Yata soon.
Because that's what soulmates are for. He thought, rubbing at his mark in careful circles. This is proof of that.
"He has someone helping him." he continued, voice reassuring yet still uncertain. "If Fushimi really loves him, he'll help him."
"What do you mean?" Anna asked, eyes filled with curiosity. She was still too young to understand what having a soulmate meant, nevermind what losing one was truly like.
"He's a good person." He patted her head one last time and stood, walking off towards Kusanagi who was smiling sympathetically at the both of them. He picked up the guitar and began strumming a lullaby that would have torn Yata apart the moment he heard it. "Have faith in him."
"In who?" Dewa asked, feeling self-conscious for butting into the conversation but curious nonetheless. Everyone wanted an answer to that question - even the customers that had tuned into the conversation peeked towards Totsuka’s direction.
Totsuka simply smiled.
Sometimes they’ll hesitate though, and maybe that’s how you know they truly love you. They have the power to do so many things to their soulmate.
To hesitate between suicide and letting them truly live - that’s love.
Because deep down they want to be with them so badly and at the same time they want them to truly be happy - to live long and to tell them of all their adventures when they’re finally reunited.
It was ten thirty in the morning. Yata was late for work and he completely forgot to notify Kusanagi. He could turn back right now and forget that he ever set foot in this place. He could go to work and apologize for being late and continue the day like nothing happened.
But looking at the grave in front of him, he knew that it wasn't something he should do.
Saruhiko. Yata thought, repeating the word in his head like a mantra. The word was comforting yet painful, like a campfire on a cold day and he was sitting just a little too close to the flame.
"Saruhiko." he whispered when he could no longer count the number of times he thought that name. It rolled off of his tongue with a sweet and bitter taste.
It's okay.
That voice. That voice was the same voice he heard in after the funeral. That same voice that tried to get him to go to work and eat healthy and sleep on time. That wasn't his made-up Fushimi's voice. It wasn't his own voice, either.
However, it suddenly became crystal clear that it was Saruhiko's , the same Saruhiko that wouldn't allow their bond to bloom at age fifteen. The Saruhiko that wouldn't marry Yata until they were twenty. The Saruhiko that nobody really knew but him .
He was Fushimi Saruhiko, but the voice was his Saruhiko, with no guard, no wariness in his voice. It was the voice that lulled Yata to sleep some nights and reprimanded him every day for whatever reason he could find. The voice that was filled with love and concern towards him and apathy towards others.
Yata shook his head; none of this made sense. He knew he was lying to himself by allowing himself to believe that Fushimi was still there, still alive and well, but something else was in his mind, something warm and bright and terrifying all at the same time.
"I don't get it." His voice cracked. "Saru, none of this makes sense."
Let go.
"No!" Yata shouted, wrapping his hands around his stomach and sinking to his knees, desperate to keep the voice there and to keep Fushimi - any Fushimi - with him. I'm keeping you here, whether you like it or not!
The breeze turned chilly despite the warmth of the sun. Wasn't it July? Why was it so cold?
"Saru, where are you?" Yata whispered. "Show me."
It was quiet, the birds were chirping and the grass was still cold from the previous night. Tears pricked his eyes and his throat constricted; his heart was being squeezed so hard he thought it'd burst. Yata looked up, finally looked up, and stared at the letters etched into the stone and the framed photo of a man clad in a dark grey shirt, arm around a shorter man and looking like they were the happiest couple on Earth.
In memory of Fushimi Saruhiko.
Yata slumped forward and fell against the pillar, head barely missing the framed photo as he choked back the sobs that were begging to be released.
"You're not gone." Yata whispered, a stray tear running down his cheek. "You're right next to me ."
The voice wasn't replying anymore, and suddenly everything seemed too cold now.
"Come on." Yata murmured, "I don't feel like playing hide-n-seek, Saru."
One moment, two moments, three moments later, and the voice finally spoke again, but it was too warm, too happy .
It's okay, Misaki.
And that’s the purpose of these marks. To connect. To bond.
We’re not gone. We just borrowed a bit of our mark so that we can still be connected, that’s all.
I can’t touch or see you anymore, but I can still hear you and you can still hear me, so let’s make the most of that.
Okay?
“This is bad.” Akagi muttered, pacing back and forth in the bar. “Wasn’t he supposed to come in today ?”
Kusanagi hummed in thought. “He’ll come back.”
“What makes you think that?” He stopped to stare at Kusanagi. He had been angry about this entire situation for some time now . “I’m done beating around the bush. We all know he’s not okay.”
The bar was quiet.
“He hasn’t been okay for months . When was the last time he actually laughed ? When was the last time he picked up the guitar and sang ?” Akagi seemed desperate for an answer that was impossible to give. He was close to tears at the sudden memories of every single day he had to watch Yata - the real Yata - slowly disappear from right in front of his eyes. Nobody wanted to remember, wanted to bring up the problem, wanted to trip a wire and cause Yata to explode. It was tearing them apart just as much as Yata was tearing himself apart, and Akagi couldn’t watch any longer.
“He doesn’t deserve this.” Akagi murmured. “He doesn’t fucking deserve any of this.”
“What can you do to help?” Eric muttered, matching the anger in Akagi’s voice. “What the fuck are we supposed to do if we don’t even know how he’s going to react? For all we know he could fucking kill himself in front of all of us if we make the wrong move!”
They were all silent as the words sank in deep. It wasn’t unnatural for someone with a broken bond to commit suicide; it happened too often with the younger ones, because honestly - who would want to spend the rest of their lives without their soulmate? Especially someone as bright and bubbly as Yata - it was torture having to live every day with the knowledge that he can’t come home to his beloved anymore.
“Something! Anything !” Akagi yelled, turning to the rest of his audience. They had all gathered around the couch when operating hours closed, unwilling to leave and unwilling to bring up the reason behind the heavy atmosphere that had been plaguing the place for months now.
“Kusanagi, Totsuka, and Anna already tried!” Eric shouted, standing up from his spot on a nearby chair. “Where the hell did that leave us?”
“Then keep trying .” Akagi growled, clenching his fists. “I’m not letting him die like Fushimi had to.”
Kusanagi sighed, glad that Anna had already gone to bed upstairs. “We can only wait now. You know that.”
“I don’t want to wait!” So much could happen in a minute - a second , even. The bags under Yata’s eyes and the way his physique seemed to be more bone than body was too much to have to see every day. “What if - “
“Stop.” Totsuka clucked his tongue, wagging a finger at Akagi. “We don’t need to dwell in the what-ifs now, do we?”
Akagi’s whole body trembled as he shook his head. “I just need to know he’s okay.”
“We all know he’s not.” Totsuka didn’t skip a beat in replying. “He hasn’t been.”
“Then..” Akagi shuddered. “ Alive. I just need to see him alive.”
“And he is.” Totsuka reassured him. “Trust him.”
But even Totsuka’s voice was wavering, unsure of the future even as he said those words to Akagi and everyone else in the room.
So Misaki, be happy for me. Live long for me. Smile for me.
I’m sorry for taking so long to make up my mind.
He doesn’t remember what time he got home or how he even made it home. All he could remember was Fushimi’s voice, telling him that it’s okay and to accept what had happened and to live - and yet, even as that voice told him all those kinds of things, it still had an air of hesitation and it only served to confuse him even more.
I just want to see you again. Yata thought over and over again. Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!
Yata couldn’t even bring himself to summon up the fake warmth that should’ve been Fushimi’s warmth as he lie in bed once again, his chest both heavy and light as he tried to wade through the thoughts in his head. There was so much going on and yet it was so little at the same time. He could literally hear his heart and mind battling against the fake image of Fushimi in his mind, could hear himself denying that Fushimi was gone even though he just visited his grave. His mind tried hard to convince him that it was just a joke, that Fushimi was going to walk through the door and laugh at him for believing he was dead.
But Yata always listened to his heart, and now that his mind was finally starting to lose the battle he could all too clearly see his own stupidity as he tried for months to piece together a Fushimi recreated from his memories.
His fingertips tingled as he recalled the times he would burn himself, just to feel something, anything. His chest burned with the need to hurt and he lightly rubbed it absentmindedly.
He remembered the nights where he imagined Fushimi’s emergency gun pointed to his heart or head and dreamt of the day he would finally pull the trigger and finally find himself in front of Fushimi once again.
Mistakes came crashing down on him like rain, and with each passing second he felt worse and worse about himself.
I should really just die already. Yata mused, letting the thought of a point-blank gunshot ring through his mind. I’ve made enough mistakes for a lifetime anyways.
To err is human, to forgive divine.
Something spoke to him and Yata shot up, looking around frantically for that voice. It was there again, that little voice that meant so much to him. He looked and looked before suddenly realizing that it wasn’t something he heard from his ears, but rather his mind.
Saru? Yata whispered in his thoughts.
Misaki. Came that voice, too familiar and too warm. Yata tried desperately to hold back the tears that suddenly wanted to fall again, choking back a sob as everything came crashing down on him.
I’m not making this up, right? Yata thought to himself desperately. I don’t want this to be a lie.
Still, it was too good to be true, so it had to be a lie, right? What a fucked up mind I have.
Stop lying to yourself, Misaki.
He shook his head violently. No no no, you’re going to leave if I do!
I won’t. It paused. Not anymore.
His mind went blank for a moment as Yata recalled everything; the voice at the funeral, the voice in his head aside from the one that only sounded like it, and the voice now… they were all the same person.
They were all Fushimi.
Months of pain surged through his entire body and he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore as he fell back onto the bed. He cried, cried for all the time wasted from the world he created for himself, cried for all the people that must have worried about him for so, so long, and cried for his soulmate, his Saruhiko, that had always been there, always been watching over him like some fucked up guardian angel.
You… you never left, did you? The tears fell in waves, but whether they were tears of happiness or sadness, he would never know.
I was always here. It admitted. I couldn’t have left you even if I wanted to.
Anger suddenly flared in his chest as he suddenly realized that all that pain , all that effort to keep Fushimi in his life was a total waste because he never left . So many months, so many nights of utter silence from Fushimi... it was too much to think about all at once. His thoughts weren't straight and he clung to the anger, to anything but the pain.
Then where the fuck were you all this time? He lashed out angrily, recalling all of the candles that had gone to waste in his little game of play-pretend. He recalled all the worried looks from passersby as well as his own friends - hell, even Munakata had worried in his own way.
Why did it take you so long so say something? He screamed in his mind. Why the fuck are you even able to talk to me in the first place? He had so many questions, so many angry thoughts in his head that it was like a blazing inferno, searing hot and painful wherever he ventured.
… Would you believe me if I told you?
I’m sorry for leaving you alone for so long, for letting you make up a version of me that was only destroying you.
I’m sorry for thinking that if I waited long enough, you’d end your life and we could be together again.
I’m sorry for forcing you to open your eyes like this.
I’m so, so sorry, Misaki.
Yata still refused to come to work the next day, too exhausted to interact with anyone let alone everyone at HOMRA. He barely managed to eat a bowl of cereal before he collapsed on the couch, staring blankly at the television screen for who knew how long. The third disc stared at him from under it, taunting him to open it and to watch it.
It’s probably not a bad idea. Yata thought albeit a bit angrily. So that I can finally get over it.
He took a few deep, calming breaths getting up and making his way to the player, opening the case and shoving the disc in then pressing play immediately. He didn’t bother moving back to the couch; the disc had the words ‘CD’ printed on the front and he wasn’t dumb enough to think that there was going to be yet another video.
A note stared back at him from within the case, obviously Totsuka’s doing considering the silly doodle on the side. There’s a copy of this on your PDA, too!
“So what?” He muttered, eyes heavy from lack of energy. He let himself fall onto the floor with a soft thud, only to shoot back up once he recognized the first few notes of the song.
“ No. ” Yata whispered, refusing to believe his ears. He wasn’t ready to hear this song, not now of all times, not when he just (at least, he thinks he just did) got Saruhiko back. In all honesty he wasn't ready to accept the fact that there was a voice in his head for good and that it was Saruhiko's voice of all people - it was still too good to be true, and too crazy to even be true . For all he knew, it could just be his mind playing tricks on him again, but this time it wasn't as painful, wasn't as draining as before.
Mostly, it felt too soon to hear it. For some reason it felt so much like a goodbye - but really, aren’t lullabies some sort of twisted version of a goodbye made after one falls asleep?
" Twinkle twinkle, little star, " Fushimi's voice filled the room, washing it in a sort of calm atmosphere that Yata always loved. The tune was much slower than the normal children’s song, as if the singer was also being lulled to sleep as he sang. " How I wonder what you are."
"Up above the world so high," Yata sang along, vaguely hearing a third voice in the mix as he teared up yet again. He wished he didn’t sing along; if he hadn’t, Yata could have pretended that he didn’t hear this song, didn’t hear the love and affection coating each and every word like powdered sugar on top of a sugar cookie. "Like a diamond in the sky."
Tears fell down and his voice was lost as he sobbed out the last few words, not allowing himself to believe that he was hearing one of Fushimi's lullabies right now. He couldn't take it anymore - he avoided this song like the plague for so long that it just seemed unnatural to be so comforted by it, and it scared him just how easily it was able to relax him despite being something he desperately wanted to forget ever hearing. His soft cries nearly drowned out the soft tune if Fushimi's voice, but someone else sang along, too, clear as day, replacing the static Fushimi with a more alive set of vocals.
Twinkle twinkle, little star, it sang, causing Yata to sob even harder. How I wonder what you are.
Hearing the song hurt him somewhere deep inside, at a place that even he couldn't really figure out. Let it out. Fushimi whispered to him, and Yata obeyed, not because it was Fushimi talking to him but because he felt lost in his own mind, unsure of what was around every twist and turn he found himself at. It was like he didn't know himself, couldn't differentiate the lies from the truths after having lived in a make-believe world for so long.
So he used Fushimi as an anchor, because he had always been Yata's anchor, ever since the day they met.
He let the pain overwhelm his small frame as he fell into another episode of intense crying, clinging to the small voice that was singing along to the lullaby that was on repeat like a broken record. He still couldn't fully accept whatever happened last night, but if he had imagined that just so that he could let go, as Fushimi had told him once already, then maybe it was for the best that he lied his way out of a world that was quickly fraying at the edges.
Sing for me, Yata thought, clinging to his chest and for once not even remembering his self-inflicted wounds that were still far from healing. Sing again, Saruhiko.
And the voice did, drowning out the CD and changing melodies as it recalling every song they listened to when they were nothing but naive teenagers skipping school and hanging out on the rooftop. It brought fresh waves of tears, more waves of pain, but it felt good this time. It hurt - it hurt so much more than before - but Yata knew it was a good kind of hurt, because he wasn't finding himself in a dark, dark place anymore. He was in a clearing and it was raining hard with all the pent-up emotions that he had desperately kept under lock and key, but like all rainstorms it was bound to clear soon.
He had managed to cry himself to sleep again and woke up a few hours later; the CD was still on repeat and it still stung to hear it but he kept it playing as he trudged towards the kitchen and began to make lunch.
That's too much. Fushimi said after he scooped right into the pot and began washing it.
"It's enough for today." Yata murmured, "because I don't feel like making more rice later."
He made fried rice with whatever he had left in the refrigerator and ate a small bowl of it, leaving out an extra bowl and pair of chopsticks at the other end of the table.
You don't need to do that anymore. The voice seemed concerned.
It's still your home, Saruhiko. Yata thought with a sad smile on his face. I might be making less food, but it's still your home.
He finished eating and washed his dishes, all the while leaving Fushimi's out on the table. Whenever Yata worked late, Fushimi always came home with a frown and a grumbling stomach - leaving out a plate or dish and some food was something he always did. It was simply a habit he didn't have the heart to break just yet; he could deal with cooking less, but not seeing another plate on the table was still hard to live with.
Take your time. Yata remembered Fushimi always telling him that whenever he was upset with something. He took those words to heart now - he wasn't going to be perfectly okay anytime soon and within all the events in the past forty-eight hours he somehow learned that it was perfectly okay to go one small step at a time, rather than large leaps like he was used to taking.
But I still miss you . Yata thought as he finished wiping the dishes try. It's different.
… Wanna know a secret?
Yata cocked his head to the side, a useless gesture but one he always made. What is it?
I'm... happy.
He frowned. Yata was probably talking to himself and probably setting himself up for another sobfest, but he was curious to see what his mind made up this time around.
You're finally healing, Misaki. The voice was soft and held so much affection that Yata was finding himself on the verge of tears yet again. You're finally on your way towards living.
Please, visit me again and look at my grave with a smile on your face and always remember that I’m here, that I’m never going to leave you alone like that again.
Remember to cook dinner for one person now, to come home with a smile on your beautiful face, and most of all - tell yourself that I love you. So, so much.
“You know.” Kusanagi sighed, looking at Munakata. It was almost closing time when he paid a visit, sitting leisurely on a barstool and requesting a light wine as if he wasn’t particularly bothered by the fact it was a little late to be drinking - 2AM, to be exact. “Whatever you told Yata, thanks for that.”
They were both watching Yata waltz around the bar, his regular plastic smile completely erased from his face as he interacted with his customers on a more personal level once again. It was late August and Yata had only started work again two weeks ago, and although Kusanagi had been more than willing to break the door to Yata’s apartment open and force him to come to work sooner he instead heeded his gut feeling and let Yata return on his own.
Akagi, who had thrown a couple more tantrums along the way, was more than elated to see Yata back and in better condition than before. He was happy for his friend and happy that the atmosphere in HOMRA finally returned to its usual warmth. It had surprised everyone when Yata walked in with a small, sheepish smile on his face - Totsuka seemed to know what happened and thought nothing of it, and Yata told everyone he thinks he's going to be okay while apologizing profusely for making everyone worry, to which they all welcomed him back with smiles and a group hug that Anna had started along with Mikoto - though the latter was dragged into it by the former. It was an emotional day for all of them, and to celebrate they even let the customers have a free cup of coffee when they dined in. Latecomers had a free glass of alcohol on the house, though it was of the cheaper variety since Kusanagi wasn't as willing to let go of the better goods so easily.
Ever since that day everything felt right again. Yata was okay despite sometimes talking to himself, and he even played the guitar much more often and with a smile that put the sun to shame once again.
That same smile graced everyone's presence today, as Yata picked finished plates off of customer tables and put them in the back to be washed later. Munakata smiled, twirling the glass in his hand as he turned his gaze back towards Kusanagi. “It wasn’t for Yata, so to speak.” He said, glancing towards Totsuka, who was seated next to Mikoto on the couch. Totsuka caught his eyes and waved.
“What do you mean?” Kusanagi asked, genuinely curious about the other's thoughts despite knowing that when it came to Munakata, everything was a puzzle he'd probably have to put together on his own. But a few hints wouldn't hurt too much, right?
There was a pause as the sound of laughter coming from all around the premises filled the air. “You see,” Munakata chuckled, taking another slow sip of the wine, “a pair’s bond is never broken.”
And even if you forget that last one, I’ll tell you every single day. Every day until the day you die, and every day after.
I won’t let you go through heartache anymore, that I promise you.
“And… done!” Yata wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand, admiring the makeshift altar he built in the living room. It looked like a simple sliding closet, but in it were his soulmate’s favorite flowers, photos of them, and a small note Yata wrote to him.
“It’s beautiful.” Anna remarked, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Good job.”
Yata beamed. It was a spur-of-the-moment idea, but it was one of his better ideas yet. Kusanagi smiled from the couch behind them.
“You should be proud of yourself.” Kusanagi said, standing to join the two of them as Yata continued to dust off the already-squeaky-clean altar. “Fushimi would be very happy.”
“He is.” Yata murmured, stepping away and reveling in the gentle laugh that only he could hear. “He’s glad that you’re all here, too.”
Kusanagi moved to sit in front of the altar, closing his eyes and bowing slightly towards the altar as Yata looked at him in puzzlement. Anna moved to sit next to Kusanagi, repeating his actions and sitting in a praying position as well.
“What..?” Yata didn’t know how to voice the question in his head as Kusanagi turned to give Yata yet another smile. Anna mirrored his movements only a half-beat later.
“Don’t worry about it.” Kusanagi said, standing up and helping Anna onto her feet as well. “I just told him that you’re in good hands now.”
Anna turned to look at the photo once more. “Thank you for taking care of Misaki.” She murmured, her gaze fond as she looked at the photo of when Misaki and Saruhiko had officially gotten married. It was one of the only days where Saruhiko smiled so openly.
Yata’s lip twitched as he forced back the tears that were about to fall once more. “Thanks guys,” he murmured, “for everything. And I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Anna tugged on his shirt. “It’s okay now.”
“Yeah... yeah, it is.” Yata sniffled. “It is.”
“Come on, now” Kusanagi said, already halfway out the door, “or else the psychiatrist is going to get upset again. You patched up your wounds, right?”
Going to see a psychiatrist wasn’t an idea Yata had been particularly fond of in the beginning, but after the weight of his loss gradually cleared, a powerful sense of guilt had begun to eat away at him and he finally conceded, knowing it was something that would help him walk the path that Fushimi would have wanted him on. He was still a long ways away from where he wants to be, but he'll get there eventually, one step at a time. It wasn't a secret that Misaki was still shaken about the things he had done after Saruhiko's funeral; whenever he saw his wound or smelled the faintest sense of gingerbread he'd immediately tense up and have to fight back another wave of anxiety as he remembered everything as if he had done it only yesterday. Saruhiko oftentimes tried to help soothe Misaki, and it worked for the most part so long as Saruhiko didn't accidentally step on another landmine.
Misaki laughed, a sound that was so bright and so bubbly that even Kusanagi and Anna’s smiles widened at the sight of it. “Yes, Father, I did first thing in the morning. Coming!”
あの日の君の笑顔は思い出に変わる
(Your smile that day is now a memory)
I miss you.