Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’ll come back soon, right?”

Ryo looks so sad now, standing there in front of the sliding doors of the airport. He’s looked sad for a few weeks now, and Akira doesn’t really understand. They’re only eight years old, too young to understand the cycle of life and death. All Akira knows is Ryo’s mother, with her beautiful blonde hair and shining blue eyes, suddenly isn’t here anymore. Something about a car accident. And now Ryo’s father is taking him away, far away, along with him on his travels, where Akira can’t reach.

“Maybe,” Ryo says. His small hands are curling into the blue fabric of his shirt. It has little pictures of cartoon dogs on it. It’s too big for his little body.

“Pinky promise,” Akira says, “That you’ll come back.”

“Okay,” comes the weak reply. Their little fingers hook together. “I’ll try.”

Those bright blue eyes, just like his mother’s, are filling with tears. I’m supposed to be the crybaby!

“I’m gonna wait for you!” Akira states. “So you better not break your promise!”

---

It’s early September, and it’s still so hot.

The moment Akira steps outside and is hit with the merciless rays of the sun, he’s tempted to just turn around and go back inside, school be damned. Miki would never let him get away with that, and even if he weren’t staying at her family’s place while his parents were out of town, even they wouldn’t let him skip out.

“The man of the hour,” Miko Kuroda hums from where she leans against her car. Miki is tapping away on her phone, only looking up when Miko speaks. “Took you long enough.”

“We’re gonna be late,” Miki huffs. “You need to learn how to set an alarm.”

“I did,” Akira grumbles.

“Then you need to learn how to stop hitting the snooze button. Come ooon.”

Honestly, bless Miko for keeping the air conditioner in her car running. This heatwave is expected to last for the next week, and he feels kind of sorry for them. Miki Makimura, seventeen years old, is the school’s track star, bright and shining, popular with boys and girls and even famous in her own right across social media. Miko running - no pun intended - right behind her. And, well, they have practice today after school. Until five. And considering Miko is both he and Miki’s ride the times he’s staying with her family, he’s expected to sit outside and watch.

“I have a test in statistics today,” Miki groans, stretching her legs out from where she sits on the passenger’s side.

“Already? We’ve only been back to school for two weeks.” Miko casts her a sidelong glance, then turns her eyes back to the road.

“It’s an AP class,” Miki reminds her.

“We know, you remind us every other day,” Akira doesn’t even look up when he speaks, keeping his focus on the passing scenery outside the car window. Miko cackles, earning her a light slap on the arm, which makes Akira laugh, thus making Miki turn so she can reach back and deliver a far less merciful smack on the leg.

“Ow--!”

Miko just laughs again, and Miki sighs heavily, defeated. But she’s still smiling, regarding the other girl with her green eyes shimmering.

Akira doesn’t know what’s going on between them, just that he knows Miki looks happier when she’s around Miko than when she dated that Ethan King guy for two years, breaking up the middle of junior year. He doesn’t ask her. If Miki wanted him to know something, she would tell him.

The rest of the ride is spent with the two girls chattering in the front seat, Akira leaning his head against the window, not really speaking unless spoken to; that’s just how he is.

“Wow, look at that,” Miki breathes as Miko pulls into the student parking lot. There's still kids hanging out around their cars, blaring music from their radios, laughing, no care in the world, as if they aren’t supposed to be in homeroom in ten minutes. But Miki isn’t talking about that, her attention is on the bright red car sitting in the parking lot, one that looks like it costs more than Akira’s entire life.

“What, is that an Audi?” Miko hums, easily pulling into her parking space. “I wonder which rich kid it belongs to.”

“I haven’t seen it before,” Akira chimes in. “New kid, maybe?”

“Maybe Olivia Moore got that car she’s been begging her mom for,” Miko suggests.

“I think her mom knows if she got Olivia a car, she would have left town by the end of the day.”

“Akira!” Miki scolds. Miko barks out a laugh.

“With whatever poor sap she’s sunk her claws into ‘til she gets bored.”

“Miko!” Miki swats her on the arm. “You’re both terrible. Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

Miki dashes off the moment they enter the building, her locker being all the way in the science wing while her homeroom and first class all the way on the other end of the school. She says something about seeing them both at lunch. Miko waves goodbye then gives Akira a slight smile and nod before she heads off.

Just like every other day, he passes through the halls to his locker. A few people call out to him in greeting; girls, mostly, with their new interest in him. No matter how much time passes, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to the attention. Akira’s already eighteen, one of the older kids in their grade, but puberty had only finally decided to hit him like a truck early in junior year. It felt like he outgrew all his clothes within a week, lost most of the roundness in his face, and it only took him a few months of proper exercise to put on muscle. And suddenly every girl that didn’t seem to know he existed was asking him out.

He always felt a little bad turning them down.

Homeroom is noisy. Rizzo is a history teacher well into his forties with a perpetual frown. It’s only been two weeks, but he’s already given up on trying to control anyone. They’re only here ten minutes of the day, after all. Wamu and his ragtag gang sit on desks near the back, Kukun drumming his hands on the surface for rhythm and Hie beatboxing behind his hand while Wamu and Gabi take turns spitting off whatever new rhymes they’ve put together, and Akira thinks Rizzo looks ready to strangle all of them. Wamu tosses Akira a wink.

The day starts as normal as any.

---

“Have you seen him? He’s super hot!”

“And he’s rich, too!”

“He looks like an angel.”

“What’re they talking about?” Miko mutters, eyes cutting to the group of girls chattering excitedly the next table over. She shoves the cheap, soggy cheeseburger into her mouth, and she and Akira are probably the only two who can eat the toxic waste that is cafeteria food without nearly dying. Miki was kind enough to throw together a lunch for him this morning, at least.

The cafeteria is pretty much a lawless war zone. Any school rules don’t apply here, so long as you aren’t starting a food fight. It’s big, it’s noisy, it smells kinda bad sometimes, the food could probably kill you. The cliques remain packed tight into their own tables, the teachers pretty much ignore everything around them, the lunch ladies couldn’t care less. Akira picks a bit of food from between his teeth with the blunt nail of his thumb.

“There’s a new kid,” Miki replies around a mouthful of curry. “He’s in my AP Physics class. He’s pretty.”

Miko squints, lip curling.

Miki remains unfazed, carrying on casually, “But not my type.”

Miko visibly relaxes.

“He’s the one that owns that sick car.” Wamu practically pops out of nowhere, his ragtag gang not far behind. He steals a fry off of Miko’s tray, fast enough that she can’t break his wrist. The rest of his friends crowd into the empty spaces on the benches. “Y’all saw that, right?”

“The red Audi?” Akira responds.

“Yeah. So he’s, what, rich, pretty, and an AP student?” Miko looks unimpressed. “Never a good combo. I’m sure he’s gonna be a real charmer.”

“I mean… he didn’t talk much during class,” Miki explains. “He was very polite, though. Maybe he isn’t that bad.”

“‘Maybe he isn’t that bad.’ You jinxed it, Miki.” Akira narrowly avoids a pea being flung at him from across the table.

“I guess we know who every girl’s gonna be creamin’ themselves over this year,” Wamu says, almost mournfully.

A group of cheerleaders passes by, all bubblegum-pop attitude, their glossy hair streaming out behind them like comet tails, the skirts of their red-and-black outfits swishing about their thighs. Wamu’s eyes hone in on them instantly.

“So I should probably make my move while I still can,” Wamu hops off of the table. “I hear Olivia Moore’s single again. Time to work that swag. Really make her feel that Wamu charm--”

“What charm?” Gabi snickers.

“You’re supposed to support me, man.”

“Good luck,” Akira chimes in.

“Thanks. I can always count on you.” And he’s off, trailing after the cheerleaders like some kind of puppy. All he’s missing is the drool and the wagging tail. Akira almost feels bad for him, knowing he’s going to get turned down. Again.

Kukun peers after him. “Should we go back him up?”

“Nah, he’s good,” Gabi says.

One of the girls at the next table over lets out a loud giggle and a gasp, her friends shushing her.

“That’s him.” Miki points her fork over Akira’s shoulder. He turns, curious, peering over the heads of other students.

He swears his heart stops.

The boy’s presence is enough to have every eye in the room on him. He oozes confidence, charisma, and wears it so naturally. His stride fluid, graceful, back straight and hands in his pockets.

His hair looks golden as the sun, curling at the nape of his neck and brushed out of his eyes, sharp sideburns neat against his cheeks. Those clothes, simple as they may look, are definitely expensive as hell, but far too warm to be wearing in this weather. A pink turtleneck beneath an olive green jacket and faded blue jeans with a tear in one knee. But they weren’t kidding, he is pretty, he does look like an angel. Or maybe a model. Or a movie star. Or all three. And there’s something about his eyes, the vibrant blue of them, the delicate lashes-- his entire face looks delicate, yet handsome.

An image appears in his mind: a young woman with wavy blonde hair, eyes as blue as the sky, her smile blinding. A little boy in her lap, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, just like his mother, but his smile is shy. Two stars beneath a guise of human flesh, and when Akira was little he swore one day they’d both soar back into the depths of space where they came from, among the glittering nebulae and suns and supernovas.

“Akiraaa?” He’s swiftly brought back to reality by Miki’s snapping fingers in front of his face. “You’re staring.”

Akira’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. The boy has stopped to talk to a teacher, and Akira turns away. He pokes at his food with his fork, one hand rubbing the nape of his neck. “Sorry.”

“Wow, even Akira Fudo’s fallen for the new guy’s charms.” Wamu appears out of nowhere, plopping back down on the edge of the table. “No luck on my end, by the way.”

“Sorry man,” Kukun pats him on the arm.

“I guess Akira has a weakness for pretty blondes.” Miki grins, mischievously.

“ Miki. ” Akira hisses, red up to his ears. He looks over his shoulder again. The boy is leaving already, but he pauses suddenly, his eyes scanning the cafeteria. And that stare lands on Akira, practically burning holes into him. Akira looks away fast.

“Hey, Miki, you said you have a class with him,” Miko begins. “What’s his name, anyway?”

Miki swallows her mouthful.

“Ryo Asuka.”

Akira’s stomach hits the floor.

---

“We’ll be friends forever, right?” Akira asks, innocent enough.

Ryo looks up from the coloring book, brows furrowing. “Sure. If you want to.”

Akira grins wide. There’s a gap in his front teeth, where his baby tooth fell out. He clambers over, throws his arms around Ryo, and hugs him tight.

Ryo hugs him back.

---

He can’t focus. He can’t fucking focus. A few of his teachers notice, his pre-calc teacher actually smacking him across the back of the head with a clipboard to get him to pay attention. All because his mind keeps going back to that boy in the cafeteria.

Ryo Asuka.

Akira had gone pale, had shoveled the rest of his lunch into his mouth and left before Miki or Miko or Wamu could ask what was wrong. He cried in the bathroom for ten minutes. It’s ridiculous how easily he cries, just like when he was small.

Pinky promise that you’ll come back.

Okay, I’ll try.

Ryo’s been a ghost the rest of the day, Akira hasn’t seen him at all, but he can’t stop thinking back to when Ryo looked at him from across the cafeteria, blue eyes lingering on him, and he wonders if Ryo recognized him, too.

Akira wants to find him somewhere, somehow get him alone, ask him if it’s really him, where he’s been because it’s been ten years with no contact, damn it. Ask him how he is, and maybe hug him for an hour if he allows it.

Of course, Miki wouldn’t understand. She came along a little while after Ryo left, she never knew him.

Is it really him? He’s still in disbelief. Ryo Asuka, son of the famous professor and archaeologist Masaru Asuka, and a pretty French-American woman by the name of Eden Mercier who Professor Asuka met while in America for work-related reasons.

Akira’s best childhood friend.

He didn’t understand why Ryo had left so many years ago until he was a little older. Eden had died in a car crash on the way to a dinner with a few friends. Akira remembers because Ryo was playing at his house when it happened, and his mother had rushed in with all color drained from her cheeks. She had told Ryo to gather his things and put his shoes on, told Akira to stay put when he tried to follow.

All he knew then was that Eden, a star disguised as a human, soared far into space like he always thought she would, but she had left Ryo behind.

So Professor Asuka, a busy man, an important man, decided to take Ryo along with him on his travels around the world. And Ryo disappeared, just like that.

I’m gonna wait for you! So you better not break your promise!

Ryo never broke his promises.

---

To make things more difficult, after spending most of the remainder of the school day wondering where the hell Ryo had gone, it turned out they shared their last class of the day together. Gothic literature. It seems rather in character, Ryo had always been a big reader, even when small. Reading things far too advanced for his age, but he seemed to understand them well enough to spout off a detailed summary of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado” one day.

And Ryo is ignoring him. Won’t even look at him when he walks into class and takes a seat near the back. A few students throw quick glances back to him, no attempt to be subtle about it. Akira’s tempted to do the same, but instead keeps his eyes forward. His leg won’t stop bouncing beneath the desk, and it takes all his self-control not to tap his pen against the desk as the teacher goes on about their next assignment (read the first two chapters of Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray and write a detailed summary of the story thus far by Friday). The forty-five minutes feel like forty-five years.

“Before we go, let’s give the new student a warm welcome. He came all the way back to America from Peru.”

All attention turns to Ryo. Akira uses it as an excuse to look again. Ryo doesn’t even flinch.

When they were little, he used to be so shy.

He sits up straight.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ryo,” he says, and the smoothness of his voice has something hot prickling under Akira’s skin. Ryo’s eyes suddenly flicker to his again, there’s a twitch of his lips. A smile? A frown? What is it?

The bell rings.

Instantly, students are flocking around Ryo’s desk. Akira rises and grabs his bag.

“Did you really move here from Peru?”

“Yes.”

“Do you travel a lot?”

“I do.”

“Are you staying the rest of the year?”

“Maybe.”

Maybe.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen. Eighteen this November.”

“Your dad’s famous?”

“You could say that.”

“Ryo, are you free this weekend? Me and some friends are going out…”

“I’ll be busy, sorry.”

“Next weekend, this kid named Gabe Cook is throwing a party. His parents won’t be home, his house is huge--”

“--I’ll think about it.”

Ryo replies pleasantly, patiently, politely, and finally the flock of students part so he can escape from the classroom. Akira waits a moment for the rest of the students to file out and follows after silently.

But Ryo’s already gone from sight. Akira’s heart sinks.

Ryo has to have recognized him. The way he looked at him in the cafeteria, in class, there’s no way he doesn’t. So why is he avoiding him? Is he actually avoiding him?

The hallways are a rush of students getting to their buses, their cars, club meetings, or sports practices. Akira needs to meet Miki out on the track field soon. He feels lucky his locker is in a relatively quiet area of the school, because his thoughts are already too loud and overwhelming, and anything more is bound to make him lose it.

Only a few students pass by when he opens his locker, gathering his things into his bag. It’s quiet, save for the distant sounds in far-off halls and rooms. Akira zips up his bag, pushes the locker door shut with a soft click.

“You.”

It makes Akira startle, turning swiftly.

Those blue eyes are inspecting him, sharp and incredulous. Ryo stands straight, his body language… relaxed, despite the suspicion he regards Akira with. And Akira doesn’t know what to say, just standing there stock-still, his heart suddenly hammering loudly in his chest as if it wants desperately to escape from his rib cage. Ryo leans forward, just a little, like he’s trying to get a closer look.

“Akira? Akira Fudo?”

He knows.

Akira lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I thought you didn’t recognize me,” he admits, and Ryo snorts.

“We’re not eight anymore,” Ryo says, flatly. He gives Akira a quick once-over. Akira’s skin heats up under his gaze. “You lost your baby face. And…”

Ryo grins, sharp as a knife. There's something lethal in his eyes.

“You got taller,” he states, casual as you please; his voice is low, smooth, steady. The distance is closing. Ryo is smaller than him now, but his presence is still imposing, has Akira taking one step back as Ryo all but corners him against the lockers.

He stares up at Akira from beneath the curtain of his lashes, expression... almost inscrutable. It makes something prickle up Akira's spine. Ryo smells like cigarettes, like coffee, with a hint of floral shampoo. And he looks like a dream come reality. Everything about him screams danger, but Akira is inexplicably drawn to him. Like when they were kids, but now it's so, so much different, and his breath is caught halfway up his throat.

There are faint little freckles dusting over his nose, Akira can see them from this distance, or lack thereof. Ryo is so-- so beautiful, and that might be a strange thought to have when reuniting with your childhood friend after ten years. Beautiful, but deadly, like he could slice Akira’s throat before Akira would even know what’s coming.

(He doesn’t think he would mind, if Ryo were the one holding the knife.)

The distance grows smaller, and…

Ryo’s hugging him.

Arms around his shoulders, rising up on his toes to reach him properly. Ryo used to be the taller one when they were kids, he remembers. Akira’s not sure what to make of this change in particular.

He kinda likes it.

But Ryo is hugging him, face on his shoulder. Akira knows he should hug back. So he does, arms finding their way around his friend to hug him closer. There’s a wet patch forming in the fabric of Ryo’s jacket where Akira has his face pressed, he realizes. Crying again. Heat creeps up his neck. Ryo doesn’t seem to notice, or he just doesn’t care. He’s still gripping Akira tight, like if he lets him go he’ll disappear.

“I didn’t think you would actually still be here,” Ryo mutters into his shoulder. “I thought you might have gone back to Japan.”

“I didn’t think you would actually come back,” Akira replies. There’s a quiver in his voice.

Ryo pulls back first. There are tears of his own stuck to his lashes. Akira almost forgot that Ryo, beneath his layer of coolness and composure, was always just as sensitive as himself. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his coat.

“Akira.” The way he says his name now, how his voice curls around the ‘r’, strangely tender, strangely gentle, ignites something in his chest. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.” Ryo is pulling his car keys out of his pocket.

Akira worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “I was supposed to meet Miki at--”

“--Who is Miki?” There’s a weird edge to Ryo’s voice. Cold? Ryo’s staring at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Miki, ah. A friend…” Akira scratches his neck. Ryo is still staring. Not smiling. “I stay with her family sometimes, when my parents are out of town.”

Ryo nods, looking contemplative, then turns on his heel. He looks a little sulky, or maybe Akira’s imagining it. “Okay. Well, I won’t force you, of course. So. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Oh, now Ryo’s walking away, the sound of his brown ankle boots against the floor almost deafening in Akira’s ears. Fuck, hold on, okay, Akira needs to do something, because he doesn’t want to piss his friend off within ten minutes of meeting him again, but he also doesn’t want to disappoint Miki, and by disappointing Miki he’ll have to deal with Miko’s anger.

Maybe Miki will understand though, if Akira explains it to her.

“Hold on, Ryo.” And Ryo halts immediately, looking over his shoulder.

Akira is fishing his phone out of his pocket. There’s already a text from Miki.

FROM: Miki 

> Where are you?

TO: Miki 

> sorry, something came up. will explain later. good luck at practice.

The phone is pocketed.

“Let’s go,” Akira says. Ryo falls in step beside him. There’s a grin pulling at his lips.

“Of course.”

---

When Akira met Ryo, they were six years old.

It was at the park, on the playground, Ryo had fallen from the monkey bars and hit his elbow hard enough to break it. He didn't cry, even though it was obvious he wanted to, eyes screwing shut and mouth twisting into a grimace, cheeks red. Akira had been the first on the scene, feeling a bit like some kind of superhero when he dropped to his knees and helped the boy sit up.

The moment Ryo's mother appeared, fear and concern on her face, Akira's mother not far behind, that's when Ryo began to cry. Little hiccupping sobs, and it made Akira start crying, too.

A few days later, Ryo appeared at his school, a sling and funny cast on his arm that all the children wanted to doodle on. Ryo wouldn't let them.

But he let Akira.

“I'm Ryo,” Ryo mumbles while Akira is drawing a picture of a cat on his cast. Akira blinks, looks up, smiles as wide as the sun.

“I'm Akira!”

A lot of the other kids thought Ryo was weird, but Akira had thought he was the coolest person on earth. He already knew that nine multiplied by six was fifty-four, and he could read without stopping because he didn’t know how to pronounce a word ( most of the time), he loved dinosaurs and space and could tell Akira the Argentinosaurus was the biggest dinosaur ever found and that you can fit one-million-three-hundred-thousand earths into the sun.

Sometimes Akira didn’t really understand, but he was always happy to listen.

He was Ryo’s only friend, which he thought seemed a little sad, but Ryo didn’t mind. The other children thought it was strange that he didn’t like participating in group activities, that he always put the Legos in order by color, and that he wouldn’t eat applesauce because he thought it “felt bad”.

Akira knew what it was like to be made fun of, he wasn’t known as a crybaby for no reason.

“I’ll protect you,” Akira said one day, seven years old, while putting a Pikachu-print bandaid over a scrape on Ryo’s knee. “So no one can be mean to you.”

Ryo tilted his head. Then he reached out, squishing Akira’s face.

“No, I’ll protect you. ”

---

They drive through town with the windows down, Ryo’s phone hooked up to the radio, Ryo with a one-handed grip on the steering wheel and a cigarette hanging from his lips. Aren’t you too young? Akira had asked.

Who cares? Lung cancer doesn’t discriminate between whether you’re legal or not. Ryo had been joking, or Akira thought he was. Besides, I’m eighteen in two months.

Ryo told him about… everything. When he and his father first left, they were in China for a few months. Then Russia. Then all the way to Mexico, and further south to Brazil, then west into Peru. Peru was where they stayed the longest, Ryo had explained. But he also told Akira about the fights, the petty crimes, the juvenile court. His father’s depression after his mother died. How they’re back in America, back to this little town, because part of his father could never really let go.

Ryo is staying for the rest of the school year, or so he hopes. He had told Akira they’re back in that giant mansion they lived in before, and that there’s a lot of renovations being done, and that Akira should stop by sometime.

“You got popular fast,” Akira points out casually.

“I guess I did,” he replies, unbothered. “Someone already asked me out earlier.”

Oh, well, that’s impressive. Everyone wanting Ryo’s time now when years ago everyone avoided him, and he didn’t even flinch under the attention received today when he would have shrunk back and panicked if it happened when he was younger.

“And?”

“I said no,” Ryo continues simply. “I wasn’t interested.”

That doesn’t come as a surprise. Akira only nods.

“What happened to the old arcade?” Ryo asks, flicking ashes out of the open window.

“They turned it into a gym.”

“Of course they did.” Ryo crushes the remainder of his cigarette in the ashtray set on the console. He rubs his jaw. “Let me guess, middle-aged mothers were complaining that video games are rotting their child’s brain. When, maybe, their kid was already an idiot in the first place.”

“Probably.” Akira stretches his legs out in front of him as much as he can. “I know they caught some high schoolers smoking and screwing in the back room a few times.”

Ryo snickers.

Akira watches Ryo closely. Maybe a little too close, because he’s marveling in the way Ryo’s lashes brush against his cheeks when he blinks, how the last bit of cigarette smoke spills over the curve of his bottom lip, when Ryo lifts a hand to push his hair from his face with slender fingers.

He looks away before Ryo can notice him staring, because he should not be looking at his best friend like that. Ryo probably noticed anyway, he’s just nice enough (if only for Akira) to not point it out.

They fall into a silence that isn’t quite awkward but isn’t entirely comfortable. It’s to be expected after ten years apart. Ryo is humming along to the song currently playing, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. The day is still disgustingly hot, enough that Ryo had shed his jacket and rolled his turtleneck’s sleeves up his arms (Akira spots a small scar on his elbow), but the open windows and the air conditioner running keep either of them from sweating their brains out. Akira turns his attention to the passing scenery.

It’s almost five. Miki should be out of practice soon. Miko will be driving her home. Akira doesn’t want to worry her more than he already has. Maybe he should get Ryo to take him home, he could beat Miki there. Mostly so he doesn’t have to explain rolling up in a red Audi driven by the pretty new kid to her. There’s enough to explain to her already.

“Tell me about her,” Ryo suddenly says. Akira startles.

“What?”

“The girl.” Ryo isn’t looking at him.

“Miki?” Akira blinks. “I’ve known her a long time. I mean-- she showed up not long after you left. Her mom is friends with mine. She’s the school’s track star, and she’s kinda famous on social media, too…”

“I see,” Ryo mutters. When they pull up to another red light, he’s lighting another cigarette. “Do you like her?”

“Of course I do, she’s my friend.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The sharp chilliness in Ryo’s voice catches him off guard.

“I… well, maybe I used to.” It was just a crush during middle school, feelings he never really acted upon because he thought he wasn’t enough for someone like Miki Makimura. It’s mostly faded by now, there’s no use in dwelling on it. She’s practically family to him at this point. “Not anymore, at least. Why?”

Maybe he’s imagining the minute tightening of Ryo’s grip on the steering wheel.

“Just curious.”

Akira squints at him but decides not to press further. He can accept that Ryo’s only curious, that he doesn’t mean to be cold. Ryo was always a little blunt, a little bad with his tone, always coming off as harsher than he meant. Some things don’t change. Akira’s lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile.

They sit in silence again, nothing but the sound of the wind and the music, but surprisingly it isn’t as tense. The song changes. Ryo keeps his eyes on the road, but Akira continues throwing little glances his way. His lips are silently moving along with the music.

It’s kind of extremely cute.

Ryo catches him looking and immediately presses his lips into a thin line and-- is that a blush? That’s definitely a blush, Akira isn’t imagining it. Pink flooding to Ryo’s cheeks. Ryo is scrunching his nose a little, like he always would when he was frustrated, embarrassed, or deep in thought.

“I should get you home,” Ryo mumbles. He picks up his phone with one hand, swipes through his apps and selects Maps. Without looking, he hands the phone to Akira. “Put the address in.”

“Oh, okay.” Careful not to unplug the auxiliary cord, Akira types in the address of the Makimura household and presses ‘start’. Almost instantly, Ryo slams on the breaks at a light and swerves to do a U-turn. Akira grips the handle above the door, his gut clenched and heart hammering. But the ride smooths back out. Ryo moves easily through the streets, despite how long it’s been, despite how much they’ve changed.

How much they’ve changed. Just like Akira. Just like Ryo.

He starts recognizing the houses they pass by and there’s… a swell of disappointment in his chest. Of course, he’ll see Ryo tomorrow during class, maybe during lunch if he’s lucky. Maybe he can introduce him to his friends; Ryo’s always had a difficult time making friends, after all. And maybe they can go out on a drive again, because there’s still… so much to say, so many stories to tell. Akira used to know Ryo like the back of his hand, but now he’s back to being an enigma, one he’s determined to crack open and learn everything about.

“Is this it?” Ryo says, closing the Maps app as he pulls up to the curb.

“Yes, this is it.”

The Makimura household, with its neat and bright green lawn and trimmed flower bushes, a ceramic angel painted by Miki's little brother and garden gnomes near the front steps. Pleasant and normal like every other home in the neighborhood. Ryo flicks the hazard lights on and unlocks the car doors.

“See you tomorrow,” Akira says, offering a smile. Ryo doesn’t look at him, instead focusing on lighting another cigarette. It makes his brows twitch.

“Yeah, I’ll see you.”

Akira bites back a sigh. He doesn’t remember Ryo being this… moody. Turning, he begins to open the car door, but gets one foot out before a thought crosses his mind and he hesitates. Akira turns his head to look back at Ryo.

Ryo is looking at him now, an odd expression on his face. Their eyes meet. Akira sees Ryo’s shoulders tense, but at the same time, his eyes soften. It’s only a few moments, but it feels like a lifetime that they sit there just looking at each other until Akira remembers what he had been meaning to say.

“H-hey, are--” his voice cracks suddenly. Akira feels his face heat up and he clears his throat before continuing. “Are you actually busy this weekend?”

“What do you think?” Ryo plucks his cigarette from his lips, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Of course I’m not. You shouldn’t even have to ask that.”

There’s a moment of silence, Akira blinking. Then he lets out a laugh, loud enough to make Ryo jump a little. He looks puzzled, but it fades into an amused sparkle in his eye.

“Well. We should, uh, go out on Saturday. I mean. I don’t know what we’d do, but I think it’d be fun, we-- we still have a lot to catch up on. And it doesn’t feel right making you spend the weekend alone. But-- but only i-if you want to, I mean, you don’t ha--”

“--Akira.”

It’s said so gently. It shuts him up instantly. Akira blinks owlishly.

There’s a smile curling at Ryo’s lips. Small but genuine. So genuine it just about knocks all the air out of Akira.

( “Ryo, how many stars are in the sky?” Akira reaches up to the vast canvas of navy and violet, the milky way splattered in silver and white across it.

“No one knows,” Ryo explains from where he lies next to him. “More than anyone can count.”

“Wow,” Akira breathes. “One day, I’m gonna find a star for you. You can put it on your shelf next to your dinosaur toys.”

“That’s impossible,” Ryo says, soft. “If a star came to earth, it’d swallow us whole.” )

A star did come to earth, Ryo. I’m looking at it right now.

“I’d love to.”

Chapter Text

Ryo hates it. It being… whatever the hell this situation is.

Realistically he should be happy. Well, he is. Sort of. Except, none of this was part of the plan.

Impulsive and reckless as he may be, he still acts with certain expectations of how things will turn out and what his end goal is. This-- this is so far from his expectations. Coming back to the place he spent the beginnings of his childhood in was one thing, finding out his best friend from back then was still around is another.

And Akira Fudo is no longer a soft, timid boy who always tripped over his own feet and cried over every minuscule thing. Eighteen, but practically grown. Tall, broad, his face handsome and strong with just a bit of softness left over in his cheeks. And he still smiles brightly as the sun.

It isn’t what he expected. None of this is.

Ryo fucking hates it.

The moment he drops Akira off at some girl’s place, he finds the nearest empty parking lot in town so he can smoke, and smoke, and smoke. Until he can’t feel a thing, until he is high enough to reach the heavens and pluck one of the stars from the sky and put it on his shelf like Akira had wanted to do for him when they were still small, sweet, so very naive.

Before half of Ryo’s whole world was torn away from him.

Ryo falls asleep in his car after devouring a supply of crap food he doesn’t remember buying with his music faint as a whisper, his lullaby through the pot-induced fog in his brain. Until two in the morning, when he wakes with a start to the distant sound of a train’s whistle. Sober enough to make the half-hour drive home, to slip inside unnoticed because his father has fallen asleep at the desk in his office again.

With John curled up at his side, Ryo stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars pasted to his bedroom ceiling. Left there from his childhood. How did they keep their glow the past ten years? He remembers his mother helping him put them up there, holding him steady on the stepladder while his small hands stuck them to the smooth wooden surface.

Ryo screws his eyes shut.

Maybe he could cover them with posters.

---

“You're joking,” Miki says, wide-eyed in disbelief. They sit on the roof after dinner, the air still warm but pleasantly so, compared to how it was when the sun was still high in the sky. “This is- well, it sounds like something straight from a movie.”

She’s right. It does. Akira still can’t believe it himself.

“I guess,” he laughs. “It is kind of cliche.”

“Childhood friends reunited! One is popular and pretty. The other is…” Akira gives her a pointed look before she can finish that thought. Miki smiles and shrugs. “Now they have to overcome their differences to rekindle their friendship or… something.”

“I hope it can be that easy.” Akira lies back against the roof. The stars seem like they shine brighter tonight, twinkling playfully.

How many stars are in the sky?

No one knows.

Miki lies down next to him with her hands folded on her belly. They lapse into silence, comfortable and familiar. He could fall asleep out here if he wanted to. Akira closes his eyes.

“You know how else those stories go, right?” Miki murmurs.

Akira cracks one eye open. Miki is smiling at the stars. “How?”

“Someone usually falls in love.”

---

As it turns out, it’s still just as difficult to get Ryo to socialize as it was when they were kids.

Akira had managed to get Ryo’s number the next morning after their first drive. But the rest of the day, he had remained a ghost until their last class. Akira had offered for Ryo to join he and his friends at lunch to which Ryo had only given a noncommittal shrug and a ‘maybe’.

Of course, he didn’t show up. Just reappears when class rolls around, as usual.

It’s been a few days since then. Friday, now. And today Ryo shows up to class. For ten minutes. Long enough to turn in the assignment and get the next one. Then, after a few hushed words with the teacher, he turns and leaves without sparing Akira even a glance.

What the hell.

“He’s kind of a weirdo,” Miko says, stretching forward to touch her toes. The heat is finally dying down (it shouldn’t be so hot in northern New York during September in the first place ), meaning it’s not unbearable to sit out on the bleachers beside the track while Miki and Miko and the rest of the team go through practice. “That Ryo guy, I mean.”

“What makes you say that?” Akira looks up from his textbook that he wasn’t really paying much attention to in the first place.

“Well, for starters,” Miko sits up straight. “He doesn’t seem interested in anything or anyone. He just does his own thing, which I can respect, but it’s like… I dunno. Like he’s just drifting through. The fact he’s still popular is wild to me.”

“They probably think he’s cool,” Miki says from behind her water bottle. “Not caring about anything, doing what he wants.”

“You’d think a guy as pretty and popular as him would’ve already made a few friends outside of a certain someone,” Miko glances towards Akira, who grins sheepishly. “Actually, you don’t count, he was already your friend. But, jeez, the guy’s already gotten asked out loads of times, too, and turned down each one.”

“I hear he’s probably gay,” a boy sitting nearby chimes in. One of those guys that only comes to watch so they can drool all over Miki from a distance. Akira, gentle as he may be, often fantasizes about kicking their asses.

Miko’s brows twitch. Through gritted teeth she says, “So what if he is?”

“He’s never been the best at making friends,” Akira finally says. “Or socializing at all. I think he’s always had other priorities.”

As if on cue, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

FROM: Ryo

> you

> lake

> now

“Speak of the devil,” Miko snorts.

TO: Ryo

> everything ok?

> i’ll be there soon, track practice is almost over

> i can get miko to drop me off there on the way back to miki’s

> it’s kind of out of the way though

Miko grumbles when Akira asks but doesn’t say no.

“Pay me back for gas,” she says when they finally pile into the car. “I mean it.”

“What’s he doing at the lake?” Miki hums. “Why’s he want you over there? Can’t he just come get you himself?”

“I don’t know.”

Miko makes kissy noises. Miki swats her on the arm.

The lake, or as it’s formally called, Lake Chatoyer, is situated on the edge of town. There’s not even a parking lot for it, just a sign, and a dusty, rocky road through the trees that you can use to drive or walk down to the lake’s edge, and it’s not uncommon for high school or college kids to have meetups there because while it’s nothing spectacular, the cops tend to gloss right over it. Bonfires, drinking, smoking. Making out on the abandoned pier and shoving friends into the cold water. Carving initials into tree trunks. Blasting music into the night. Burdens of teenagehood forgotten. The dread of having to return home.

“Get him to drive you home,” Miko says when she pulls up next to the sign. Akira opens the door and steps out.

“Yeah, I will. Sorry. I’ll see you.”

Miko speeds off, leaving Akira standing alone in front of the dirt road and the trees turning shades of reds, oranges, yellows. Fallen leaves crunch under his shoes as he walks, the only sound outside of birds chirping and cars driving by on the road that’s getting farther behind him. It’s not creepy or anything, it’s just not a place you’re meant to walk through alone. This entire area has a weird vibe. Like it’s separated from the rest of reality. Like it exists in its own plane.

There is the distant sound of music ahead of him that he can pick up. And then he sees Ryo’s car, parked there in front of the lake. The sun is starting to sink in the sky, behind the mountains far in the distance. It paints the water orange and pink, it makes it shimmer (its name does mean shimmer, after all).

“Ryo?” He circles around the car. The driver’s side is open, and he sees Ryo reclined in the seat with his eyes closed. There’s a bag full of junk food in the passenger’s seat, his music is blaring, and it absolutely reeks of weed. Akira’s nose crinkles in distaste. “Hey, Ryo.”

Ryo’s eyes snap open. He sits up fast, looking frazzled, but relaxes the second he sees it’s Akira. Then he sinks back with a weak laugh. There’s a cigarette in one hand that he brings up to his lips, taking a puff of. Then he offers it to Akira with a lazy smile.

“I don’t smoke,” Akira says.

“It’s not a-- not a regular cig,” Ryo says, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Laced with drugs.”

“So it’s a joint.” Of course it is. Why else would his car stink like that? He must air it out pretty regularly, because the smell wasn’t there the other day during their drive, and it doesn’t cling to his clothes at all.

“Good job. Knew you could figure it out.” Ryo taps his temple with one finger then lets out a loud snort-laugh, flapping his hands then flopping back against the seat. Akira frowns. Red rims Ryo’s eyes that look right at him but also seem so far away. The joint is brought back to his lips. He taps his foot against the floor of the car to the music.

“What did you want me to come out here for?” Akira leans against the car on his hip, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

“Oh, uh, I…” Ryo trails off, brows furrowing. “Forgot.”

“Forgot,” Akira repeats. Ryo grumbles, head dropping against one shoulder. He drums his fingers against his thigh.

“Hey, you like Talking Heads?” Ryo asks, idly.

“I only know Psycho Killer.”

“Damn.” Ryo’s head lolls back.

God, he’s high as a kite. How’s he even going to get home? Akira can drive, he just doesn’t have a license, and he’s going to end up stinking of weed even more than he probably will now if he has to drive Ryo home.

… But Ryo is his friend. And he’s not going to let him just sit out here alone in his car until he’s sober enough to drive. Given the state of things, that probably won’t be for a while. Akira sighs, circles around the car again to the passenger’s side and opens the door. The bag of food is set on the floor so he can sit down.

“Why did you leave class early?” Akira finally asks. Ryo takes a while to respond to him, enough that Akira wonders if he even heard him at all. “Ryo?”

“Oh,” Ryo blinks slowly. “I didn’t notice you were over there. Uh.”

He rubs his eyes with his sleeve. Already, he’s getting ready to roll another joint. Akira grabs his wrist before he can go further and Ryo gives him a dirty look, sealing the weed in a ziplock bag and leaning over to put it in the glove compartment with the rolling paper.

“What was the question again?” Ryo says. He’s digging through the bag on the floor and opening up a tin of Pringles.

“Why did you leave class early.”

Ryo looks up. Even with his eyes distant, bloodshot, even when he’s not in his right mind, he’s still pretty. It should be illegal.

“School counselor,” he mumbles.

“What for?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Ryo snaps. The change in tone makes Akira startle. But Ryo is relaxing again back in his seat, shoving chips into his mouth and staring out at the lake through the windshield. They must sit there for an hour, at least, because the sky is getting darker and darker and soon enough, the only light is from Ryo’s car. It’s dim, casts them in a golden glow. Ryo looks ready to fall asleep.

He needs to go home.

“Ryo,” Akira says, gentle. “You need to go home.”

“Can’t drive like this,” Ryo sighs.

“If you switch seats with me, I can.”

“Do you even have a license?”

“I do for tonight. Move.”

Ryo squints at him, but otherwise doesn’t protest, sluggishly dragging himself out of the driver’s seat. Their arms brush as they walk past one another. Akira settles in the driver’s seat, tossing his backpack in the back, then familiarizing himself with the layout and adjusting the seat. Ryo is fumbling with his seatbelt in his haze but manages to buckle it after a few attempts. Akira shuts the door.

It feels weird to drive a car as nice as this one, one of those newer models, Akira guesses. One that looks more like a racecar than a casual vehicle.

As they drive down the dirt road, he sees Ryo staring out of the window, his expression unreadable. He’s wringing his hands in his lap. When Akira hits the turn signal to pull onto the main road, Ryo finally speaks up.

“Stay over at my house.”

It’s a demand. Not a request. Akira frowns.

“I’ll need to stop at Miki’s to pick up a few things.” Miki’s home, which is in the complete opposite direction from where he needs to turn to get Ryo back to his home, according to the Maps app.

“I don’t care. Tomorrow is Saturday. You said we would go out.” Ryo sounds… pouty?

“Would your father be okay with it?”

“He wouldn’t notice. Always… cooped up in his office.” Ryo digs his palms into his eyes. His head drops back against the window.

Against his better judgment, Akira gives in. They drive the twenty minutes to the Makimura household in complete silence save for the voice of the GPS every now and then, the windows down to air out the smell of weed. The music has been shut off, but Ryo doesn’t even look like he notices. Or cares. In fact, it looks like he’s fallen asleep.

Akira isn’t sure what to think about this. Ryo looks a bit like a mess, curled up in the passenger’s seat with a beige coat around him, hair wild and heavy circles under his eyes. Akira doesn’t remember him looking so tired earlier. He drags his teeth over his bottom lip.

Ryo doesn’t even stir when Akira pulls up in front of the Makimura residence. He hopes he doesn’t smell too much like weed, he’s not really prepared to explain that to Miki or worse: her parents. Taro probably wouldn’t even recognize the smell, or even care that much in the first place.

He leaves the lights in the car on and the air conditioner running when he steps out and heads into the house. The journey up to the spare bedroom that the Makimuras always have set up on the occasions he needs to stay over goes smoothly enough. They’ve probably already had dinner, he can hear the television playing in the living room and Akiko Makimura talking on the phone. It’s easy enough to sneak in and out, except once he steps back out of his room with a change of clothes and his phone charger stuffed into his bag, Miki is blocking his path.

“You’re leaving?” There’s a frown on her face, suspicious. Hands on her hips, she looks him up and down. Then she leans in, nostrils twitching. “You smell like--”

“--I didn’t do anything,” Akira defends himself instantly. “It’s-- it’s hard to explain, Miki. But, I…”

“He was smoking by the lake?”

“I’m driving him home.”

“Without a license.” Miki steps aside but follows him to the bathroom where he grabs his toothbrush. “And you’re staying over?”

“I want to make sure he’ll be okay,” Akira sighs. “We were going to go out tomorrow anyway. Can you let your parents know?”

There’s frustration in her eyes, like she wants to argue. But there’s also concern. Reluctance. Akira pauses at the front door to slip his shoes back on. He meets her gaze, apologetic.

“I’ll text you when I get there. Don’t worry about me so much, Miki.”

“Fine.”

Akira reaches for the door handle, pulling it open as quietly as he can. Before he can take the first step outside, Miki has her hand on his elbow. It makes him halt immediately, turning his head to look back at her.

“Be careful, Akira.” She’s nibbling on her bottom lip. “I-- you know I support you two being friends again, but…”

“But?”

“Don’t let him drag you into anything.” Miki pulls her hand back and folds her arms over her chest. “Anything you might regret.”

Akira opens his mouth, then closes it again. Eyes cast to the side. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to respond to that. Her concern isn’t unwarranted. Ryo hasn’t done anything terrible, just worrisome. Akira can’t stop thinking back to what he said. School counselor. The defensiveness in his voice when Akira asked him what for. Why it must be what caused Ryo to drive out so far, to sit alone in his car and get so high it’s a wonder he’s not sick.

Of course Miki would be worried.

“I won’t, Miki. I promise.”

Miki still looks unsure but doesn’t push it. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Hopefully. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

She smiles, small and tired but a smile all the same. “Alright. Good night, Akira.”

“Good night, Miki.”

And he steps out, closing the door carefully behind him and heading down the walkway back to the car. Ryo’s still asleep, having barely moved outside of turning his head to nuzzle into the collar of his coat. Akira heaves a sigh, fumbles with Ryo’s phone and selects the ‘home’ address, then drives off.

It’s a half-hour drive. Given the time, there isn’t too much traffic. All Akira can do is drive as nicely as he can so no policeman can pull him over. The stench of weed would already be enough to get both he and Ryo in trouble. Driving without a license would make it worse. Ryo’s still seventeen, he would easily be let off with just a slap on the wrist. Akira’s not a minor anymore, he doesn’t have that luxury. Be careful.

The drive to Ryo’s home is familiar and nostalgic in a way. It’s just outside town, up in the hills, the thick forest on one side of the road and a cliff’s edge - a long drop into a sea of trees - on the other. The sun’s gone all the way down by now, and the road is dark save for the car’s headlights. Akira pulls up to the front gate.

Akira digs around the center console until he can find the remote to open the gates. They clatter as they open, in need of cleaning and repair. Speaking of which, as he pulls in, it looks as if a good half of the mansion is under renovation. It’s late, no one is out working right now, but there’s signs of construction. The home is still imposing to him, tall and wide, a hulking shadow in the night. Even in the day, it was always a little scary, because he never had to live in a house as big as that. He couldn’t comprehend it.

Now, it feels… eerie, in a way. Sad and lonely.

He parks, turns the engine off, and unplugs Ryo’s phone from the auxiliary cord. Akira leans over the console, closer to Ryo’s sleeping figure, one hand reaching out to brush his blonde hair from his face. It’s so soft. Ryo’s lashes flutter and he turns his head into the touch. Akira’s heart skips several beats.

“Hey, Ryo,” Akira says, dropping his hand to Ryo’s shoulder to give him a gentle shake. “We’re here.”

Ryo stirs with a grumble, cracking his eyes open, still reddened from his high and from his exhaustion. His hand finds the plastic bag on the floor as he sits up, dragging it into his lap, fumbling with the car door until he can push it open and step outside. Akira slips out, opens the door to the backseat to find his and Ryo’s backpacks and his bag of clothes. Ryo doesn’t say a word when he’s handed his bag, just pushes off the side of the car and shoves his car keys in his pocket when Akira hands them over.

“He left the door unlocked again,” Ryo mutters as he twists the doorknob. He barely reacts when Akira settles a hand on one shoulder to keep him steady when he opens the door and drags himself inside.

The moment the door shuts there’s the sound of rapid thumping and click of claws against wood floors. Then there’s a dog, big and bulky, brown-furred with splotches of white, the nub of its tail wagging excitedly as it practically trips the two of them in an attempt to bowl Ryo over. Akira keeps him upright, so the pooch settles on licking his hands. Ryo mumbles to the dog in greeting, scratching the top of its head.

“You have a dog?” Akira asks.

“Obviously.” Ryo pats the dog. “His name is John. Found him a year ago in…”

Ryo furrows his brow, still working on coming down from his high, his memory lacking. “Cusco. In Peru. He was a stray. Just a puppy then.”

John is now snuffling against Akira’s legs. Akira gives him an experimental pat on the head, one which he seems to appreciate. Ryo always did like animals, he had a canary when he was little, but a dog seems much more fitting for him. And now he’s dropping his backpack at the foot of the stairs, shucking his coat aside, and making a beeline towards the doorway to what Akira can assume is the kitchen, John at his heels, not even bothering with removing his shoes. Akira quickly locks the front door behind him, toes his shoes off, drops his own bags, and follows after.

“Want the guest room?” Ryo asks. “I don’t know if it’s set up yet. Or…”

He pauses in the doorway, scratching his jaw. Then he snickers. “My room is always open. Plenty of space on my bed for two.”

Oh, Akira hopes that’s just the drugs talking. It probably isn’t, the high has to have mostly faded by now. But he can still hope. Mostly so he doesn’t have to seriously imagine sleeping in the same bed as his friend. It was different when they were kids. Now it would feel too… invasive. Too intimate. Stepping over an invisible line Akira isn't sure he wants to cross.

“I can sleep on your floor,” Akira offers. Ryo just gives a shrug, flicking the kitchen light on and wandering in. The plastic bag is set on the counter, left there while Ryo digs through the fridge and mutters something about leftovers and grocery shopping.

A bag of leftover Chinese food is dropped onto the counter next to the bag of junk food.

“Dad doesn’t cook a lot,” Ryo explains, pulling out the small containers and plastic forks from the bag. Without even bothering to heat anything up, he opens a container and shoves fried rice into his mouth. “So it’s up to me. I usually get takeout though. Or our maid cooks something when she’s here.”

Ryo slides a container of noodles and a plastic fork Akira’s way. Akira pulls it open. “A maid?”

“Yeah.” Ryo wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Her name is Jenny. Maybe you’ll meet her. Eventually.”

John is shoving his nose against Ryo’s hip, whining. Ryo blinks slowly and looks down. He rubs the dog’s ears. “Oh, yeah. Gotta feed you, huh?”

Akira watches as Ryo moves slowly around the kitchen, refilling the dog’s food and water dishes, washing his hands, then returning to his food. He leans his elbows on the counter. Ryo is silent for the next few minutes, focusing instead on shoveling leftovers into his mouth until there’s nothing left in the container.

He looks tired, so very tired, the high fading and leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake. Leaning on his elbows, hair in his tired eyes, cast in the dim glow of the kitchen light that desperately needs to be replaced. But he looks up to meet Akira’s eyes for a brief moment only to look away with a fleeting smile. Akira finds himself wishing he could preserve that moment forever. A moment fit for a Polaroid picture. Ryo, September 20XX  written in black sharpie. Stick it into a photo album or pin to a wall. Quiet, private, intimate in a way. Ryo runs a hand through his hair. Akira glances away.

When Ryo goes to toss the container into the trash, he stops back at the fridge to dig out a bottle of water and down it in one go.

“How much did you smoke earlier?” Akira can’t help but ask.

“Not enough,” Ryo replies, crushing the bottle in one hand and throwing it into the recycle bin. “The high doesn’t last as long anymore.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not when you’re trying to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Let’s go to sleep.” Ryo doesn’t even bother acknowledging the question. He shoves the rest of the leftovers into the fridge and kicks it shut. Akira stares at him, incredulous, and Ryo meets his gaze without flinching. “Come on, Akira.”

There’s no room to argue or protest. Akira throws his trash away with a sigh, following close behind Ryo. Then something else clicks in his mind, a sudden realization.

“I need to let Miki know I got here okay.”

Ryo comes to a sudden halt. Akira can’t see his face, but he can see the tension in his shoulders.

“You told her?” His tone is so chilly it almost sends a shiver down Akira’s spine.

“Of course I did. She caught me on the way out. I wasn’t going to let her worry.” A beat of silence. Then, “That shouldn’t be a problem, Ryo.”

“It--” Ryo inhales, deep. “Forget it.”

And he’s off before Akira can say anything else, finally kicking his shoes off at the door and grabbing his things on his way up the stairs. Akira practically has to run after him, stumbling up the steps to finally catch up with him. Ryo’s expression can be summed up with no other word but annoyed. What does he have to be annoyed over? And he won’t even look at Akira who reaches his side. So Akira falls back a step, fishes out his phone to send a text to Miki that he got there safely, then matches Ryo’s stride once more. Ryo is shorter now, meaning Akira has to shorten his own strides to keep at his side.

“Ryo, do you hate her?” He can’t help but ask. Ryo stops at one door, hand on the knob, eyes cutting up to Akira.

“I don’t even know her, Akira,” he replies simply. “So how can I hate her?”

He opens the bedroom door. Instantly, John is shoving past the both of them to jump onto the bed.

It’s still spacious, but there’s not a lot set up just yet. Boxes are piled against one wall, a lamp near the bed, and a desk with a laptop. Years ago, it had shelves packed with books, lined with dinosaur toys, drawings taped to the walls. There’s still faded, peeling Pokémon stickers on the bed frame. Akira can see the stars still pasted to the ceiling.

“Do you really want to sleep on the floor?” Ryo asks.

“I don’t mind,” Akira replies.

Together, they set up a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. By the time they slip under the covers and Ryo shuts the lamp off, enveloping the room in darkness except for the moon shining through the large window next to Ryo’s bed, it’s then that Akira realizes just how tired he is. It’s still a bit early to sleep on a Friday night, the clock having just hit nine-thirty, but his eyes are beginning to fall shut on their own no matter how much he struggles to keep them open.

He thinks Ryo’s already fallen asleep by now, but he can’t tell. He can hear him breathing softly above him, beneath the sound of crickets chirping and frogs croaking. Akira rolls onto his side, facing the bed, closing his eyes and finally, finally allowing himself to succumb to his drowsiness.

It’s only ten minutes later that something warm brushing his face has him waking again with a grumble. Akira squints above him, blinking sleepily, to see Ryo peering down at him from the edge of the bed, one arm draped over the side, fingers lightly touching his cheek before pulling back.

“I thought about you a lot,” Ryo’s voice is small.

Akira rolls back onto his back. “I thought you would forget about me.”

There’s a weak smile pulling at Ryo’s lips. Easy to miss in the dark of the room, but Akira sees it clear as day.

“How could I ever forget you, Akira?”

The ceiling covered in green star-shaped stickers creates a glowing backdrop for Ryo’s head and shoulders. Even in the dark, Akira can see how his hair falls in his tired eyes with a tilt of his head, and the reflection of the moonlight within those eyes making them glitter. The stickers are a poor substitute for the real stars sparkling outside.

But looking up into those eyes, Akira thinks he can see them just fine.

---

The next morning at eight o’clock sharp Ryo practically kicks him awake. Within an hour, Akira has showered, dressed, and is shoved into the passenger’s seat of the car. It smells like air freshener. Ryo must have already gone through the work of getting rid of the stink of weed.

Akira’s still remembering how to be a functional person, blinking groggily as Ryo plops down into the driver’s seat and turns the ignition on.

“When did you wake up?” He buckles his seatbelt then rubs his eyes.

“Five,” Ryo responds, pressing the button on the remote to open the front gates. Then they’re taking off down the road, Ryo easily speeding easily around each curve until they’re on the road into town. The music is playing loudly along with the sound of the wind outside of the open windows, whipping Ryo’s blonde hair and turning their noses and cheeks pink. Ryo has sunglasses on, a black windbreaker with its sleeves up to his elbows, and a cigarette (a normal one this time) hanging from his lips. He looks like he’s hopped right out of some eighties movie. “Where do you want to get breakfast?”

“Uh.” Akira rubs his cheek. “That IHOP is still around.”

“IHOP? Maybe if it were two in the morning.” Ryo pauses. “Kidding. Alright.”

With one hand he finds the address on the Maps app and starts the directions. At least when they get into town Ryo has the sense to go the speed limit and watch where he’s going. He rests his arm out of the car window, flicking ashes from his cigarette onto the road while keeping a one-handed grip on the steering wheel.

“You can order whatever you want,” Ryo says as they pull into the parking lot. “You’re a big guy now. You must need to eat a lot more.”

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles. Heat creeps up Akira’s neck. His voracious appetite is… kind of embarrassing. And yesterday he didn’t have much outside of a light breakfast, lunch at school, and just a little bit of cold leftover Chinese at Ryo’s place.

Ryo snickers. “I thought so.”

He unplugs his phone and shoves it into the pocket of his jacket. Akira steps out of the car, bumping the door shut with his hip. Ryo circles around the front, spinning his car keys on his finger and dropping the dying cigarette on the pavement to crush it beneath his heel.

“Let’s go,” he says simply, pulling his sunglasses off and hooking them over the collar of his shirt.

It’s noisy inside. They’re led to a booth almost immediately upon entering, handed two menus, then left to their own devices. Already, Akira can see tension taking hold of Ryo, how his eyes are darting around to survey their surroundings. But he has one hand in the pocket of his jacket, holding onto something Akira can’t see, the other hand keeping the menu open.

“Are you okay?” Akira asks, gently.

“I’ll be fine,” Ryo exhales, keeping his eyes on the menu. “Don’t worry about me.”

It takes a few minutes, but the tension is visibly seeping out of Ryo’s body. Enough that he can remove his hand from his pocket to bring it up to the table.

And, just as promised, Ryo lets him order whatever he wants. Which, well, still makes him feel kind of guilty at first until pancakes, bacon, and sausage piled high are set in front of him and he goes to devouring them without hesitation. Then any feelings of guilt are forgotten. Ryo watches him, smiling behind his coffee mug, working slowly on his own (much smaller) meal.

“How’s your dad?” Akira asks after swallowing one mouthful. Ryo pauses mid-chew. He swallows, leans back, one leg folding over the other.

“He’s… been better.” Ryo pokes at a bit of waffle with his fork. “I don’t know if coming back was good for him.”

“Why?”

“I mean, he already wasn’t able to let go. I mean, let go of mom.” Ryo hasn’t talked about his mother even once since his return. In fact, he’s avoided every question having to do with her. Avoided the subject entirely. He’s not looking at Akira now. “He was- sort of okay when we were traveling. You know, away from this town, away from where it all happened.”

Ryo, please get your things and put your shoes on. Akira, stay here.

“She’s buried here, too. Someone has been taking care of her grave while we were gone.” Ryo kneads his bottom lip with his teeth. “He’s only visited it once since we’ve been back. Now he just… coops himself up in his office. He still works, but when he’s not…”

He shakes his head. “It’s been almost ten years. I don’t know.”

Mid-November. Barely two weeks before, Akira had seen her smiling and leading Ryo around their living room in a dance with the stereo on, singing along. It was Ryo’s eighth birthday, he was smiling just as brightly as she was. They were happy. So happy.

“Are you still hungry?” Ryo asks, changing the subject swiftly, while he digs out his wallet. “I don’t mind.”

“No, it’s fine. I need to save room for lunch.” Akira shovels the last bit of his food into his mouth, washing it down with a swig of coffee. Ryo raises both eyebrows.

“If you’re sure.”

They lapse into silence. Ryo’s pulled his phone out, scrolling through some site Akira can’t see. He doesn’t mind it, not really. There’s no need to talk constantly, and he doesn’t want to accidentally dredge up any more unpleasant memories by accident.

Note to self: avoid subject of Ryo’s parents.

“Yo!”

Suddenly, someone’s shoving him further down the bench on his side of the booth. Ryo startles, dropping his phone with a clatter on the table when the same happens to him. Akira’s barely had time to reorient himself before Wamu’s slinging an arm around his shoulders. He smells like pot. Akira thinks he’s had enough of that smell for the next month or two.

The rest of his friends are crowding into the booth and Ryo presses himself against the wall, trying to give himself some bit of space while Gabi and Babo make themselves comfortable. Kukun relaxes on the other side of Wamu. Hie is nowhere in sight.

“Sorry to interrupt your date,” Wamu says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

“It’s not a--”

“--We got the munchies. Then we saw you guys. Figured we’d say hi.” The hostess stands a few feet away, looking disgruntled. She just drops the four new menus onto the table and leaves. “Hie’s sick, if you were wonderin’. We’re gonna drop by his place after this. You wanna come?”

“A little busy today,” Akira explains. He laughs a little awkwardly, glancing at Ryo from the corner of his eye. Ryo looks flustered, his hand shoved back into his pocket, eyes cast aside. Shoulders hunched, eyes wide, quiet. Like he’s trying to make himself invisible, or like he wants the booth to swallow him whole.

“Oh, yeah.” Wamu clicks his tongue. “Ryo, right?”

“Right,” Ryo grits out, sparing him a fleeting glance.

“We heard a lot about you. Name’s Wamu, this is Gabi, Babo, and Kukun.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ryo’s voice is flat. He flags down the waiter for their check.

“Hey, Akira. Are you going to Gabe’s party next week?” Gabi asks over the top of his menu.

“I don’t know. I was invited.” Akira glances briefly back at Ryo. “Ryo was, too, but…”

“I might,” Ryo says curtly.

Wamu whistles. “Wow, ice prince actually wants to socialize? Sounds like character development to me.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Kukun says.

If Ryo goes, Akira will probably have to go. It’s no fun going to a party where you don’t know anyone. He bites back a sigh.

“We’re still thinking about it,” Wamu says. “Might pass this time, though. We’ll see.”

The waiter swings by again and hands Ryo the check. Ryo gives it a quick read then, suddenly, he’s standing, grabbing his phone, and slapping a few dollars near the edge of the table for the waiter. “Excuse me. I need to pay. Akira, let’s go.”

He shoves past Gabi and Babo without waiting for them to respond. Akira hears them say something along the lines of ‘what’s his problem?’, but he’s a bit more concerned about Ryo at the moment.

“I’ll see you guys at school. Tell Hie I said hello,” Akira says with a weak grin. He mouths a ‘sorry’ and Wamu just offers him a pat on the shoulder, he and Kukun pulling back their legs so Akira can squeeze past and follow Ryo to the register where he’s already swiping his card.

“Ryo, what’s--” But Ryo is already turning and walking out the door, tugging his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and setting them over his eyes. He has both hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched, head low. Akira scurries after him, reaching his side, but his expression is unreadable behind those glasses; however, he can see how tightly his lips are pressed together, curling into a frown.

Ryo yanks his car keys out and unlocks the doors. He waits until Akira gets in and shuts the door before he speaks.

“Couldn’t handle it.” He jams the key into the ignition.

“Couldn’t handle what?”

“The…” Ryo makes vague hand gestures, his frown deepening as he struggles to find the right words to explain. “It. Too much. All of it.”

Ryo drops his forehead against the steering wheel, rocking in his seat. Akira watches him pull a velvety piece of fabric from his pocket, rubbing both his thumbs over it. He did similar when they were younger, repeatedly running his hands over soft and smooth fabrics as if he was in a trance. Akira hadn’t gotten it before, but he knew it helped Ryo relax, so it never bothered him.

They sit there for a few minutes with the engine running, Ryo still with his head on the steering wheel, still rocking, the fabric still in his hands, knee bouncing. But he’s not as tense anymore, his breathing is evening out. Akira reaches out, but hesitates.

“Hey, Ryo,” Akira says, careful. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Ryo breathes in.

“Yeah.”

So Akira settles his hand on Ryo’s back, between his shoulder blades. He rubs his thumb in slow circles through Ryo’s jacket.

“I’m sorry. I knew you were uncomfortable,” Akira murmurs. “I should have told them to leave.”

“No,” Ryo says sharply. “No. You don’t have to do anything. Of course you don’t.” He shakes his head. “Haven’t I said that you don’t need to worry about me, Akira?”

“You’re not making it easy,” Akira says, fond exasperation seeping into his tone. A little smile twitches at Ryo’s lips as his rocking stops and he sits up, draws back from the steering wheel and pushes his sunglasses up to rest on his head. He still looks tired, but the redness has faded from his eyes and the circles aren’t as dark now. Akira is tempted to reach out and push his hair from his face.

Ryo closes his eyes, tips his head back, and gives an airy little laugh. “I was wrong.”

“Wrong?” Akira echoes, puzzled.

“You haven’t changed at all.” Ryo shoves the auxiliary cord into his phone.

Akira tilts his head, watching as Ryo turns the radio on and opens up his music library on his phone. Sunglasses falling down his face again on their own, sliding a little down his nose. Lashes lowered, mildly chapped lips in a tiny smile, hair bouncing with even the slightest movements. Wind-swept, golden, angelic. Like the sun. Like the stars. Sad. Tired. Soft. Boyish.

I can’t say the same for you.

---

They spend the rest of that day mostly driving. They stop briefly at a Burger King for lunch, Akira remarking around a mouthful of burger that his weight training coach would murder him for this. Ryo just grins and flicks a fry at him.

“When do your parents get back home?” Ryo asks. They stand in the middle of a record store, not really planning on buying anything, but Ryo had walked straight in and Akira wasn’t about to stop him. The cashier -- some guy he recognizes from school -- only spares them a brief glance before going back to his phone.

“The end of the month, hopefully.”

Ryo is filing through stacks of records idly. Akira wonders if he’s looking for anything in particular. He peers over the top of his head. An easy feat, given that Ryo only reaches just slightly above his shoulder now.

“Do they know I’m back?” Ryo turns his head to look up at him. Oh, they’re way too close. Wayyy too close. Akira can see those light freckles again. With cheeks burning, he takes a step back instantly.

“I mentioned it to mom,” he replies. Ryo nods with a hum. “She was happy. I think they’re both excited to see you again.”

That earns a little laugh from Ryo. He moves further down the aisle, a bounce in his step along with the music playing from the store speakers. There’s an odd buzz of excitement coming off of him.

“They shouldn’t be,” Ryo says casually.

They leave with two records in the backseat of Ryo’s car, Ryo driving way too fast through town and out onto the roads leading to his home. Ryo crows along with the music as Akira grips his seat so hard he thinks he’ll tear right into it. Devil, just come on back if you ever wanna try again, ‘cus I've told you once - you son of a bitch - I'm the best there's ever been.

Akira thinks Ryo’s driving is going to give him a heart attack one day.

---

“You’re actually going to the party?” Akira asks the following Monday after class.

Ryo shrugs. “Sure. If you go.”

“Now I have to.”

Ryo snickers.

---

It was up to Ryo to smuggle Akira out of the Makimura’s household that weekend.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult.

Ryo glances over when Akira opens the passenger’s side and slides in and suddenly his brain just… stops working.

This is too cruel. What’s with that open-collar shirt? Those black pants are too tight. It’s just a stupid high school party, one he still can’t believe he actually agreed to go to. There’s a high possibility it’ll be too overstimulating for him. Then again, when did that ever stop him?

Anyway.

Back to the main point: Akira looks too fucking handsome. Black looks good on him. Ryo’s gay enough already. Akira isn’t helping at all. He’s already been nursing a stupid crush since the day they met and he wants to kill Akira for making it worse. Or kiss him. Maybe both. Either option has its risks. Unfortunately, Akira might as well be blind as a fucking bat with how much Ryo’s attempts at flirtation seem to fly right over his head. That alone makes Ryo want to strangle him.

“What’s wrong, Ryo?” Akira’s voice breaking through his thoughts makes him realize he’s been staring. Ryo opens his mouth, closes it, trying to formulate a proper response. Nothing. I was just checking you out. Because you’re hot. And also I’m in love with you and have been since we were six. Also, we should skip the party and just make out.

In the end he chooses to look away and squeeze out a hoarse ‘nothing at all’.

“Assuming neither of us are too trashed by the end of this,” Ryo says as he makes his way through the streets. For Akira’s sake, he actually goes the speed limit. “What time do you need to be back?”

“No later than two AM, probably. That’s already pushing it.” Passing streetlights illuminate Akira’s face every now and then. He has a lovely profile. Strong features.

For fuck’s sake, Ryo. Focus.

It’s not difficult to find the house. What was the kid’s name? Gabe? Ryo doesn’t care much. The house is huge, sitting on a hill in a rich neighborhood, but it’s not as big as his own home. There are already kids swarming around outside and making their way in.

As they exit the car, Akira says, “If it’s too much, let me know. We can leave.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ryo sighs. He follows Akira up to the house. Ryo notes there’s a swimming pool out back, glowing bright blue in the night. Some guy runs past in only his boxers. He thinks he sees someone getting head out in the bushes. It’s only just hit nine in the evening. If any of these people make it past eleven, he’ll be impressed.

“This doesn’t seem like your kind of… thing,” he says. Akira looks back at him as they approach the front door.

“It usually isn’t. But, I mean, it isn’t… terrible. It’s better if you’ve brought a friend along.”

Ryo hums. “Of course.”

They step inside. The heavy bass sends a buzz through his skull, the flashing lights make him blink a few times. Instantly, he has his hand in his pocket, making sure that velvety cloth is still there. He grips it tight. It should be fine, everything should be fine. He’s been to parties before, bigger than this one. Messier than this one. More adults than high school kids. He can handle it.

… With the help of drugs and-or alcohol. Ryo thinks back to the weed he has stored in his car. He’d go grab it, but like hell is he about to share it with anyone here.

He scopes out the living room quickly. There’s a cooler with bottles of beer against one wall and a table has snacks piled high, with two large dispensers full of what is presumably more beer. Ryo makes a beeline for it, weaving past the other party-goers with Akira close behind. To his surprise, Akira actually accepts it when he passes a beer to him.

“So, you won’t do pot,” Ryo begins, cracking open his beer. “But beer’s fine.”

Akira shrugs with a grin. He knocks back half of the bottle easily, to Ryo’s shock. Both brows raised, he tests the beer himself.

Oh, that’s foul. His nose crinkles. It’s definitely some cheap shit, which is probably kind of fitting for this sort of event.

“Ugh.” But he drinks it anyway. Akira laughs.

“Were you expecting wine imported from France or something?”

“Hardly,” Ryo mutters. “But definitely a little better than this.”

“Once you get drunk enough, you stop caring about the taste.” Akira brings the bottle back to his lips.

“You know this from experience?”

“Maybe.”

Ryo prickles a bit and gives him a dirty look. Using Ryo’s own vague answer tactic against him. He sniffs.

“I’ll need a lot to get through tonight,” Ryo grumbles. Akira pats his shoulder.

“Do you wanna go outside?” He asks. Ryo shakes his head.

“Not right now. If you want to, feel free. I might later.” When he looks up, he sees the flashing pink and green lights reflected in Akira’s eyes and splashed across his face and… Akira is giving him a weird look. Ryo can’t make sense of it. He’s about to ask what the problem is, but the feeling of Akira’s little finger brushing over the nape of his neck makes him freeze. Then Akira is drawing back.

And he smiles that smile that makes Ryo infuriatingly weak. “Just come find me if you need anything. I have my phone with me if you can’t.”

“Mmhmm.” Ryo leans back against the wall. Akira walks past him into the next room. Ryo is left to his own devices. For now, he’ll just hang out at the fringes of the crowd, nursing his beer and watching closely. One hand remains in his pocket, thumb stroking over the velvet, rocking on his heels to keep him calm and grounded. He’s getting used to the noise and crowd quickly, but he may very well have to join Akira outside soon to get some fresh air and clear his head a little until he’s ready to come back inside.

One beer finished, he grabs another and works on it much slower, much more casual.

“Hey, you’re Ryo, right?"

Great. Ryo bites back a sigh. That’s the thing about parties. You have to socialize and usually pretend to give a shit about whatever someone is saying even if you don’t. There’s a group of four kids that have decided to choose Ryo to pester.

“Yes,” Ryo says. The alcohol is making it a little easier to deal with it, but he still barely feels buzzed. Shitty beer not doing its job, or maybe Ryo’s tolerance has gotten better over the past few years.

“We didn’t think you’d, like, actually come.” A boy with brown hair leans on his shoulder on one side of Ryo. Too close. Ryo keeps his guard up.

“Yeah, you don’t ever really seem to care ‘bout anything. Which is kinda cool.” Another boy, hair so blonde it looks white, says. “I dunno if you recognize us, we’re all in Latin together and--”

Ryo lets their rambling become part of the background noise. All he does is nod and give little ‘mhm’s and ‘yeah’s to make them think he’s not completely ignoring them. But now it’s going to be impossible to escape from them, and he considers grabbing his phone to shoot Akira a text pleading that he come and rescue him before he ends up hurting someone’s feelings.

Overall, he’s kind of bored. Maybe he should dance, or something. Maybe he should actually indulge in conversation. Instead, he just surveys the room. On his third beer, his limbs are finally loosening a bit. He’s able to relax just a little more, but he still remains relatively… uninterested.

Some guy walks across the room, an empty cup in his hand, stopping at the table to refill it at one dispenser. There’s a girl sitting on the sofa where he came from, who Ryo can presume is either his girlfriend or who he’s trying to hit on. Casually, he sips at his beer, the bottle getting lighter and lighter in his hand.

It’s so quick that Ryo would have missed it had he not happened to glance over from his peripheral just in time. Something small, round, and white being dropped into the drink from the palm of the guy’s hand.

Nausea churns in his gut.

He pretends not to notice, pretends to be listening to his classmates trying to talk to him, but keeps an eye on the guy as he turns and makes his way back across the room. Ryo drains the rest of his beer and pushes off the wall, holding the bottle by the neck between two fingers at his side, and trails after him despite his classmates asking where he’s going.

Just as he hands the cup to the girl, Ryo stops only a few feet away.

“Hey, you.”

It makes the guy turn his head in Ryo’s direction, their eyes meeting. The girl pauses just as she’s about to bring the edge of the cup to her lips. Ryo glances at her, then back at him.

“What was that pill for?” He asks as easily as if he were asking about the weather.

There’s a flash of panic in the guy’s eyes. Ryo’s lip curls. Disgusting.

“What’re you talking about, dude?” He spits out. And he’s loud, enough to draw the attention of other party-goers.

“The pill,” Ryo says slowly, like he was speaking to a very inept child, “that you put in her drink.”

There’s a hush that falls over the room, save for the music still shaking the walls.

The girl’s frozen up, her eyes wide as dinner plates, her hands trembling. She looks familiar, but Ryo can’t quite place where he’s seen her before.

“I didn’t put any pill in anything,” he hisses, but he’s gone pale in the face. Ryo’s patience is thinning. He glances back to the girl, who is looking at him with shock, confusion, and fear, and all he does is give a curt nod. It’s enough to make her drop the cup, spill the drink all over the floor, stand, and run.

“You tried to roofie her,” Ryo’s voice remains even despite the white-hot fury beneath his skin, threatening to spill over. “Is no woman interested in you unless they’re unconscious?”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up--”

“You’re fucking scum, ” Ryo spits, and in a swift move, he’s smashing the empty bottle over the back of the guy’s head. It doesn’t knock him out, unfortunately, but it does piss him off, and suddenly the room erupts into a flurry of excitement, confusion, and panic.

Ryo narrowly avoids a punch to the nose, light on his feet. What he lacks in raw strength he makes up for with speed and endurance, but there’s not a lot of space for him to work with here, and getting caught means getting easily overpowered, and this guy’s friends are pushing through the crowd of party-goers to come to his aid.

He manages to avoid a few blows before there are arms looping beneath his from behind, catching him by surprise, keeping him in place for a punch right in the face and a knee in the gut. All the air rushes out of him and he gags, the taste of blood in his mouth, his left eye already swelling.

Thrown onto the floor, onto the shards of a broken beer bottle that would have sliced him were it not for his long sleeves, there’s another kick to the ribs, then a foot digging into his spine, and a hand grabbing his hair to pull his head back. They’re saying something, but he can’t make it out through the ringing in his ears. There are dark spots in his vision. Drool mixed with blood runs down his chin.

“Ryo!”

He hears it, clear as day, above the ringing and above the noise of the crowd and the music. Akira’s voice, growing closer and closer, and the weight on top of him is suddenly gone and his head drops back onto the floor. He doesn’t think he can move, but he gets a hazy view of Akira’s fist slamming into some guy’s jaw and his elbow against another’s nose, and the one thing he never expected in his life was this: Akira, fighting, throwing punches, drawing blood, rage in his eyes.

Ryo blacks out.

When he comes to he’s in the backseat of his car, one door open and Akira kneeling over him. His eye has practically swollen shut by now, and the vision in the other is still bleary, but he knows it’s Akira above him, wiping blood from his nose and split lip, applying a cool washcloth to his eye. There’s music playing low, not from the party, but from the radio of his car. Ryo vaguely realizes that Akira’s hooked his phone up to it. It’s sweet in a way, a sort of comfort.

“Akira,” he croaks out weakly. Akira pauses above him. The vision in one eye clears up enough that Ryo can see him, his face cast in shadow and the ceiling lights of the car casting a halo around his dark hair. There’s a bit of dried blood from one nostril, but he certainly looks much better off than Ryo assumes he himself may.

Ryo tries to move, tries to sit up, but there’s an awful ache in his ribs that has him lying back down with a soft hiss through his teeth.

“Don’t put too much strain on yourself,” Akira says. The tone of his voice is… strange. Worried? Tired? Annoyed? Ryo can’t really figure it out, his brain still too hazy.

His head hurts.

There’s a warm weight on top of him, he realizes. A jacket, not his own. Akira’s? Ryo doesn’t know what to think about that, or how to feel about the flutter in his chest upon the realization.

Then an arm is moving around him, beneath him, helping him sit up just a little, and the mouth of a water bottle is brought to his lips. Ryo winces when it comes in contact with the injury on his bottom lip, but despite that he finds himself downing the water eagerly, his throat suddenly dry.

Under any other circumstances, he would have been irritated at feeling like he was being babied, but he knows when to accept help, and the fact it’s Akira makes it easier for him to tolerate.

“Slow down, or you’ll make yourself sick,” Akira says softly, pulling the bottle from his lips briefly. Ryo grumbles, but manages a nod. He drains the water slowly, and when it’s all gone Akira sets it on the floor. But he keeps Ryo supported with one arm. “You’re going to be okay.”

I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, he thinks hazily. Still, this isn’t too terrible, he decides. Akira’s presence is a comfort, he’s pleasantly warm, and the weight of his jacket puts Ryo’s nerves at ease.

Later, he will be able to assess the damage properly, but he can tell that at least there are no broken bones. He’s dealt with those enough to be able to recognize it. But he’ll have ugly bruises on his rib cage that will last a while, he reckons.

“What was that all about, Ryo?” Akira asks suddenly. There’s a furrow in his brow and his mouth is turned downward. He looks… mad? Is he mad?

“He deserved it,” Ryo mumbles.

“He deserved it? He might have been a jerk, but a bottle over the head?” Akira is angry. Why is Akira angry? It’s making Ryo angry. The guy had it coming, he was disgusting scum, human filth, he deserved so much worse than what Ryo did to him. At least that girl got away. Ryo doesn’t often concern himself with the affairs of others, especially at some high school party, but that was not something he could sit by and let happen. “Ryo, I thought they were going to kill you. You can’t just go starting fights with everyone that you don’t like for some reason, you--”

“He tried to drug her,” Ryo bites out. Akira falls silent. Ryo closes his eyes because he doesn’t want to see it, the anger and frustration turning into shock and guilt. “I saw it. He put a pill in her drink.”

“Ryo…”

“You fought to protect me, didn’t you? So I…” Ryo is struggling to admit that he did this not for his own interest, but because, for once, he genuinely wanted to help. He swallows the lump in his throat.

“I should have killed him, Akira. Someone like him doesn’t deserve to live.” There are tears in his eyes. He doesn’t try to hold them back. They’re hot on his cheeks. “Don’t be angry at me for helping someone. Akira, don’t be angry, because I could have done so much worse.”

He doesn’t open his eyes because he still doesn’t want to see Akira’s expression, but he feels Akira’s one-armed hold on him tightening just a little. Then Akira is slipping his other hand beneath Ryo’s knees and helping him sit upright and turn, feet resting on the car floor. Ryo finally cracks his eyes open as much as he can and can see the lights in the house still on, hear the music from within, see the teenagers carrying on as if there weren’t just a fight.

“I should go home, shouldn’t I?” He mutters.

“You should,” Akira agrees. “Gabe isn’t mad at you, or anything, but… well, at least for tonight, it’s for the best.”

“I can’t drive like this,” Ryo says distantly. He wonders if Akira will drive him home again, like he did last weekend.

“I already called Miki Kuroda, she lives nearby and is walking here. She’ll drive you home then take an Uber back.” Akira is brushing Ryo’s bangs out of his face, wiping his tears off of his cheeks. Ryo detests the idea of someone else driving his car, but he doesn’t have the energy to argue, and even if he doesn’t want to admit it he knows it’s necessary right now.

He says nothing.

When Miki Kuroda - they call her Miko, he recalls Akira telling him - arrives, Akira hands her Ryo’s car keys. When did he get those? Ryo thinks, but supposes it must have been when he was unconscious. She gives Ryo an odd look, then slips into the front seat. And suddenly Akira is pulling back through the open car door.

Panic rises in Ryo’s chest and he moves lightning quick to grab Akira’s wrist, staring wide-eyed and frantic.

“Don’t,” he says, voice weak. “Please. Stay here.”

Akira looks hesitant for a moment. Ryo’s grip tightens. He feels his heart rate accelerating. Akira is a lifeline right now, keeping him tethered to the moment, anchored into reality. And he feels so weak that it disgusts him, so vulnerable and fragile and he hates, hates, hates it. He hates that anyone has seen him like this. Except for Akira. He can trust Akira. Akira is allowed to see him like this. The thought of anyone else has burning sickness rising in his throat.

“Okay, Ryo,” Akira murmurs, and he slips back in beside him, shutting the door behind him. He helps Ryo into his seatbelt before buckling his own. Miko glances at them through the rearview mirror, then starts up the car. It takes her a moment to properly figure out where everything is, and then they’re driving off into the night.

Through dark streets and past dingy street lamps, further into town and past the bustling restaurants, the movie theater, that one florist Ryo vaguely remembers his father taking him to buy flowers for his mother. His mother. Ryo pushes the memory of her back, screws his eyes shut and instead focuses on Akira next to him, eyes cracking back open to look at their thighs pressed together, warmth seeping from his body into Ryo’s. Akira’s shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Akira’s jacket still around him. Heavy, warm, comforting.

Until two weeks ago, Ryo thought he would never see him again.

Against his better judgment, he rests his head on Akira.

Akira wraps an arm around his shoulders.

The lights fading as they turn onto the highway, to Ryo’s home on the fringes of town, the wind rushing past the car and the music playing softly.

Ryo closes his eyes.

This is okay.

---

He doesn’t realize until the following Sunday morning when he wakes up in his bed that Akira never took his jacket back.

Ryo doesn’t tell him to come by and pick it up.

Chapter Text

It’s one of those rare days where his father actually leaves his office.

Wednesday, after Ryo’s gotten home from school. From where Ryo is sprawled out on the living room sofa, nose in his book for class (he’s already read it years ago, but he finished all of his homework early and has nothing else to do), he sees him enter from the corner of his eye. He still looks like an exhausted mess, but at least he’s showered and changed clothes, even trimmed his beard a bit.

“What’s the occasion?” Ryo asks casually, without looking up, as his father crosses the room. It might be a little rude because he is kind of glad he’s is actually making an effort to stop being so absorbed in his work and wallowing in his misery to actually be around people. Even if that person is only his son. Nonetheless, Ryo still thinks he has the right to be irritated. That’s his dad, for fuck’s sake, but nowadays their maid acts like more of a parent to him than his actual father. “Surprised to see you out during the day.”

John, who had been snoozing on the floor beside the sofa, lifts his head with perked ears.

“The construction was making my head hurt,” his father explains with a sigh. Understandable, Ryo supposes. His office is in the western end of the mansion, where most of the renovations are taking place. The incessant sound of drills and hammers and saws would be enough to drive even the most solitary man out of hiding.

“Well.” Ryo turns a page in his book. “I bought groceries on the way home. Eat something before you wither up and die.”

His father is already a skinny, bony thing in the first place. Yes, Ryo is worried, even if he acts completely blasé about the entire situation.

Instead, his father comes back with a mug of coffee and sinks into his chair. Ryo sets his book down on his belly, narrowing his eyes. “That’s not real food.”

“I’ll make something later.”

“Jenny should be here soon. You’re just going to wait until she makes something, aren’t you?”

The only response he gets is a tired, exasperated sigh.

Ryo rolls his eyes and returns to his book. John’s wandered over to his father, who scratches him behind the ears. They sit there in silence for… Ryo doesn’t know how long. He figures his father will stand and leave without another word and they’ll go another few days without speaking.

“Ryo.” It startles him. The sound of his name, from his father’s mouth. “I just want to know, how have you been?”

“Fine,” Ryo says. “School is fine. My grades are fine. I’m fine.”

“You met Akira again, didn’t you? I remember you mentioning it. How is he?”

“And here I assumed you hadn’t even been listening.” Ryo sniffs. “He’s doing well. He’s coming over this weekend. Maybe you should try to say hello and ask him how he’s doing yourself.”

His father’s lips turn into a tight frown. He can feel his scrutiny without even looking up. Then, suddenly, “Ryo, did you get hurt?”

Ryo stiffens. Right, his father doesn’t know about the party, he doesn’t know about the fight. This is the first time he’s seen him since then. The cut on his lip is mostly healed and the swelling in his eye has gone down, but there’s still an ugly bruise. Dark purple, right beneath his eye. He’s been treating it just fine on his own. At least his father can’t see the large, mottled bruises on his belly and ribs, mixed shades of purple, blue, green, and yellow.

Most of the school already knows about the fight, that Ryo started it, but they don’t know why he did. If they think he’s insane for it, that’s fine, because he doesn’t give two shits about what they think of him. But, the funny thing is, it’s like it made people more interested in him rather than driving them away.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ryo says through gritted teeth. “It’s not serious.”

“Are you getting into fights again?” His father’s voice is stern. “It does matter, Ryo. You’re my son, and--”

“What? I’m your son, so that means if I get into fights it reflects badly on you, right?” It’s cold, it’s accusatory. Ryo slaps the book shut, sits up so fast the ache in his ribs flares up. All he can do is hope his father doesn’t notice the fleeting pained grimace. “Sorry, I can’t be perfect like mom.”

It’s meant to hurt. A cheap shot. Except Ryo feels a wave of guilt immediately because his father’s expression turns from concern and irritation to pained sadness.

“No, Ryo. You’re my son, and I care about you.”

“Then start actually acting like a father.” He doesn’t know why he’s being so cruel, why he can’t stop despite seeing how it makes the sadness in his father’s eyes grow.

The guilt is… suffocating. Ryo grinds his teeth. He pushes himself up from the sofa and moves, swift, across the room. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Ryo--”

“No. I’m sorry. Good night.”

John is at his heels as he practically runs out of the living room, down the hall to the stairs and up to his room. He locks his bedroom door behind him, spits out vulgarities in the five languages he knows then collapses onto his bed. John jumps up beside him, the stump of his tail wagging, whining worriedly as he licks at Ryo’s face til Ryo lets out a weak, watery laugh and nudges him away.

Ryo digs his phone out of his pocket, rolls onto his back and opens his messages.

TO: Akira

> to no ones surprise

> im the worst

> anyway what are you doing right now

A response comes almost immediately.

FROM: Akira

> no you aren’t. what happened?

> also i’m trying to eat dinner and getting dirty looks for being on my phone at the table

> because of a certain someone.

TO: Akira

> hahahahahahahaha

> youre welcome

> eat i will tell you after

FROM: Akira

> ok
> i’ll be ten minutes tops.

TO: Akira

> miss u already

Sure enough, ten minutes later, the text message alert pops up on the top of his screen as he’s idly scrolling through social media.  Ryo opens up the chat immediately.

FROM: Akira

> ok i’m here.

> what happened?

TO: Akira

> i got in a fight with my dad lol

> well more like i yelled at him

> during one of the few times hes actually out of his office

> now i feel bad

> not used to it

> dont like it

FROM: Akira

> what did you yell at him for?

> just apologize then.

TO: Akira

> i already did

> he saw the black eye and asked what happened i said it doesnt matter

> got mad because i thought he was just mad itd make himlook bad

> since im his ~son~ and all

FROM: Akira

> jeez

TO: Akira

> i brought up mom because i knew itd hurt

> he said it does matter to him since im his son and he cares about me

> or something

> i told him to start acting like a father then

> idk

> point being

> im a massive piece of shit

FROM: Akira

> no you aren’t.

> you’re a mess, but not a piece of shit.

Ryo snorts.

TO: Akira

> wow thanks

> hey you still coming this weekend

FROM: Akira

> yes.

> someone has to keep you busy so you don’t rob a bank or something.

TO: Akira

> do u really think id rob a bank im already rich

FROM: Akira

> :/

TO: Akira

> dont :/ me

FROM: Akira

> :///////

TO: Akira

> [ image ]

FROM: Akira

> [ image ]

> but really, ryo.

> you’re not a piece of shit.

> i think that things will work out. better late than never.

> i have to get homework done, but i’ll see you at school tomorrow, ok?

TO: Akira

> nerd

FROM: Akira

> you’re the ap student with all A’s

> nerd.

TO: Akira

> ok go be responsible then

> have fun be yourself dont do anything i would do

FROM: Akira

> easy enough.

> see you!

The rest of the evening is uneventful, boring. Ryo considers going out for a bit, doing something to get his mind off his father and off of the uncomfortable tepid feeling in his chest. He might have if Jenny hadn’t finally come by when he almost made up his mind. She’s smiling, as usual, her red hair drawn out of her face.

Ryo often wonders if that smile is genuine. Maybe it’s to lighten the mood in the household. But she was their maid even years ago when things were still… okay. When they were happy. It’s a wonder she even stayed in this town when Ryo and his father left.

He only comes downstairs because his father’s retreated into his office again, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to face him again just yet. Ryo is perched on one of the stools of the island, nails tapping against the surface repeatedly, his head resting in one palm. Jenny navigates the kitchen easily, turning on the stove and gathering ingredients.

“You’re thinking too loudly, mister Asuka.”

Ryo blinks.

“I told you to call me Ryo,” he says without looking up. “I think my thoughts are quiet enough.”

“Of course, Ryo.” He can’t see her face, but there’s no mistaking the lilt of amusement in her otherwise flat voice. Ryo’s nose crinkles in annoyance. “Another fight with your father?”

Ryo grumbles as he drops his hand from his face and lowers his head to rest it on the surface of the island.

“I will take that as a yes.”

If their maid tries to lecture him on his relationship with his father, Ryo swears he’ll--

“I don’t blame you for your frustrations,” Jenny states simply. “I know I am only your maid, but I have known your parents since before you were born. Eden would not have wanted this. Your anger is not unwarranted.”

“Uh…” Ryo flounders briefly. What’s he supposed to say to that? She’s never been much of a talker, part of him wishes she stayed like that. “Thanks?”

“Yes. Now, how do you like your steak?”

---

Ryo really isn’t sure how Akira managed to convince him to finally join him in the cafeteria for lunch, but it happened.

It’s loud and crowded, there’s a myriad of smells, and he thinks his brain might short circuit from overstimulation. It’s not unlike the party in that regard, he thinks. But Akira is a familiar warmth and comfort at his side, and his friends don’t seem to mind Ryo’s subtle rocking in his seat as he pokes at his food.

Ryo isn’t quite sure what to make of them. A strange group of friends, certainly. That Wamu guy and his friends are here, which reminds him of the weekend before last, but they’re a little less insufferable right now. Kind of. Maybe because they’re less focused on Ryo this time. Across from him sit two track stars, a taller girl with her red hair tied into a braid and green windbreaker hanging off of her shoulders (Miki Kuroda, dubbed “Miko” - he remembers her, vaguely, the night of the party when she drove him home), and another right beside her with sparkling green eyes and a sunny smile.

When he looks at the latter there’s a prickle of annoyance and jealousy. Ryo knows those feelings are irrational, he knows they’re selfish. Unfortunately, considering they share a class together, it’s hard to avoid seeing her at all. Miki Makimura has done nothing to warrant his dislike. Akira is allowed to have other friends, of course he is, Ryo doesn’t mind that, he’s only a little angry that Akira had affections for someone else while Ryo was clinging to his own affection for Akira even during the years of his absence.

Unreasonable. Ryo knows he’s unreasonable. Akira was under no obligation to return any feelings or wait for him at all. He even said his affections for Miki are now nothing but platonic.

On the bright side, his hate has simmered down into a simple dislike. She is strong and outspoken, which is something he can respect, at least. So she’s not terrible.

“Hey, Ryo!”

And now she’s talking to him.

Ryo looks up, meeting her eyes briefly before focusing instead on her brow. What does she want? “What?”

Miki swats Wamu’s hand away when he tries to steal a bit of her lunch while she’s preoccupied. “Next Friday, we’re having a movie night at Miko’s. I was thinking, maybe you could come?”

Ryo hopes his confusion and hesitation isn’t showing. His mind scrambles to weigh the pros and cons. Pros being… well, he would have something to do. And Akira would be there, presumably. Cons being… social interaction. Hours with people that are still practically strangers to him. At least he has a car of his own, if it’s too much he could just leave, maybe. But that might disappoint Akira, which is not something he wants to do.

… Fuck it.

“Okay.”

“Cool,” Miko says from beside Miki who looks… elated, oddly enough. She’s digging her phone out of her jacket and sliding it across the table to Ryo.

Ryo squints at it, frowning, then gives her a questioning stare.

“Put your number in, genius. I’ll need to text you details,” Miko huffs.

With a suspicious look, Ryo punches in his number and his name into her contacts, then slides the phone back.

“It won’t be bad, Ryo,” Akira says. His hand rests lightly on Ryo’s shoulder, a comforting weight-- except now it feels like fire through his clothes. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to lean into it. “Trust me. You’ll have fun.”

“If you say so,” Ryo mutters, finally shoveling his food into his mouth with five minutes to spare.

The bell rings and the cafeteria steadily empties. Ryo remains seated, preferring to wait until the crowd passes before he leaves, eyes focused on the far wall and his lips pressed into a flat line. Akira and Miki are near the doors, chattering about something animatedly. Ryo has to look away.

It’s then that he notices Miko still sitting there, her phone in her hand but her attention on the pair by the doors. Ryo watches her curiously, the curl of her lip and the lowering of her lashes, and he doesn’t understand why she suddenly looks so… sad. The hard lines of her face have softened.

“Hey, ice prince,” she says quietly, not even looking at him. Ryo raises his brows, following her gaze back to Akira and Miki. They’re laughing, and Akira looks so lovely when he laughs a full-body laugh. So happy. Ryo wonders if he would be able to make him that happy. “Have you ever wanted someone so badly, but know they’re too good for someone like you?”

She’s looking at Miki, he now realizes. Ryo’s eyes move back to Akira. Akira is so kind, so gentle, so wonderful, whereas Ryo is harsh, cold, and suspicious. He’s afraid to touch him sometimes, to get too close, because he doesn’t want to accidentally snuff the light in Akira’s heart out with the darkness of his own.

Miko’s look of longing is almost painful to behold because he understands.

“Yes,” he says, distant, “I have.”

---

“I invite you over for the weekend,” Ryo sighs, lying on his back across his bed with his head hanging off the edge. His hair is falling out of his face, cheeks turning a little red as blood rushes to his head. A moue of disappointment and annoyance presses at Ryo’s lips. Akira thinks it’s kind of charming. He adjusts his precalculus textbook in his lap from where he sits on the floor, with John curled up next to him. “And you decide to do homework.”

“I have to get it done at some point,” Akira says simply.

“Are you even good at math?” Ryo scrunches his nose. He crosses his arms, looking just a little sulky. He’s wearing the jacket that Akira left behind - er, “forgot” - last weekend. It’s a few sizes too big, and the sight ignites something in his belly. Akira ignores it or at least tries to.

“Not really.” Well, now Akira is embarrassed. Ryo huffs.

“You want me to help, don’t you?”

“You’re the one in AP calculus.”

“Fine.” Ryo pushes himself up with a grunt. He pats the space beside him. “Get up here, then.”

Akira hesitates, uncertain. It’s just for school work, but he still can’t help but feel awkward at the thought of getting on Ryo’s bed at all. But Ryo is now glaring at him impatiently. Akira’s sure he’s struggling not to slap a hand over his face in irritation. “The faster you get up here, the faster you’ll be done, then we can actually do something.”

It’s obvious that Ryo won’t let him argue. Well, his butt does kind of hurt from sitting on the floor. So Akira squashes down any hesitation and gathers up his textbook and notebook, tossing them onto the bed and following right after. He folds his legs, watching Ryo tuck one foot under his opposite knee as he leans over to grab one of Akira’s pens.

“Wow, you’re hopeless,” Ryo says as he looks over Akira’s notes and work.

“Thanks,” Akira huffs, tapping his pencil against one knee.

“At least you have me around to come to the rescue.” Ryo scoots a little closer until he’s right beside him. Akira sets the textbook down in front of them while Ryo sets the notebook across their thighs which are just barely touching. Which is kind of distracting. Ryo looks unaffected. Their elbows bump together. “Maybe I can get you at least a C.”

“I’m glad you have some faith in me.”

Ryo gives him a crooked grin.

They sit there for God knows how long, Ryo going over formulas and equations and logarithms as if they were the easiest things in the world. Occasionally he’ll smack Akira’s hand away when Akira evidently doesn’t get it, repeating an explanation or going over the problem so Akira can watch how he does it. It’s kind of ridiculous how Ryo can make something like algebra and trigonometry sound interesting, or maybe Akira just really likes listening to the sound of his voice.

… God, did he really just think that? He mentally slaps himself.

It’s past noon when they finally finish. Ryo slaps both Akira’s notebook and textbook shut, tossing it aside on the bed and hopping off. Akira scrambles after him, flustered.

“Uh, thanks, Ryo.” At least he sort of gets it now. Maybe. Part of him thinks Ryo should be a teacher with how oddly patient he was, and how thorough. Except he’s not even sure Ryo would have much interest in teaching. Possibly something more hands-on, like his father being an archaeologist.

“You owe me,” Ryo states, shedding the jacket and shucking it onto the chair by his desk. He grabs one of his own to pull on over his sweater. “Somehow. I’ll figure it out later.”

“For once, I could be the one to buy dinner,” Akira suggests with a grin. Ryo crinkles his nose as if the thought was funny.

“We’ll see.”

When Ryo grabs his keys and wallet and they usher John out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind them, Akira says, “How’s your eye?”

The bruise has gone down significantly, turned a shade of yellow beneath Ryo’s eye and almost easy to miss. Akira, admittedly, can’t stop thinking about the party. It started off perfectly fine, and he wasn’t even gone that long when he heard the commotion from inside and someone told him the guy he came with started a fight. He arrived just in time to see Ryo on the floor, blood on his face, one guy with a foot digging into his back and holding his head up by the hair, another guy with blood caked in his hair preparing to strike Ryo in the face with his foot.

Akira had never gotten into a fight in his life. He had never been a violent person. He hated fighting, he couldn’t stand blood, but the sight filled him with such an indescribable rage that it was a surprise he didn’t kill anyone. Those guys had fled with their tails between their legs before Akira could hurt them worse than he already did. Before he hurt them worse than they hurt Ryo.

He had gathered a then-unconscious Ryo up into his arms with ease, hauled him out to his car and had to dig through Ryo’s pockets so he could find his keys to unlock the doors. Gabe had rushed out briefly with a cloth and healing cream, and Akira had apologized profusely. To his surprise, he wasn’t angry. Maybe he knew why the fight started in the first place.

Akira felt like shit for assuming why Ryo started it in the first place. He still remembers how Ryo sat there, cradled in one of Akira’s arms, and cried. Told Akira not to be angry with him, that he could have done so much worse. His eye dark and swollen, nose red, lip split.

“It’s fine,” Ryo replies. Akira can tell he’s trying to act unbothered. It shows in the set of his jaw. “I’ve had worse.”

But Akira remembers his nose gushing blood with every beat of his heart, his bruised eye, how his teeth and lips were stained red, his breathing labored and unconscious body like a ragdoll. The ugly bruises already forming on Ryo’s belly and ribs and stopping just below his bound chest.

“I’m glad you’re recovering quickly.” Ryo just gives him a side-glance and a lazy smile.

“I’ve been told I’m very resilient.”

They’re almost to the door when Akira spots movement from the kitchen. And then he sees a man, scrawny and bony, with messy dark hair and a scraggly looking beard. Even after ten years, Akira can recognize Ryo’s father. Only this time, there’s barely any light in his eyes. He isn’t upbeat, or smiley, or laughing that loud laugh of his. He looks like he did after the accident, but only worse.

Still, when he exits the kitchen and crosses the living room he manages a smile for Akira. Ryo’s standing stiff as a board by the door, hands shoved into his pockets and eyes directed at the floor.

“Akira Fudo? It’s been so long.” Professor Asuka’s voice sounds hoarse like he hasn’t been using it much. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve grown so much. I always thought you’d stay a tiny little thing.”

“I did, too.” Akira rubs the back of his neck. “So we’re both surprised.”

“Have you been well?” He asks. “And your parents?”

“Yes, we’ve all been well. They’re out of town, still teaching. They’ll be back next weekend, though. When they’re back, maybe they could come say hello?” Lord knows the man looks like he needs some company. It might do him some good. Akira’s parents would be familiar to him. It wouldn’t hurt to try…

“Maybe,” Professor Asuka says, thoughtful.

“Akira and I have to go, dad,” Ryo says stiffly. Both he and Akira look over to him. Ryo won’t look at either of them. “You can catch up later.”

“Oh, of course. Have fun, then.” Ryo’s father pauses, hesitating. “Be safe, Ryo.”

“Yeah.” Ryo still won’t look at him, shoulders hunched as he opens the front door.

“See you, Professor.” Akira waves a little wave, one that makes the man smile weakly, and follows Ryo outside to his car.

He waits until they’re both inside and buckled up, music on, Ryo cruising down the road, to finally speak.

“You don’t need to be so cold with him.”

The car jerks just a little in Ryo’s surprise before the wheels straighten out again. Akira inhales sharply. He sees how Ryo’s grip on the steering wheel has tightened. There are no sunglasses today, meaning Akira can easily see the flash of frustration in Ryo’s eyes.

“It’s not your business, Akira,” he says firmly.

Akira might have dropped the subject before, but this time he can’t help but push. Maybe it’s the concern. Maybe it’s irritation. Maybe it’s stubbornness. It could be all three at once. “You had no problem saying anything through texts the other night.”

“That’s different.” Ryo is closing himself off. Akira can see it.

“How?” Akira really should drop it before Ryo does get angry. Before the entire day gets screwed up because he’s being a little too nosy.

“It just…” The grip on the steering wheel has gone white-knuckled. “Is.”

“Because you can’t avoid it like this, right?”

Ryo slams on the breaks, tires screeching. Akira’s heart leaps into his throat, gripping the armrest to keep himself from jerking forward and hitting his head on the dashboard. They sit there in the middle of the winding road.

“If he can’t act like a fucking father,” Ryo spits out, turning in his seat and pinning Akira down with an icy stare. “Then I don’t have any reason to treat him like one.”

“You could at least try to ta--”

“No, Akira. You don’t fucking get it, do you?” Oh, Ryo is pissed. Akira winces. “Not all of us can have a pair of happy, loving, breathing parents. I’m not like you.”

“Ryo, I--”

“I can’t come home and have my dad there to say hi and ask how my day went because he’s too busy withering away in his office. I can’t text my mom telling her I love her and I can’t see her smiling or watch her cook dinner because she’s fucking dead and now I can’t even listen to ABBA anymore because they were her favorite and I had to hide all the photos of her because seeing her in my head is hard enough and my dad doesn’t get he’s not the only one hurting.”

Ryo’s rambling with no signs of stopping.

“I’ve tried to talk to him, Akira. I have, I fucking have. You don’t know what it’s like to lose your mom two weeks after your eighth birthday and then suddenly your dad, who is now a total recluse, takes you away and only cares about work and doesn’t notice how his little freak son’s started running off and getting into fights and drinking and smoking and doing drugs and--” Ryo’s face is pale, his breathing coming out shallow. It reminds Akira how frantic he looked after the party, with a vice grip on Akira’s arm and pupils the size of pinpricks as he pleaded for him to stay. “You don’t get it. You won’t ever get it.”

He’s crying.

I made him cry, Akira realizes with an agonizing stab of guilt. I made him cry.

Ryo is rocking in his seat, crying, hands pulling at his hair, letting out choked-off little noises past the lump in his throat like he’s trying to speak but just can’t get it out. Akira feels like he’s going to be sick. He should have dropped the subject. And now Ryo is sobbing his heart out in his car and Akira hates himself so fucking much.

He unbuckles his seatbelt and kneels over the console, his body moving on its own, not thinking as he unbuckles Ryo’s seatbelt so he can easier pull him into his arms. Akira’s crying now because Ryo is crying, silent tears down his cheeks while Ryo clings to him desperately, hands finding purchase in the fabric of his shirt.

One hand rubs circles into Ryo’s back, the other cradling the back of his head. Ryo continues his little rocking movements, warbling into Akira’s shoulder, hiccupping and sniffing and coughing.

“I’m sorry, Ryo,” Akira whispers past the lump in his own throat. “I’m sorry. Let it out. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

And Ryo cries until his voice is hoarse and he’s too tired to cry anymore, but he doesn’t let go of Akira, just trembles in his arms and makes a valiant attempt to even out his breathing.

“I don’t even have tissues in this damn car,” Ryo hiccups. “Fuck.”

Ryo draws back a little, one hand on Akira’s shoulder, and wipes at his face with the sleeve of his jacket. The hand on Akira’s shoulder begins to nudge him away and Akira doesn’t fight it, sinking back into the passenger’s seat.

“I need a fucking smoke.” Ryo fishes the pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and pulls one out. He’s fumbling with the lighter, his hands too shaky. Skin still so pale, his eyes bloodshot from crying and red tear tracks on his cheeks.

Akira doesn’t like it, how Ryo instantly resorts to cigarettes or weed when he’s upset about anything. It’s not healthy, physically and mentally. And Ryo just… doesn’t seem to care, using whatever he can to cope until it becomes too much all over again. He’s tempted to just snatch the cigarettes and lighter away, but he’s upset Ryo enough already and doesn’t want to risk getting kicked out of the car and forced to walk.

Ryo rolls one window down when he manages to light the cigarette. He inhales, then exhales smoke, sinking back into his seat and closing his eyes. The wind rustles the trees. It’s cooling down a bit now, but Akira doesn’t think that’s the cause of the shiver down his spine.

“Akira,” Ryo says. He flicks ashes out of the car window. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed when I knew it’d make you upset.”

“You were only worried for me.” Ryo squishes the cigarette out in the ashtray. “Like any real friend would be. Which I appreciate, sort of. I had no right to take out my frustrations on you, so I should be the one to apologize.”

Akira hesitates. Ryo isn’t really leaving room for argument. “Alright. I forgive you.”

“You don’t have to,” Ryo is fastening his seatbelt again. “But thanks.”

It takes a few more minutes for Ryo to finally relax again, smoking another cigarette and letting the wind blow through their hair from the open window, and then they’re resuming their drive into town. Akira continues to watch him out of the corner of his eye. The silence is… it’s not awkward, but it isn’t really comfortable. Akira hopes the tension will fade quickly, but he can still see tiny red spots forming beneath Ryo’s still-bloodshot eyes.

When they pull into the parking lot of the outdoor mall, Ryo remains seated even after he shuts the ignition off.

“Akira,” he says, tired. “You’re allowed to be upset with me. You’re allowed to be angry.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Ryo laughs weakly. “Akira, you’re always so forgiving. I’m selfish and unreasonable. You don’t need to put up with everything I do simply because I’m your friend.”

Ryo is unbuckling his seatbelt now and opening the door. “You’re allowed to put your foot down and say ‘enough’. I don’t want to force you into anything. Your-- your happiness matters to me, too, you know.”

The smile Ryo gives him is tiny. Akira is… surprised, for lack of a better word. He knew Ryo cared, he always did, but something about those words sounds so… strange, coming from him. Like he never expected Ryo to ever outwardly voice something like that. Your happiness matters to me. And it feels like Ryo steadily opening up, trying to reach out, attempting to meet Akira halfway.

Akira nearly climbs over the console to hug him again. This time, he manages to refrain.

“Thanks, Ryo.”

Ryo gives him a look, followed by an amused half-smile and huff. They exit the car.

That old arcade that got turned into a gym. It had reopened a while back, Akira remembered. The mall is a nicer location, he thinks, and probably better for business. It had been his own suggestion to stop by, and Ryo had agreed almost instantly.

It’s not exactly the one from their childhood, but it brings a sense of nostalgia all the same. Ryo takes it upon himself to purchase them both a generous amount of coins, then is off without another word. Akira practically trips over his own feet trying to follow after him.

The glow of orange lights in the darkness of the arcade make Ryo’s eyes shine, but there’s a glitter in them that Akira can only describe as excitement. Childlike excitement. Ryo is practically buzzing and Akira can tell he’s trying to keep his hands still. Not even half an hour ago Ryo was breaking down in his car, and now he’s standing in an arcade with a smile bigger than Akira ever thought possible for him.

Years ago, Ryo had talked on and on without stopping about how the machinery of the arcade worked to an ever-attentive Akira. He didn’t understand most of it, but Ryo waved his hands as he spoke and had sparkles in his eyes and it was like when he was talking about the storm on Jupiter’s surface or how velociraptors probably had feathers like birds instead of scales like lizards.

They spend… hours, possibly, in that arcade. Akira had exhausted his coins already but followed Ryo around as he stopped at nearly every game, a growing pile of tickets held beneath his arm. Akira can’t help but pull his phone out when Ryo is preoccupied with Mortal Kombat and snap a picture, with Ryo’s face illuminated by the glow of the screen and his tongue stuck out in concentration.

TO: Miki

> [ image ]

> look at this.

FROM: Miki

> holy SHIT

> I hate to sound like a cheesy old white lady but that shit is breathtaking, bro

> I didn’t even know he was able to be cute

TO: Miki

> surprise!

FROM: Miki

> so you admit you think he’s cute ;)

TO: Miki

> i didn’t say that.

Akira thanks the dim lighting in the arcade for hiding the blush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

FROM: Miki

> gay lol

> well I’m glad he isn’t getting you into anything bad

> or else I’d have to fight him

> he’s just being cute and you’re just being gay

“Akira, I’m done.” Ryo’s voice catches him off guard. He’s approaching Akira, a proud look on his face. “Thank you for waiting.”

Akira shoots off a quick ‘see you later’ to Miki and pockets his phone. “You got a lot. Are you going to get any prizes? You can have mine, too.”

“Sure,” Ryo responds, taking the offered tickets without hesitation, and then he’s heading off to the counter and dropping the pile of tickets in front of the bored employee, who counts them without even batting an eyelash. Then they’re unhooking a large plush dog from the wall displaying the prizes, and Ryo is pushing it into Akira’s arms.

Akira looks down at it, at its plush puppy-dog face and eyes, then back to Ryo who is looking at him expectantly.

“I thought you were going to get something for yourself,” Akira says.

Ryo frowns. “You’re welcome.”

“No, I love it, I swear. Thank you.” Akira laughs because he’s a little amused and a little embarrassed and a little endeared. “But you didn’t have to.”

“I know. But I wanted to,” Ryo says with a shrug. Then he looks away, rubbing the side of his neck. “Sorry I took so long. What time is it?”

“You don’t have to apologize, I’m glad you were having fun. It’s four now.”

“... Three hours,” Ryo mutters to himself. “You let me stay three hours-- Akir- a.”

Is Ryo… whining? Okay, Miki’s right, he is cute. Well, Akira already knew that, of course, but he didn’t want to admit it, but now he’s faced with it yet again and he’s so glad Miki isn’t here to see this happen, or he’d never hear the end of it.

“We still have time to do other stuff, Ryo!” Akira laughs when Ryo gives him a half-hearted punch on the arm. “And I’m staying over tonight, anyway. It’s okay.”

“Fine. Remember how I said you owe me? And you offered to buy dinner? Let’s do that. Now.”

“Can I at least put the--”

“No. Also I choose. Because I helped you with your homework and also because you made me cry.”

… That’s fair.

Ryo doesn’t choose somewhere too expensive, thankfully. A small, cozy diner situated in the outdoor mall, where Akira can pay after they finish their meals without even flinching. Ryo shoves more food into his face than Akira remembers him ever eating before, but he guesses emotional breakdowns and hours of video games might make a guy a little hungry.

Now they’re back at Ryo’s car after Ryo has a smoke, and he’s taken the plush dog from Akira’s arms to inspect it as he sits in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t really say much, nodding to himself as if he’s affirming something and then handing it back to Akira.

“Akira, do you want to go to the lake again?” Ryo asks as he turns the key in the ignition. “Before the sun sets.”

“What, do you want to watch the sunset with me?” Akira can’t help but tease because now Ryo’s face is turning pink out of embarrassment no matter how hard he tries to fight it. Ryo just grumbles as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Akira leans back in the passenger’s side, watching houses grow fewer and far between the farther out they go, replaced instead by trees.

It’s peaceful. The incident this morning almost forgotten. The atmosphere is comfortable again. Akira can’t stop smiling to himself, nor can he stop stealing glances at Ryo as he drives. The sky is slowly turning shades of orange, pink, and yellow when Akira sees the familiar sign in front of the road leading to the lake. Ryo turns, slowing down as they drive down the dirt road between the trees. He parks just outside the edge of the woods, leaving the engine running and his music playing.

Ryo steps out, leaning over to turn his music up a little louder as an afterthought. When he climbs onto the hood of the car, Akira can see him pull his coat around him just a little tighter. It’s been cooling down rapidly now that it’s finally autumn, and as night approaches the temperature drops further. Akira considers offering his own jacket for extra warmth - he’s a big guy, he can handle a little cold - but he isn’t sure how that gesture would be received. Though, Ryo seems to have no issue with keeping Akira’s other jacket. The one that he doesn’t have the heart to ask for back.

“Say, Ryo.” Akira adjusts himself on the hood of the car, getting comfortable, leaning back on the windshield while Ryo remains upright with one knee drawn to his chest. “Are you gonna do anything for your birthday?”

“Same thing I usually do,” Ryo says casually, lighting another cigarette. Akira crinkles his nose at the smell. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Akira folds one arm beneath his head, his other hand resting on his abdomen. “Eighteen’s a big deal, isn’t it?”

“Sure. I can legally do things I already do.” Ryo waves his cigarette in the air. “It’s not something I really think too much about. I haven’t celebrated in a long time.”

“Right…” Akira bites the inside of his cheek, drumming his fingers on his abdomen. He’s watching Ryo sit there more than he’s watching the sunset. It’s quite the image, Ryo silhouetted against the orange and golden glow, a cigarette between two fingers and smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. The music still playing from inside the car as they watch the sun steadily sink behind the distant mountains until there’s only a hue of pink against the dark violet of the sky. Then it’s swallowed up by the night, the lake turning cold and black with only the reflection of the stars and full moon.

Ryo is staring into the distance, his dying cigarette an orange glow in the dark, his eyes seeing something Akira can’t. Lost in some thought, perhaps some distant memory, and Akira wishes he would tell him; tell him what was on his mind, what he was feeling. Ten years hardened Ryo’s soft edges, created a steel barrier around his heart, and no matter how much he tries to open up Akira still can’t quite reach him.

Sitting there in the night, cast in the moonlight, golden hair turned white, eyes reflecting the stars.

And Akira doesn’t think he’s ever seen a lonelier creature in his life.

---

“There’s a carnival,” Akira says into the dark room, peering up at the glow-in-the-dark stars. “It started five years ago, it comes around once a year now.”

“And?” Ryo is on the floor next to him. John is sprawled out on their legs, snoring softly.

“It should be here for your birthday,” Akira explains. “I don’t know if it’d interest you, but… it could be fun. If you’d want.”

Ryo is silent for a long time. Akira thinks he may turn the offer down, or maybe he’s only fallen asleep. But then there’s a brush of Ryo’s hand against his, a ghost of a touch. Hesitant. Akira would have taken his hand if Ryo didn’t draw it away just in time.

“Okay,” Ryo murmurs. “We can do that.”

---

“I saw the student counselor again today,” Ryo states the moment he walks through the front doors Tuesday evening, nearly six o’clock because he was persuaded to accompany Akira to watch the track team practice. His father has left his office again - three times in less than a week, a new record - and sits in the living room with the television on and a book in his lap. Ryo tosses his backpack next to the stairs.

His father doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at him.

“She wants to talk to you,” he continues. Then his father looks up, blinking slowly behind his glasses. His mouth is turned downward.

“Does she?”

“Yes,” Ryo sits on the armrest of the sofa, folding one leg over the other, idly checking his nails. “About getting me an actual therapist. Because I’m fucked in the head, as you know, and have a history of behavioral problems.”

“Do you think therapy would help?”

“I sit on a couch for an hour once a week, tell a stranger with a Ph.D. how I don’t have a mom and my dad won’t pay attention to me, how that and being on the autism spectrum stunted my growth, and I have frequent suicidal urges and anger problems, and sometimes I hallucinate, and I’m stuck in a constant, untreated manic state, and then they prescribe me pills. Or they throw me in the hospital. Because I’m a lunatic.”

“Ryo, don’t talk like that.” His father is closing his book and setting it aside.

“Why not? It’s true.” Distantly, Akira’s words from the other day echo in his head. You don’t need to be so cold with him. Maybe he’s right, who knows, but his building frustration is drowning out that thought. Because why does his father decide to care now? Does he actually care? He said he did during their last argument. Ryo wants desperately to believe it. “I’m fucking insane. But of course you’ve never noticed. Not until I start acting out.”

“How could I notice if you never talk to me, Ryo?” Why the hell does he sound irritated? Ryo should be the one irritated here. Because he’s hurting and pissed and lonely and for once, maybe, wants his dad to look at him like he used to before mom died. Full of love and pride.

But, Ryo thinks, I haven’t done anything that would make him proud of me.

Ryo slips off the armrest, shoes clicking against the wood floor. “I’ve tried to. It’s hard when I barely see you.”

He hears movement behind him. His father is standing up, and Ryo turns to him. Their eyes meet. Ryo has a hard time keeping his gaze steady because he can’t stand the look in his father’s eyes, frustration and sadness and worry. It makes nausea churn in his gut.

“I just want to be there for you, Ryo.”

“You haven’t been there for me for ten years.”

What happens next catches Ryo so off guard that he forgets how to breathe for a moment. His dad is closing the distance between them, circling his arms around him, and drawing him into a hug. It’s cautious, unsure, as if he’s worried it’s unwelcome and will be pushed away. Ryo’s gone stiff. The last time his father hugged him… when was that? He can’t remember. He thinks it might have been when he was fourteen, some time in Peru when he accompanied his father to an archaeological site in the Amazon Basin. When he found an injured capybara near the water’s edge, in pain with no chance at surviving, its kin nowhere to be seen. He had known he should take his gun out (it was meant for emergencies, his father had said, should he find himself in danger) and end its suffering, but his hand trembled around the grip. It was hurting, flank heaving, blood caking its fur, he would be doing it a kindness, he knew. But animals-- he couldn’t kill animals.

He doesn’t remember what finally made him do it, he only remembers the sound of the gun and then the tears after, his father appearing, his expression one of panic. Only to see his son on his knees, crying in front of a dead animal, gun still in one hand. He hugged Ryo then, got him to stand so he could be guided away from the sight of the animal, held him with one arm and gave him a water bottle after he vomited in the mud.

This is different, though. They aren’t in the thick jungle, there is no dead animal, there are no spots of blood mixing with mud on his pants. They are in the middle of their own home, the television on, John asleep on the rug, and the smell of Jenny cooking something in the kitchen. And his father is hugging him.

Ryo’s arms shake when he finally finds it in him to move. He means to push him away, but it’s like his body has its own plans. They wrap around his father carefully. He’s so thin, he thinks distantly.

Immediately, his father’s shoulders begin to shake. Ryo can hear his quivering, shallow breaths and feel the damp patch forming in his shirt. Heat burns behind his eyes. It’s when his father finally tightens his embrace that Ryo’s tears spill over.

“I’m sorry, Ryo,” his father chokes out. “You’re right.”

Ryo isn’t sure how to respond, but the words make his heart lurch. He inhales sharply.

“Years ago, your mother made me promise that if-- if anything happened to her, I would take care of you.” It stings, it feels like a knife to the chest, but Ryo knows this is a conversation they’ve been avoiding for a long time. “And I failed to keep that promise.”

“Dad…”

His father pulls back. Ryo’s arms fall to hang loosely at his sides. There are tears staining his cheeks, his glasses lopsided and lightly fogged up. Ryo swallows, because he’s heard his father crying, but hasn’t actually seen it in years. Both of his hands remain on Ryo’s shoulders, squeezing gently.

“It hurt to look at you,” he says hoarsely. “Because-- you look so much like her. You do, Ryo. You always have. I couldn’t see you without seeing her. And then I remembered- I remembered I was failing you, and I was failing her, and I… continued to hide. Like a coward.”

Ryo is staring dumbly at him, mouth open but nothing coming out because he’s not sure just yet what to say.

“You don’t have to forgive me. Of course not. That isn’t what I’m looking for. I…” His father is rubbing his face with his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Ryo. I’m so sorry. No matter how many times I say it, it will never properly express just how sorry I am. I was not - am not - the father you deserve.”

There are so many emotions brewing in Ryo at once that it’s hard to think straight. His brain is having trouble making sense of any of this, the fact it all came out of the blue and that he knows it’s sincere but at the same time is still suspicious, and that his father is crying and saying he’s sorry, and Ryo thinks he may shut down right then and there.

One thing Ryo hates more than anything is running away, hiding, even though he is possibly the biggest offender, right behind his father.

But all his mind and body allow him to do is step back, turn tail, and run.

---

“For tonight,” Ryo’s voice is hoarse. Miki is peering over Akira’s shoulder from where they stand in the doorway of the Makimura residence. “Just for tonight.”

In the guest bathroom, he cries and cries and then falls asleep on the floor.

The only time he stirs is when something warm and solid gathers him up and off of the cold tile. Safe, comfortable, secure. A smell that reminds him of home.

He dreams of his mother.

Chapter Text

“Ryo,” her fingers run slowly through his mess of blonde curls. It helps him sit still, it helps him calm down when things are too much. Ryo doesn’t like strangers and his mother knows this. She had excused herself when the too-loud guests made Ryo run and hide to find him in the library, crouched beneath a table and trembling like a leaf. Ryo only let her close in times like these, her and Akira. He let her scoop him up and take him to his room. “It’s okay, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

There’s the sound of the CD his mother had put on, knowing music helped calm his nerves.

And she sings along to the music, tucking his head close to her shoulder and continuing to stroke his hair.

Her voice is so beautiful, Ryo wants to cry again - but the tears wouldn’t be bad this time.

And he lets her voice be his lullaby.

---

When Ryo wakes, it’s because of a light touch on his shoulder and a familiar voice saying something unintelligible to his tired brain. He cracks his eyes open, grumbling at the sunlight shining through the window. Ryo closes his eyes again and noses into the duvet, curling up into an even smaller ball on the bed.

… Bed? He remembers falling asleep on a bathroom floor. At Miki Makimura’s home. But he also remembers, vaguely, of someone lifting him off of the floor and carrying him out before he succumbed to his exhaustion once more.

The mild confusion makes him open his eyes again and roll over onto his back. Ryo becomes acutely aware of the ache in his ribs and uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He comes to the slow realization his binder is still on. Ugh.

But when his vision comes into focus, he sees familiar brown eyes looking down at him. Akira is leaning over him, his knee on the edge of the bed. Ryo’s brows knit together and he pushes himself up slowly. He’s in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, and Akira is there, and with a rush of heat to his face does he realize it’s Akira’s room. He’s sleeping in his bed.

“Are you going to school?” Akira asks. His voice is gentle. Ryo stares at him dumbly, wanting nothing more than to just flop back down and drag Akira down along with him. “Ryo?”

“No,” Ryo answers curtly. He lies back down. His head hurts and he feels like shit and wants to just sleep more if his body allows it. Maybe he should take his binder off first. “Don’t have anything to change into, anyway.”

“Okay.” Akira is lightly touching his arm. “Are you going to go home?”

“No.” Ryo pauses. “Not yet.”

He doesn’t think he has the courage to just yet. If he’s lucky, the Makimuras will let him stay another night. Except, he’d have to drive home to pick up a change of clothes. Or he could text Jenny and ask her to stop by.

Akira smiles, soft and perhaps a little… sad? Ryo doesn’t really understand. “We’ll be back a little past five. I’ll pick up today’s assignment from class for you. I can get Miki to do that as well.”

“Thanks,” Ryo mumbles. Akira, hesitantly, brings his hand closer to Ryo’s face. Ryo allows it but watches him from the corner of his eye, feeling a bit like he’s being treated like a frightened, injured animal. That isn’t too far off the mark, he supposes. Akira’s hand is smoothing back his hair then and Ryo nearly melts into the touch.

“See you later,” Akira says, voice nearly a whisper.

“See you.”

Then Akira is drawing back, offering another smile, and walking out of the room. The door shuts behind him. Ryo stares at it for a minute or two, his brain still trying to properly process the situation. Yesterday, he had a fight with his dad. His dad cried and apologized for… everything. And Ryo had fled, driven to the Makimura household where he knew he would find Akira.

Miki didn’t mind letting him stay, nor did her family. A friend of Akira’s was a friend of theirs or something.

Now, the next morning, he’s lying in Akira's bed. In Akira’s room. Ryo turns onto his side, squinting at the far wall. One hand smooths out over the sheets. He realizes there’s a fading warmth on that side of the bed. Oh, Akira slept there last night, too. Of course he did, it’s his bed after all. But he slept there. With Ryo. They shared a bed. Ryo’s body burns and he groans in… what he thinks is embarrassment.

The sheets smell like him. It’s simultaneously the best and worst thing. Ryo wishes he ended up in Akira’s bed under better circumstances, though.

Ryo reluctantly rolls himself out of the bed so he can peel his binder off. He finds his backpack next to the bed and digs around inside it to grab his phone charger so he can plug it in. Then he drags himself to the bathroom, returning a minute later to lie back down.

He notes how the room looks a little bare, then he remembers that Akira’s residence here is only temporary until his parents return from work. Ryo assumes he’ll be seeing them again when that happens.

With a sigh, he reaches over to his phone lying on the edge of the bed, doing his best not to unplug the charger as he shoots off a quick text to Jenny.

TO: Jenny

> if you stop by later can you pick up some stuff for me

> like clothes

> and weighted blanket

> and drop them off here

> [ address sent ]

Ryo doesn’t wait for a reply. He just rolls onto his stomach and falls back asleep.

The next time he wakes up, it’s to a text message alert. Ryo feels blindly for his phone, unplugs it, and drags it close to his face. The clock says it’s noon, and his head hurts from sleeping far too much. The text is from Akira and was just sent a minute ago.

FROM: Akira

> you awake?

> i’m at lunch right now i just wanted to check on you

A smile twitches at Ryo’s lips.

TO: Akira

> im fine

> sort of

> thanks

> can i stay another night btw

FROM: Akira

> i think miki would be ok with it.

> let me ask.

Ryo waits patiently for another few seconds.

FROM: Akira

> it’s ok.

TO: Akira

> cool because i already asked jenny to bring some of my clothes over

FROM: Akira

> lmao

> i hope you’re not too bored.

> get something to eat if you haven’t yet. miki’s parents shouldn’t be home right now if you’re worried about having to talk to people

> and i’m going to pick up stuff from your other classes too btw.

> i’ll see you in a few hours.

TO: Akira

> ok

> thanks
> see you

With his phone in his pocket, he creeps out of the room and down the hallway. The house is dead silent save for his footsteps. It’s not difficult to find the kitchen, but he doesn’t have much of an appetite. So he settles on a single piece of toast and chugs a bottle of water.

His phone goes off again.

FROM: Jenny

> On my way there

A half hour later, there’s a knock on the door. Jenny doesn’t say much when she hands the bag of Ryo’s clothes and the folded up blanket, along with his toothbrush, to him, and only nods when he gives a mumbled ‘thanks’. He thinks she might ask him what happened, but she doesn’t. She’s probably got a good idea, anyway.

After heading back upstairs, and after fumbling with the shower until he can figure it out and nearly scrub his skin raw, he sits back down on Akira’s bed. Ryo smooths out the wrinkles in the clean shirt. He doesn’t know what to do now. He could leave for a few hours and come back before Akira and Miki get home, but he also doesn’t have the energy to do much of anything.

But left alone in the silence means all of the memories from last night flood back. He doesn’t want to think about that. His father crying, apologizing over and over, guilt written in every line of his face. Ryo crying and running away to the only other person he knew would let him in.

The partially-opened door creaks and it makes him startle, sitting up so fast he makes himself dizzy, eyes wide with alarm. He doesn’t have a knife on him, it’s still at home, and--

… It’s just a cat. A small black cat that nudges the door open enough that it can squeeze in and pad across the floor. It jumps onto the bed next to Ryo, tail swaying, a loud purr rumbling in its chest. And it curls up right next to him. Ryo tilts his head. He didn’t realize the Makimuras had a cat.

He lies back down, slowly stroking the feline’s spine over and over mindlessly, staring at the wall until his mind goes blank.

The next thing he knows is someone is gently shaking him by the shoulder. He snaps back to reality, blinking in confusion, sitting up and realizing the cat is gone, he’s a little hungry, he really has to pee, and Akira is suddenly there.

“What time is it?” Is the first thing Ryo blurts out.

“Five-thirty,” Akira says, sitting on the edge of the bed and dropping his backpack on the floor.

Ryo curses. The last time he checked the time it was a few minutes past one. Losing time again, something he’s been trying not to do.

“Were you asleep?” Akira asks, leaning over and digging around in his backpack. He pulls out a thin binder and drops it into Ryo’s lap. “Only three of your classes have homework. Lucky.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Ryo mumbles, picking up the binder and flipping it open. Just work from Calculus, Latin, and Euro. He’ll do it later, he thinks as he sets the binder aside, because he’s still trying to come back to reality. Ryo focuses on the feel of the sheets, the patterns of the blanket, Akira’s presence next to him. “I was… I don’t know what I was doing.”

The look Akira gives him is so soft it makes Ryo weak in the knees. He can’t meet it without feeling his cheeks grow hot, but he still feels it on him even when he looks away.

“If you ever want to talk about it,” Akira says gently, “I’m always here to listen.”

Ryo swears he could kiss him. In fact, he almost does. The only thing stopping him is the possibility of it screwing everything up, because why would Akira want that? Why would Akira want him? Selfish, mean, good-for-nothing--

Akira is hugging him again and Ryo’s mind grinds to a halt. He just falls limp in his arms, lips parting with his sharp inhale. Warm, solid, secure. Ryo is only somewhat frustrated, because here Akira is going out of his way to protect him when Ryo wants to be the one protecting Akira. Because Ryo doesn’t know what it’s like to be protected anymore, he forgot how it felt, he spent the past near-decade taking care of himself even if it meant tearing himself apart in the process. It feels strange to be held like this, to be told I’m here, to be extended a hand out of genuine care rather than a sense of obligation. Ryo wants to push him back, hide away, because Akira is already making him feel too many things at once that make his head feel ready to burst.

Instead he leans into the embrace, tucking his head against Akira’s shoulder. And the words just tumble out of his mouth without stopping, everything about the night before, how he ran from his father like a coward and continues to hide now. Ryo can’t stop, keeps talking and talking and talking until Akira puts a hand on the back of his head and tells him to breathe.

Ryo inhales. He doesn’t cry this time, which he’s thankful for.

Akira squeezes him tighter then draws back just a little. Their foreheads touch and a surge of panic rises within him. It’s suddenly terrifying. Ryo can feel Akira’s breath on him, he can practically count each eyelash. Too close too close too close too close too close.

“You’re alright, Ryo,” Akira murmurs. “Trust me.”

I do.

“Okay.”

They part, and Akira stands.

“You should come downstairs for dinner,” he states.

Ryo eyes him warily. “I’m sure I’m already intruding enough.”

“I promise they won’t mind.”

It takes another minute of persuasion and a trip to the bathroom to finally get Ryo to join Akira downstairs. He doesn’t say much, just tucks into his food after prayers are said and ignores the prickling feeling of unease. His appetite isn’t huge right now, but he still finishes his meal for the sake of not offending his hosts. Or, more specifically, because offending them would upset Akira.

He excuses himself early. Back in Akira’s room, he reads over the class notes provided and breezes through the homework without batting an eye. He remembers the school counselor saying something about how with his brain, he might as well be a full-fledged professor at this point. Ryo’s entertained the idea, but he’s not entirely sure he fits the bill. Already, he’s sent off applications to multiple universities, looking more into psychology programs. Whatever happens, happens.

Akira joins him later. In silence, he works on his own school work while Ryo watches from where he sits on the bed. Akira brings his pen to his lips occasionally, Ryo’s eyes tracking the movement. It’s cute how he nibbles on the pen when he’s thinking, or not entirely sure of something. He chases the thought away quickly, instead choosing to focus on his phone, hoping there would be something that would serve as a proper distraction.

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor tonight?” Ryo asks after some time, not looking up. Akira is already putting his things away.

“You can have the bed, Ryo,” Akira says with a smile. “I can take the floor.”

“But it’s your bed,” Ryo states. “If you sleep on any more floors, you’re going to get a bad back, you know.”

“It doesn’t feel right to make you sleep on the floor.”

Ryo crinkles his nose. “Alright. Then we’ll both take the bed.”

“Ryo, are you--”

“Isn’t that what we did last night?” Ryo asks casually.

“Well, yes.”

“Then why is it a problem?” Ryo asks with a huff. He sets his phone aside. But he pauses for a moment, thinking, then rubs his eye with his palm with a sigh. “I mean-- only if you want to.”

“I do,” Akira blurts out, then smacks a hand over his mouth, looking startled by his own reply. Ryo can’t help the smile that’s pulling at his lips. They’re getting too close again, Ryo can feel that fear beginning to surface once more, but he fights it away valiantly. Just for now. Sharing a bed shouldn’t be an issue, right? They’ll only be sleeping. Nothing else. Unfortunately.

Ryo almost slaps himself for that. Not the time!

Despite everything, he’s still a stupid hormonal teenager, and he hates it.

“Then it’s settled,” says Ryo. “Also, I’m going to school tomorrow. I’ll drive you.”

“What-- well, okay. If you’re sure.” Akira looks embarrassed. It makes Ryo a little annoyed, mostly because it’s cute, and he hates that it’s cute because it just makes Ryo fall in love with him a little more and he can’t keep falling in love with him because it’s too close and too scary and--

Breathe.

The spend the next few hours sitting on Akira’s bed, surfing through videos until they eventually get to the low-quality conspiracy theory and alien sighting and darknet videos you only find when you’re on YouTube a little too long.

When it comes time to sleep, after they’ve brushed their teeth and changed, Ryo rolls himself up in the weighted blanket on one side of the bed. He feels the bed dip beneath Akira’s weight when he climbs in, and infuriatingly enough Akira keeps a distance between them. Maybe that’s a good thing, though. Any closer and Ryo might do something a little impulsive and incredibly stupid.

“Feeling any better?” Akira asks, voice soft. Ryo feels fingers lightly brush against the nape of his neck and he has to suppress a shiver.

“I don’t know,” Ryo grumbles into the pillow. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

---

When he wakes up at five in the morning he does his best to pretend he didn’t find himself clinging to a snoring Akira with all four limbs.

This is bad.

---

“Thanks for driving us,” Miki says from the backseat. Ryo’s eyes flicker to her through the rearview mirror, then turn back to the road. It’s almost seven o’clock in the evening on a Friday night. Tonight, they’re going to Miko Kuroda’s house for a-- movie night. It’s no secret that Ryo had been hesitant to join. He thinks, if it weren’t for Akira, he would have declined the offer entirely.

“Of course,” he responds casually.

“It’s easier than having Miko come pick us up,” Akira says from the passenger’s seat, hauling his bag from the floor into his lap. Ryo hums in agreement.

Tonight, it’s possible it will be his fourth night away from home. If they really do stay at Miko’s home overnight, but even if they don’t Ryo figures he’ll spend one more night at the Makimura’s. Akira’s parents are returning home tomorrow evening, meaning Ryo would have no excuse to remain in the Makimura household. Meaning Ryo will have to return home.

He shoves that thought aside for now. As they grow closer to their destination, Ryo reaches over to shut the GPS app off, allowing Miki and Akira to direct him the rest of the way until they pull into a nice little neighborhood.

Ryo pulls up to the curb and parks, shutting the ignition off and following Akira and Miki up to the home. A nice house in a wealthy neighborhood. Akira rings the doorbell while Ryo scans the outside of the house. A little plain, despite the obvious amount of money that was spent on it. He adjusts his bag over his shoulder. It’s heavy due to his clothes and the weighted blanket he had shoved inside.

The door opens a tad. Then it swings open entirely, revealing Miko standing there in sweatpants and a cat-print sweater.

“Thank God you’re here. Wamu and Gabi and Kukun got here before you, I really cannot deal with them on my own,” she sighs, relieved. Miko steps aside for them to file in and Ryo catches her eye briefly. “My aunt doesn’t care what we do as long as we don’t go anywhere but the kitchen or basement. Y’know, the usual.”

They follow Miko around the corner, into the kitchen, and to a door leading downstairs into the basement. Ryo can already hear the television and three separate voices. He inhales, braces himself, considers reaching forward to touch Akira’s elbow but decides against it and instead shoves his hands into his pockets.

It’s a finished basement, looking like it doubles as another living room-slash-bedroom. There is a sofa and beanbags tossed onto the floor, a television set up on the wall and a few gaming systems plugged in, a wide coffee table, and a shelf with a vast array of films. Wamu and Gabi are in the middle of a very heated game of Mario Kart while Kukun serves as a mediator to stop them from killing each other. They don’t even look up until Miko marches over and shuts the Switch off, smiling sweetly when both Wamu and Gabi groan and toss the controllers down.

“Hey, you break those, you’re buying new ones,” Miko warns.

“Maybe don’t shut off the game when--” Wamu shuts his mouth immediately upon seeing Miko’s fierce stare. “Sorry.”

“I’m gonna go grab some stuff from the kitchen. Akira, come help,” Miko orders simply. “Ryo, Miki, make yourselves at home.”

“Gotcha.” Miki immediately drops her bag and flops down onto one of the free beanbags. Ryo perches himself on the sofa, watching Gabi crawl back toward the television and turn the Switch back on.

Before they resume their game, Wamu glances over his shoulder to where Ryo sits. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up. Wow.”

Ryo smiles dryly. “What can I say, I’m full of surprises.”

“Looks like it.” Wamu stretches his legs out.

“You ever played Mario Kart?” Gabi asks.

“No,” Ryo responds.

“You want to?”

“I think you should,” Miki states. Ryo briefly meets her eyes, then glances away awkwardly. Admittedly, he’s still not sure what to think of her. She and her family have been letting him stay in their home, even if they’re not entirely aware why he is in the first place. Ryo still feels a prickle of jealousy whenever he sees her, but it’s not as unbearable as it used to be. She’s been nothing but welcoming with him.

“Maybe,” Ryo hums.

“Unless he’s scared of getting his ass kicked,” Wamu laughs.

And that petty, competitive part rises up in him. All over a stupid video game. But Ryo’s not one to back down from a challenge. Immediately, he’s moving from the sofa to the floor in between where Gabi and Wamu sit. “Give me a controller.”

Wamu looks surprised, like he wasn’t actually expecting Ryo to take the bait. He shares a look with Gabi.

“Give him a controller,” Kukun says.

“Okay, here.” Gabi hands his controller over. Ryo familiarizes himself with the controls while Wamu rambles on about what button does what and how the game works.

“I think I’ve got it,” Ryo says curtly, cutting Wamu off mid-explanation. “Let’s start, then.”

In less than five minutes, Wamu is getting his ass mercilessly handed to him. He almost throws his controller again in frustration and Ryo smiles, smug. The game ends just as Miko and Akira are returning downstairs.

“You sure you haven’t played before?” Gabi asks.

“Positive.” Ryo sets the controller aside.

“Wow, you let a newbie beat you in Mario Kart,” Miko snickers. She and Akira drop bags of crap food and box of soda onto the coffee table. “Anyway, here, cavity central.”

Miko grabs two six-packs of beer and shoves them into the mini fridge.

“How do you even buy those legally?” Gabi asks.

“I don’t,” Miko replies. “The owner likes me.”

“That’s a little creepy.” Akira shudders, grabbing a bag of kettle corn and making his way across the room to sit on the sofa.

“Yeah, but at least I can use it to my advantage,” Miko grabs a bottle for herself and cracks it open.

“If he tries anything, I’ll beat his ass,” Miki threatens.

Miko pauses. Ryo can see something flicker in her eyes, the brief moment where her face softens, and it’s not unlike the look he saw in the middle of the cafeteria. He glances away and pushes himself up to his feet, grabbing a beer just before the fridge door closes and settling down next to Akira on the sofa.

“Okay kids,” Miko begins, closing the game and shutting off the console yet again. “What’re we in the mood for tonight? Akira, if you say The Room, I’m kicking you out.”

“It’s a cinematic masterpiece,” Akira states, leaning over the open the box of soda and grab a can. Kukun takes it upon himself to put the rest of the cans in the fridge along with the beer.

“Why not let the new guy pick?” Wamu suggests, his head lolling back to get an upside-down view of Ryo on the sofa behind him. Ryo blinks, brows raising. “I got dibs on the next one, though.”

“No, dude, your taste sucks,” Gabi snorts.

“You’d know a lot about sucking, huh?” Wamu snickers and Gabi nearly lunges at him. Miko catches him by the back of his hoodie before he can. She rolls her eyes.

“Ryo, you wanna pick?” Miko asks, releasing Gabi and nodding to the shelf of DVDs. “If nothing there interests you, we have Netflix, too.”

Ryo glances at the shelf packed with DVDs, considering it for a moment with pursed lips. He doesn’t respond, just slips off of the sofa and walks over to it, poking through the selection. Truthfully, he’s not even thinking about what the others might want to watch. They gave him the power to choose, so they’ll have to deal with whatever he wants. And he’s kind of evil, so that means he can choose a shitty movie and they can’t complain about it at all.

In the end, he picks some horror movie he’s never heard of and hands it over to Miko, who gives him a look, before sitting back down on the sofa. He cracks open the beer, leaning back and stretching his legs out to put his feet on the table.

Miko shuts the lights off and settles down in a bean bag next to Miki as the movie starts.

At some point, Ryo finds himself with his weighted blanket draped over his head, slightly buzzed, wide eyes focused on the television screen. The movie is blood and guts, to be expected, but surprisingly has a decent storyline. Akira jolts beside him multiple times and Ryo has to bite back laughter each time. Of course he would find it scary.

His thoughts stutter when Akira’s hand suddenly grabs his in an almost crushing grip. It’s warm and bigger than his, the skin just a little rough from what Ryo can assume is his weight training class at school. One he’s kind of tempted to sit in on one day, it’s the same period as his painting class, only he has a free period the days Akira has his class.

… Anyway.

Ryo blinks down at their hands. Akira gives him a little squeeze occasionally, and Ryo is starting to have a hard time focusing on the movie. He wonders if Akira even meant to take his hand and if he’s even aware of it right now. Ryo wiggles his fingers. The movement seems to be enough to make Akira notice and he pulls his hand away with a flustered, whispered ‘sorry’.

Damn it.

As tempting as it is, Ryo doesn’t reach over to grab his hand again. What he does do is adjust his blanket so it’s draped over them both. Akira gives him a sidelong glance and a little smile. Ryo doesn’t know what he’s doing at this point, only that he knows he’s being stupid and bold and he wants to close himself off again, because he’s getting too open and too vulnerable and showing too much.

Ryo draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He tucks his face into them, enough that he can still see the television screen.

They sit like that for most of the night, outside of bathroom breaks between movies. It’s nearing two in the morning when the final movie comes to a finish. Miki is already curled up on a bean bag, out like a light, with Miko putting a blanket over her. Wamu looks ready to pass out, too, and Gabi is finishing off one more beer and mentions something about taking a leak as he stands and staggers to the basement bathroom. Kukun is setting up a sleeping bag.

Ryo’s stayed up much later than this before, he’s gone days without sleep. But the amount of social interaction, the warmth of the basement, the comfort of the blanket, and Akira next to him has him ready to fall asleep.

“Just a minute,” he mumbles, shedding the blanket and hopping off of the couch. He digs out his box of cigarettes and lighter then makes a beeline for the back door out into the yard. The night is chilly, the concrete is cold underneath his feet. He lights the cigarette behind his hand. It tastes like shit, as it usually does, and he briefly wonders why he hasn’t tried to quit yet.

Cheaper than meds.

He looks up to the stars, glances at the still-open back door and the group of friends moving around inside, settling down for the rest of the night. It’s strange, being here. Tonight was strange in general. Invited to join a group of longtime friends for something they apparently do regularly, watching them bicker and banter and treat each other like a family might. It’s not what Ryo is used to. After he left, his “friends” were often older children and teenagers that taught him how to fight, steal, shoot a gun and wield a knife, run from authorities. That introduced him to drugs and alcohol. That left him behind when they got bored. They never cared about him, and he never cared about them.

To be among people that would obviously do anything for each other-- it fills him with… he can’t recognize the emotion. But it’s warm and it causes the slightest hint of a smile to pull at his lips.

Ryo crushes the dying cigarette into the ashtray hanging from the eaves and walks back in. Wamu, Gabi, and Kukun have fallen asleep. Akira is already snoring from where he’s laid down on the plush rug. The only other person left awake outside of himself is Miko, who is gathering trash.

He doesn’t know what makes him do it, but he walks over and begins to assist her, shoving trash into the open bag wordlessly. She looks up, a flicker of surprise crossing over her face, but it’s replaced by a slight smile as she goes back to picking up candy wrappers from the floor. Ryo ties the bag shut and Miko is picking up the leftover snacks to take upstairs.

When she reaches over to take the trash bag from him she pauses, then pulls her hand back.

“Hey, come with me,” she says, voice low enough to not wake up anyone.

Ryo peers at her suspiciously. She rolls her eyes.

“Just help me get this stuff upstairs, jeez.” Miko flicks her head towards the stairs, shoves one of the bags into Ryo’s other hand, then turns and walks off. Ryo just follows right after, figuring there’s no reason to argue and that she wouldn’t take no for an answer anyway. The kitchen light is still on. Ryo shoves the trash bag into the garbage bin while Miko begins putting the leftover snacks into the cupboards. He does the same, both of them silent for some time, the only sound the rustling of plastic.

“You like him, right?” Miko suddenly says. It catches Ryo so off guard that he almost drops three cans of Pringles onto the kitchen floor.

“What?” He’s stiff, his shoulders tense, making an attempt to close himself off.

“Akira.” She isn’t looking at him. “You like him. It’s kind of obvious.”

Ryo opens his mouth to protest but realizes he has no way to argue against it, because she’s already figured him out, he’s already somehow given himself away. It’s kind of obvious. That makes him grimace. Does that mean others know? Fuck, that’s embarrassing.

“Is it?” There’s a surge of anxiety, one he quickly crushes down.

“Well, maybe not to him.” Miko closes the cupboard doors carefully. “But, yeah. Everyone else noticed.”

“Huh.” He’s crumpling up a paper bag into a ball. “I see.”

“Miki mentioned it the other day. ‘I think Ryo likes Akira.’ It made me laugh. ‘Cus she can tell when someone likes someone else, but can’t even tell when someone likes her.”

Open. Too open. Getting too close.

“Tell her,” he says suddenly. “If you like her. Tell her. Nothing comes from sitting around.”

“Take your own advice, dude,” Miko huffs. “It’s annoying to watch you two make goo-goo eyes at each other and not do anything about it.”

“‘You two’?”

“You’re both so fucking stupid, holy shit. Pining over each other but thinking it’s not reciprocated.” Miko turns and leans back against the counter, folding her arms over her chest and staring him down. Ryo meets her gaze without flinching.

Akira, liking Ryo the way Ryo likes him? It sounds so fucking ridiculous, and despite her words, he isn’t about to get his hopes up. Or he’ll try not to. Akira is kind and gentle, he’s Ryo’s best friend, but that doesn’t mean…

“I think you’re confused,” he finally says. “In what world would he be interested in me?”

“This one,” Miko replies.

There’s a stretch of silence. “Forget it. Let’s go to sleep.”

Ryo just nods and follows her back down into the basement. He claims the couch, cocooning himself in the blanket. Before he falls asleep, he stares at the outline of Akira’s sleeping form in the dark. His back is to Ryo, his side rising and falling with each breath.

Don’t get your hopes up.

Ryo pulls the blanket over his head and falls asleep only a moment after he closes his eyes.

---

“You couldn’t just let them take the train all the way back?” Ryo mutters. It’s nearing six in the evening, he and Akira currently sitting in his car in parking lot of the Saratoga Springs train station. A good nearly three hours away from home. Akira had made an agreement with his parents to meet them here after convincing Ryo to drive him, just to shave off a few hours of an otherwise boring and exhausting train ride after seven hours on a plane. They’ll have already left the airport and should arrive soon. “Why couldn’t they land in a different airport? One that isn’t… eight hours away, by train. Isn’t that even longer than their plane ride?”

“Heathrow didn’t have any flights into Plattsburgh,” Akira says simply. “So it was JFK or LaGuardia.”

Ryo grumbles. He was also explicitly told not to smoke when his parents arrived and the entirety of the car ride back, which will only make him grumpier than he already is. He’s still tired from the night before, still drained from the amount of social interaction, and the moment they left Miko’s they stopped for lunch, then immediately began their drive down.

Reaching over, he turns his music up a little more.

Akira’s phone begins to ring. Instantly, he’s unlocking it to answer. “Hello, mom?” He switches into Japanese so easily. Ryo stares out of the window, letting Akira’s voice fade into the background with the music. He hears Akira mention ‘Ryo drove me here, you can meet him, too!’ and has to bite back a snort. At some point, Akira finally hangs up.

“They’re only ten minutes away,” he says, bringing Ryo back to reality. Akira’s eyes are shining, and he’s practically buzzing with excitement. Ryo can’t help but soften up at the sight. Akira had told him that they’ve been gone for four months, moving around England for their teaching jobs, and hopefully they’ll remain in Lonwick until Akira graduates. There’s a little prickle of jealousy that he instantly chases away. Ryo is happy Akira still has two parents that love him, no matter how far away they may be sometimes. He just… kind of envies him is all.

“I’m going to get one more smoke in, then,” Ryo states, opening the car door and stepping out. He stands a ways from the car to keep the stench of tobacco out of it, watching cars pass by on the main road.

Distantly, he wonders what Akira’s parents will think of him now. They had treated him like family all those years ago, and he spent just as much time in Akira’s home than he did in his own. Kaori and Reijiro Fudo were kind, just like their son, but very much unlike Ryo. He’s not exactly excited for them to see how ten years have shaped him. But something tells him they would accept him regardless.

Ugh. He crushes the rest of his cigarette beneath his heel. The early October chill nips at him. The weather is changing rapidly, winter already closing in. He’s not used to it anymore, squaring his shoulders and shoving his nose into the collar of his coat.

“Ryo!” Akira practically falls out of the car in his excitement. Ryo flinches when he shuts the door a little too hard, underestimating his own strength. As usual. “That’s them!”

There’s a train pulling up to the station. The doors open, and they only get a glimpse of the passengers filing out. Ryo looks back at Akira, then to the station.

“Do you want to go inside?” He asks despite already knowing the answer, walking back to the car and leaning in to turn the ignition off and pull his keys out. Then he shuts the door with a lot more care than Akira.

“Yes.” Akira smiles wide at him. Warmth blooms in his chest and he has to look away fast. “Come on.”

Ryo follows Akira wordlessly across the parking lot and to the doors of the station. They’re only inside for half a minute before a woman cries ‘Akira!’ and is suddenly barreling into Akira, wrapping him in a tight hug. A tall man is following behind her, picking up the suitcase she dropped in her rush.

They don’t look too much different from when Ryo last saw them. It hardly looks as though they’ve aged, and if Ryo remembers correctly, neither of them have even hit forty yet. The only sign of their aging is the few lines etched here and there into their faces. They both still have their happy demeanors, their shining eyes. Akira still looks so much like his mother but has his father’s smile.

Akira laughs, returning the embrace and lifting her off the ground in the process. “Mom! How was your flight? The train?”

“Oh, they were certainly eventful. Ah, Akira-- it’s only been four months, but I swear you've grown even bigger! You must be as tall as your father now.” Kaori pats Akira’s shoulders, beaming.

And Reijiro lets go of the suitcases once Kaori releases Akira and drags his son into another hug, patting him on the back. “It looks like he is! You look good, Akira.”

“There’s a lot to catch up on,” Kaori states, bending over to pick up her suitcase, fixing her bag over her shoulder. “And didn’t you say that-- Ryo!”

And Ryo, who had been hanging back and remaining quiet, startles. She approaches him quickly but stops two feet away. “Look at you-- so grown up… may I hug you?”

She remembers. The touching thing. How he often shied away from physical contact unless it was from his mother or from Akira. How he wanted people to ask before they hugged him. She remembers, and that warmth bubbles up again.

“Yes, you may.” He hopes his Japanese doesn’t sound too rusty. He hardly uses it outside of with his father, and their conversations are few and far between in the first place. But she steps forward and hugs him, warm and gentle, and his throat tightens and he really doesn’t want to cry just because of this. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Ryo returns the hug.

“You’re so handsome now, Ryo,” Kaori says, drawing back just a little to look up at him. “I always knew you would be. You look so much like--” She stops mid-thought, looking briefly apologetic. Ryo ignores the slip-up.

“There’s a lot to catch up on,” Akira says. “Are you both hungry?”

“Starving,” Reijiro replies.

“I’ll find somewhere for us to eat,” Ryo offers.

“Thank you so much, Ryo. Taking time to drive all the way out here. I don’t think I could have stood to stay another three hours on that train,” Kaori laughs. “We’ll pay for dinner, you’ve already done enough.”

Ryo blinks, opens his mouth like he wants to protest, but then only nods.

They make their way outside to Ryo’s car, helping Akira’s parents load their things into the trunk then slipping in. Akira still in the passenger’s side, his parents in the back. They chatter on and on about how their trip back was, everything that happened while they were in England, how they felt guilty for not contacting Akira much the months they were gone.

Briefly, they stop for dinner at an Italian place and then begin the three-hour drive back home after Ryo refills the gas. Ryo is silent through most of it, only speaking when spoken to.

“How is your father, Ryo?” Reijiro eventually asks. Ryo knew it was an inevitable question, he couldn’t avoid it.

“He could be better,” he replies.

“Maybe you two could help him out of his shell,” Akira suggests. “I think it would be good for him.”

“Masaru was hardly an introvert. Hopefully, that won’t be too hard.”

Ryo falls silent again. He knows his father wouldn’t be entirely against the idea of meeting the pair again. Akira had already brought it up with him directly, to which he only replied with a ‘maybe’. But at the same time, even if his father wanted to, he still might not.

… He doesn’t want to think about his father. Tonight, he’ll be going back home. Both he and Akira need to stop by the Makimura’s to gather their things and Ryo will drop the Fudos off at their own home. Then he’ll have to drive back to the mansion and hope he won’t have to face his father again just yet.

The subject eventually changes and Ryo focuses on the road and the music instead of whatever conversation is at hand.

By the end of the night, after they arrive back in Lonwick, after he and Akira have picked up their belongings and Akira has said goodbye to the Makimuras and thanked them for letting him stay over again, after he drives them back to a house that is so strange yet so familiar. It’s been kept tidy and watched over while Akira was living with the Makimuras and his parents were out of the country, with Akira occasionally stopping by to make sure everything was still in order.

“I’ll see you on Monday?” Akira asks at the front door.

“Yeah,” Ryo says. “I’ll see you.”

“Thanks a lot for today.” Akira scratches his cheek. “I mean it.”

“Of course, Akira.” Ryo can’t help his slight smile. Sure, he had complained about the drive. It was exhausting and was sprung on him out of the blue. Had it been anyone else, Ryo would have turned them down without hesitation, but as usual, well, Akira is the exception. “Get some rest.”

“You, too. And-- you should stop by soon. My parents would love to have you.” Akira shifts his weight from one foot to the other, pushing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “If you want, at least.”

“I’ll think about it.” Which, for anyone else, means ‘no’, but for Akira means, ‘definitely’. Akira smiles, relieved.

“Alright. I’ll see you, then.” But he doesn’t budge, their eyes meeting again for a long stretch of silence, as if they’re both waiting for the other to do something-- anything. Embarrassment crosses over Akira’s face suddenly, and he finally moves to the open doorway. “Good night.”

Ryo tilts his head to the side, biting back a sigh of disappointment. “Good night, Akira.”

---

October goes by with little issue. He only speaks to his father a total of five times, but it’s brief, and neither of them brings up what had happened that one night. Akira still visits frequently, of course, bringing his parents along twice so they could keep his father some company, and Ryo visits the Fudo’s home twice that month, the second being Halloween, when Akira convinced him to help with handing out candy. There was supposed to be a Halloween party at some kid’s house, but neither had any interest.

Now it’s the evening of November 4th, a Friday, and tomorrow Ryo turns eighteen.

He’s-- well, he’s sort of looking forward to it, and sort of not. Akira is taking him to a traveling carnival that’s been coming by once a year the past few years, located in the fairgrounds half an hour out of town. But Ryo hasn’t done anything for his birthday in years, and as usual his father won’t acknowledge it either.

Or, well, so he thought.

Because his father knocks on his bedroom door that night and doesn’t say a word, just presents him with a neatly-wrapped box that Ryo takes almost reluctantly, eyeing him suspiciously. Neither speaks, Ryo only nods, then shuts the door.

It’s a CD, the ‘70s greatest hits, and there’s a note along with it. Ryo recognizes his father’s messy scrawl immediately.

It isn’t much, I’m sure you already have most of these songs, but I didn’t want to not give you something for your eighteenth.

Eighteen may not feel too different, but you are officially an adult in many peoples’ eyes. It’s only the beginning of your journey. But I know you don’t want to sit through my preaching or any life advice.

Happy birthday, Ryo.

                           - Love, Dad

Ryo sets the CD on his desk and tucks the note beneath his pillow.

He feels weird.

He sleeps, but it is dreamless.

---

“There it is,” Akira says, gesturing to the golden and neon lights of carnival rides and tents through the windshield. They’re brighter in the night, which has begun to arrive earlier since yesterday. Ryo snickers a little.

“I can see it, Akira. I just need to find a place to park.”

“I meant it when I said I’ll pay for admission, by the way,” Akira says, and even if Ryo wants to argue, he doesn’t bother. He knows it bothers Akira how much money he spends on him, even though he has enough to be set for the rest of his life. Besides it’s… Ryo’s birthday, he supposes it makes sense for Akira to be the one paying, especially since Akira is taking him out.

… That just makes it sound like this is a date. It’s not a date, he tells himself with heat creeping up his neck.

It takes five minutes, but Ryo finally manages to squeeze into an available parking space.

The air is chilly, it makes Ryo tug his jacket tighter around him, nosing into the scarf (Akira had gifted it to him earlier, big and blue and soft) around his neck and shoving his hands into his pockets. It will be warmer once they’re around the other carnival-goers, he knows, but he only hopes that he won’t get too overwhelmed.

He’s noticed, however, that when Akira is close by, he’s able to brush off the feelings of unease and discomfort. Akira trots up to his side as they walk towards the entrance, their shoulders brushing, and Ryo looks up at him to see him smiling wide down at him, eyes glittering.

Well, Ryo can’t say he’s not excited either, even if he’s not making it obvious. It’s new and strange, but… it won’t be awful, he thinks, not when Akira is there. And maybe when they enter, he’ll be able to open up, to be more visibly excited. Akira pays at the front booth, they both get neon green wristbands slapped onto them, and then they’re walking in.

The bright lights make it hard to see the stars, they light up the night which is still so young. The crowd bustles around them, people from Lonwick and from other nearby towns and cities. It’s busy, there are voices and laughter and loud music. Ryo holds his breath, counts to ten, tries to get his thoughts together and slow his rapidly beating heart.

Akira touches his arm and Ryo releases all the air he had been holding, tension slipping from his shoulders just because of that small touch. A comforting gesture, a silent ‘don’t worry, I’m here’ . He appreciates it more than Akira knows.

Ryo takes it upon himself to be the one to buy an extremely generous amount of carnival tickets for them both, even when Akira tries to protest. Ryo just gives him a smug little smirk.

“Where to first, then?” Akira asks. “It’s your birthday, so you choose.”

He scans their current surroundings, rises onto his toes to look over the sea of people. They already ate before coming here, so he’ll have to hold off on the carnival food for the time being. Then he just shrugs, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and begins walking in the first direction his feet decide to take him.

“I’ll decide when I see it,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Akira who follows him quickly. They agreed to stay close together, and to meet at the Ferris wheel should they accidentally get separated. Ryo tries not to think much of it when Akira manages to coax one hand from his pocket so he can hold onto it. Warm. A little distracting. But Ryo doesn’t pull away.

For the first half an hour, they just walk, familiarizing themselves with their surroundings, taking in the music playing loudly, before Ryo decides on what to do first.

He settles on the Kamikaze pendulum ride first, practically dragging Akira over to the steadily growing line. By the time the next group of passengers is leaving, they are the first in line, and Ryo immediately takes a spot near one end of the two gondolas, Akira squeezing into the second seat beside him.

“I haven’t been on one of these in a while,” Akira says as he pulls the harness tight and secure.

“I haven’t been on one of these ever,” Ryo responds.

“Try not to have a heart attack,” Akira teases, reaching over to touch his arm again. “And don’t make fun of me when I scream.”

“No promises.”

In the end, they both stumble off of the ride with their eyes wide and hair a mess, breathless and laughing, still trembling from adrenaline. Akira has little tears in his eyes and his voice sounds somewhat hoarse from his yelling, and that only makes Ryo laugh even more. He himself didn’t scream, at least, but he felt like he was going to rip the lock bar out of place with how tight he had been holding it.

Akira reaches over and smooths Ryo’s hair out, then proceeds to ruffle it up again with both hands. Ryo ducks away and gives Akira a dirty look, eyes narrowing and nose wrinkling, and Akira just laughs at him.

Ryo hates being laughed at, but Akira is always the exception to everything.

They go to the drop tower next, then the Gravitron, and by this point Ryo has already realized that yes, he is genuinely having fun, genuinely enjoying himself. It’s like that day at the arcade, only better, and Akira is laughing so much and it’s such a sweet sound that he can’t get enough of, it’s contagious, has Ryo nearly cackling before, during, and after each ride.

Two hours in, at eight o’clock, they stop at a food stand, settling down at one of the picnic tables set up. Akira pulls out his phone, smiling a bit at a message waiting for him.

“Miki says she hopes we’re having fun,” he states, and Ryo looks up from shoving a funnel cake into his mouth, blinking. “And to tell you happy birthday.”

Miki… as much as he hates to admit it, he’s grown begrudgingly fond of her. The more time he spends with her and the rest of Akira’s friends (who, well, he guesses are his friends now, too), the more he comes to like her. It’s kind of hard not to, which is kind of irritating. But he doesn’t feel stupid jealousy when he sees her now or whenever she’s mentioned.

“Thanks,” he says around his mouthful. Ryo swallows and wipes the powdered sugar from his lips with a napkin. Then he’s suddenly being tugged against Akira’s side by a hand on his arm, squawking in surprise, and Akira is holding his phone up to snap a picture of him both which he sends to Miki before Ryo can even try to grab the phone out of his hand.

Akira laughs again, dragging Ryo into a hug that Ryo immediately melts into, much to his chagrin.

“Done eating?” Akira asks. He’s already finished that ridiculously large turkey leg he bought, along with two funnel cakes, because his stomach is a bottomless pit. Ryo’s only just finished the one funnel cake he bought.

“Yeah,” Ryo says, wiping his hands on the napkin and standing up. Akira follows after him as he goes to throw is trash out, then back among the crowd of people.

They just walk again for a bit, letting the food settle, letting themselves relax before jumping into anything else too exciting. Ryo is content, he realizes. Warm and content, not overwhelmed and uncomfortable. His first birthday in a long time where he’s done something besides sit and get cross-faded out of his mind. His first birthday in a long time where he wasn’t alone.

Akira is suddenly tugging him aside, towards a high striker that blinks gold and red. Akira is already paying to play. It’s a strength test game, of course Akira would want to play-- because he’s more likely to win. The operator gives Akira a look, because they more than likely are thinking the same thing as Ryo.

So, yes, there’s no surprise when Akira brings the mallet down and the puck flies up to the very top and rings the bell. The operator gives their practiced congratulations, stepping aside to allow Akira to choose his prize.

And then Ryo has an armful of a giant dinosaur plush. Akira is grinning wide down at him.

This is probably Akira trying to repay him for that time in the arcade, he thinks. But he looks down at the plush, a tyrannosaurus rex, and there’s a lump in his throat. He’s since moved on from that special interest, but nostalgia swells in his chest. Ryo hugs it tighter.

“Akira, I--” Ryo clears his throat, inhales, trying to remain nonchalant. Trying. Akira can probably see right through him. “Thanks.”

Akira swings an arm around his shoulders. “You’re welcome, Ryo.”

They don’t plan to go on anymore rides for the rest of the night, instead stopping a few times at a few game booths (Akira doesn’t ask how Ryo has such good aim when he does darts or when they do the water gun race, thankfully) and pause to watch clowns and actors offer entertainment.

Ryo, after a while, figures they should be leaving soon, except Akira is pointing to the carousel with a smile and… Ryo wishes he could say no to that smile.

“Okay,” he says, allowing Akira to lead him to it.

When they’re allowed on, Ryo sits down on the dragon, the dinosaur plush still held close to his front with one arm while he holds onto the pole with his other hand. He expects Akira to sit down next to the black horse next to him, and…

Definitely not sit down on the dragon, too. Right behind him. Extremely close, pressed up against Ryo’s back. Ryo tenses. He can feel Akira’s heartbeat, he’s surrounded by the warmth of him, and it’s somehow much different than any hug they’ve shared.

“Is this okay?” Akira murmurs, his hands sliding around Ryo’s waist. Fuck, his mind is about to go into overdrive, he should tell Akira to back off, he should--

“Yes, it’s okay.” Ryo closes his eyes, breathes in, and leans back against Akira’s chest. Wind brushes through his hair as the carousel moves, Akira’s breath is close to his ear, their bodies fit together perfectly. There’s the smell of carnival food, the sound of nearby rides, the voices of other carnival-goers, music still playing from nearby.

Akira’s arm’s wrap around Ryo’s waist snugly. “How’s your birthday?” He asks, voice close to Ryo’s ear, playful.

Ryo cracks one eye open, smirking. “Well, it’s not half bad. The food could have been better.”

Akira snickers.

“But I had good company, at least,” Ryo continues, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Happy birthday,” he hears Akira whisper. The smirk turns into a smile.

“Thank you, Akira.”

The carousel finally slows and eventually comes to a stop. They part, much to Ryo’s disappointment, because he suddenly feels very cold. Very cold, and very tired. He’s ready to go home and sleep. He wonders if Akira would let him stay over tonight, so he won’t have to drive the half hour back to Lonwick and then another half hour to his own home.

“Let’s call it a night,” Ryo says, and Akira just nods and smiles. They walk in comfortable silence, Akira walking a bit closer than he had for most of the night, leaving the carnival behind and out into the parking lot. They remain silent until Ryo unlocks the car and they slip inside.

Ryo turns the ignition on but doesn’t pull out from the parking spot yet, choosing instead to peer up at the sky through the windshield, then turning his attention to a hill a little ways away that overlooks the fairgrounds.

“Actually…” Ryo kneads his bottom lip with his teeth. “I want to watch the stars.” Like we did when we were kids.

Akira glances at him, tilts his head, then grins. “Sure.”

Ryo pulls out of the space, and out of the parking lot, back onto the main road, where he drives for a minute or two before making a sudden turn into the grass and through an opening in the trees, to stop at that hilltop and put the car in park. He keeps his phone plugged into the radio, letting the music play as he gets out of the car and climbs up onto the hood. Akira settles down next to him, close enough to touch, but the few centimeters between them feels like a yawning gap. Ryo doesn’t close the tiny distance.

“Does anybody know how many stars there are yet?” Akira asks.

“Of course not,” Ryo says. He stares up at the night sky, past the golden glow of the carnival. “You know, the ones we see now? Most of them are already dead or dying. It just takes thousands, millions of years for their light to reach us.”

Akira is watching him more than he’s watching the stars, head tilted and expression unreadable.

“Novae, supernovae, black holes. Constantly caving in, fading out, but then new ones are always being born to take their place. Kind of like people.” Ryo pauses, then laughs awkwardly. “I guess.”

“No, you’re right,” Akira says. Their shoulders are touching suddenly. Ryo looks away from the sky, up to Akira’s face, then he quickly turns his attention back to the sky. “Except not everyone’s life ends in some catastrophic cosmic explosion.”

“No one’s life does. Or we’d all be dead,” Ryo jokes.

“But every star is unique, right? Like people. Everyone is different.” Akira cranes his neck back, smiling to himself. “You know, when we were little, I thought you were a star.”

Ryo stares at him, not sure what to say. This is new to him, and he isn’t sure how it makes him feel. That warmth has returned to his chest. He tears his gaze away. “Is that so.”

“I’m still not entirely convinced that you’re not.” Akira stretches his legs out. He laughs. “The brightest star ever. Not like any of them, and not like anyone else.”

Ryo can’t take this anymore.

He presses one palm to the hood of his car, turning his torso enough that he can face Akira and cradle his jaw with his free hand. Akira looks confused, to put it simply. Maybe even a little curious. But he’s not pulling away, not even when Ryo runs his thumb over his bottom lip, not even when Ryo leans in just a little closer. The sound of crickets chirping, the carnival far below, and the music from within his car muffled beneath the beating of his heart.

“Akira, I really…” Ryo swallows. “I really--”

“--I really want to kiss you, Ryo,” Akira breathes. Taking the words right out of Ryo’s mouth. Ryo’s brain stops functioning for a whole five seconds, mouth agape and eyes wide, the pinkness in his cheeks no longer just from the cool night air.

Akira looks embarrassed, unsure. It’s endearing. One of his hands is taking a gentle hold of Ryo’s arm, running down the length of it until it rests on Ryo’s hand pressed against the cool metal of the car. The touch makes his skin feel like it’s on fire, even through the layer of his jacket.

“Then why don’t you?” Ryo’s voice is barely above a whisper.

Akira’s other hand is coming up to his cheek. “Can I?”

“Please.”

And when Akira leans in and kisses him it’s so sweet and full of so much tenderness that Ryo thinks his heart may burst and that he may cry. The way Akira moves his hand from his cheek to cradle the back of his head. The way his lips feel, soft and tasting like sugary carnival food. How Ryo feels himself being drawn a little closer and how he goes along with it willingly.

They part after what felt like a century, and Ryo can only wish that moment would last a century. They stare at each other, wide-eyed, at loss for words because what is there to say after that? Ryo tries to find words, tries to say something, but Akira is crowding into his space again.

Their lips meet again, and again, little kisses in quick succession. Clumsy and inexperienced from both sides, but eager and sweet all the same.

Akira murmurs between each, “I’ve really--” kiss, “--been wanting--” a light brush of teeth over Ryo’s bottom lip, “--to do that or a while.”

“Me too,” Ryo says, breathless.

And then Akira kisses him long and deep, drawing a soft noise out of Ryo that only spurs him on. Ryo relishes in it, Akira’s hands on him, their inexperienced mouths meeting again and again until they begin to grow familiar with the shape, taste, feel of one another’s lips. How to turn their heads. What their tongues taste like. Until the only air they breathe is from each other’s mouths.

Ryo pulls away first this time, because he feels an irritating wetness clinging to his lashes. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve, but the tears pool back up immediately after.

“You’re crying?” Akira says softly. There’s a smile on his face, so sweet and so happy and it takes all of Ryo’s self-restraint not to dive back in for another kiss. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one who cries over everything?”

Ryo sniffs, then laughs when Akira leans forward to pepper kisses all over his face. Both arms wind around his neck when his lips move to Ryo’s jaw, down his pulse, and Ryo continues to laugh, so hard that he starts to cry all over again.

This is real. This is real.

They are real.

---

The word ‘boyfriend’ feels awkward and clumsy on Ryo’s tongue, there’s a rush of embarrassment whenever he uses it, but it’s either that or something like ‘lover’, which is even more awkward and extremely loaded, or ‘partner’, which is just boring.

The point is, apparently, he and Akira are boyfriends now, and news travels fast through their school. No one really seems bothered by it, the moment they broke the news to their friends they all proceeded to act surprised, then burst into laughter and a chorus of ‘finally!’ and ‘congrats!’. Miko had snuck him a quick wink.

Being boyfriends is starting to look a lot like it means making out whenever possible, wherever they won’t be yelled at for PDA, and reaching second base in a week.

Ryo had told Jenny, who only gave him a knowing look, her smile twitching even wider. His father had overheard and only gave Ryo a weak smile and a pat on the shoulder.

And as nice as the fluttering feeling in his chest is, there’s still a growing feeling of numbness as the 21st approaches. November 21st. It will officially be ten years since Eden Mercier-Asuka, his mother, died at only twenty-nine years old.

He’s not looking forward to it. He never does.

Akira had assured him he’ll be there for him if he needs anything, and he shouldn’t force himself to do anything that day if he doesn’t feel well enough. But Ryo is stubborn, he would prefer to be doing something rather than sitting at home all day with his grieving father, their shared sadness suffocating.

But, the night before, a Sunday, Ryo willingly goes along with his father to the small graveyard where his mother is buried. The gravestone is still in good condition, taken care of despite their absence. His father settles onto his knees while Ryo lays a bouquet of pink and red flowers in front of the gravestone.

Eden Mercier-Asuka
Wife, mother, daughter, sister.

July 2nd, 19xx - November 21st, 20xx

I don't care what comes tomorrow,
We can face it together the way old friends do.

They remain silent. While his father remains sitting, Ryo stands, hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders squared and head low. His father’s lips are moving silently. There’s a lump in Ryo’s throat, heat behind his eyes, and soon there are tears spilling over. He drops down beside his father, who turns to him.

They embrace, grips almost crushing, and they cry into one another’s shoulders. Ryo hasn’t cried in front of his father in years, but now, in front of his mother’s gravestone for the first time in ten years, he can’t help the tears or the sobs tearing from his throat and he feels like he’s eight all over again and his father is cradling him close to his chest.

I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. He wants to say it, but can’t speak past the tears.

The drive back home is spent in silence. Ryo rubs his face with his sleeve when they enter the mansion. His father begins to walk away, and Ryo inhales.

“Dad,” his voice is hoarse from crying. “I--”

He’s trying to get his thoughts in order before he speaks, except the words tumble out before he can really think about them, “Good night. Love you.”

He only catches a glimpse of his father’s look of surprise before he’s bolting up to his room with John at his heels.

---

“Are you feeling alright?” Akira mumbles into his hair. It’s the middle of lunchtime, the cafeteria loud and bustling as usual. Excitement for the Thanksgiving break starting tomorrow buzzing around them. Ryo has a hard time sharing that enthusiasm, but sitting there with Akira, with their-- their friends, he can forget about it for a bit. He can smile, he can let himself laugh, leaning against Akira’s side.

“I’ll be fine,” Ryo says, “I always am.”

The night before, when he returned home and fled to his room, he immediately called Akira and told him everything, and Akira listened as he always did and talked to him until it was too late, and they needed to sleep, but stayed on the phone until Ryo fell asleep.

“Want to do something later?” Akira suggests. “I don’t know what. I just don’t want you alone today.”

“Sure,” Ryo replies. Akira’s hand is traveling up his back to play with the blonde curls at the nape of his neck. “Maybe a movie.”

“That sounds good.” Akira smiles into his hair, then noses against his cheekbone. “There’s a lot playing lately.”

“Hey, if you don’t quit canoodling twenty-four-seven, you’re not allowed to sit with us anymore,” Miko says from across the table. She flicks a piece of corn at Akira, hitting him right between the eyes. “Get a room.”

“Trust me, we will,” Ryo says casually. Beside her, Wamu squints. Gabi is trying not to bust out laughing. Miko looks mildly scandalized but then breaks out into snickers.

“We all were waiting for you guys to finally fucking quit this slow-burn shit, but watching you be gross and all over each other is just as painful.” Miko isn’t being serious, Ryo can tell from her slight smile, but he has to wonder if she’s a little envious.

“It’s still kind of cute,” Miki chimes in.

“Thanks for the support.” Akira beams at her. His hand has traveled back to Ryo’s back, thumb rubbing slow circles into his skin through his shirt. Ryo smirks, going back into his food, doing his best to forget what today is. What happened the night before.

The rest of his classes go by without a hitch. During eighth period, he sits down at the desk beside Akira’s, folding one leg over the other, chin in his hand and pencil lightly tapping against his notebook.

Only fifteen minutes in, there’s a knock on the door. Their teacher falls silent, looking irritated, and walks over, opening it. The student counselor is there and speaks in quick, hushed whispers to the teacher. A strange look passes over the teacher’s face and she turns.

“Ryo Asuka. Can you pack up your things? The counselor needs to see you.”

Akira gives him a questioning look out of the corner of his eye. Ryo just shrugs, but there’s a nasty suspicion rising. Their classmates whisper to each other curiously, because their teacher’s tone has shifted dramatically, her expression inscrutable.

Ryo shoves his notebook into his bag, zips it up, and stands. He crosses the classroom, past his teacher, and out into the hallway. The door shuts behind him.

The hallway is empty save for the counselor and… the principal, and two police officers. Ones he doesn’t recognize as the school security. That suspicion grows, along with mild panic, because he must be in trouble. Why else would both the principal and police be there if he wasn’t?

“Can you come with us? It’s better we don’t talk out here,” the counselor says gently. Ryo doesn’t budge, his jaw clenched, eyes hard.

“No,” he says, flat. “Tell me what’s going on. Get it over with. Am I in trouble, or what?”

His principal speaks next, “No, Ryo, you’re not in trouble. Trust us, we really--”

“Tell me. What’s. Going. On.”

Silence envelopes them. Behind the officers, he can see Jenny approaching with another. Why is she here? Why is Jenny here? What the fuck is going on?

“Ryo,” the counselor sighs. Her expression is pained. “Ryo--”

“Spit it out.”

She bites her lip and hangs her head.

“Ryo, your father is dead.”

Chapter Text

“Ryo, your father is dead.”

Silence falls over them again. All is still, eerily so, those words hanging in the air between them.

They aren’t processing. Ryo heard them, clear as day, but he can’t make any sense of them. He just stares at her in odd shock, takes in her apologetic and mournful expression.

“What?” He finally says because he doesn’t understand. This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.

“Your father was found dead in your home,” one officer finally says. “Suicide.”

Ryo blinks. Nausea is building in his gut, his throat is growing tighter, tighter, he thinks he won’t be able to breathe again. This has to be a terrible prank because his father can’t be dead. Not when Ryo had just seen him the night before. Not when he saw Ryo in tears over his dead mother. Not when, maybe, they could finally make things right again.

“I’m sorry,” the counselor breathes.

There’s a ringing in his ears. Ryo doesn’t say another word. He just steps forward, shoves past them, past the counselor and principal and officers and Jenny, his pace speeding up until he’s running down the hall, feet thumping loud against the floor. Distantly, he hears one of them call his name, but he doesn’t slow. He just runs, runs out of the doors of the school and through the parking lot, unlocking the doors to his car so he can cram himself inside.

He’s breathless, sick, with sweat on his brow. Ryo thinks he may begin to hyperventilate. Trembling hands have difficulty shoving the key into the ignition, but the moment he manages to he’s pulling out of the student parking lot and speeding away. He doesn’t go back home, he doesn’t go to the Fudo’s home, he just drives and drives and not even he knows where he’s going.

At some point during the drive, his vision becomes blurry, hot tears forming and spilling over, down his cheeks to drip off of his jaw and chin and fall into his scarf. Ryo reaches over to his phone with one hand, shuts it off because Jenny keeps texting and calling him and he doesn’t want her or anyone looking for him. He doesn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone. He doesn’t want anyone to tell him ‘it’s okay’ because it’s fucking not and he doesn’t want to hear their apologies because ‘I’m sorry’ won’t bring his father back.

Suicide.

“You selfish bastard,” Ryo chokes out.

Ryo is eighteen, eighteen and without parents. No more family left. Entirely on his own.

He’s turning past a familiar sign and down a dirt road, all the way to the lake’s edge. Ryo kicks the car door open, circles around the front of the vehicle and charges to the end of the dock to scream. Scream into the crisp late November air, scream into the blue sky, scream until throat is raw.

And then he crumbles, breaking out into violent sobs, fists pounding at the wood beneath him. Ryo wants to dive into the cold black waters of the lake, let it swallow him up and take him away because he’s so tired, because it would be so much easier than dealing with any of this. But he can’t do that. He won’t let himself do that.

So instead he sits on his knees, curled up with his forehead pressed to the damp wood of the dock, arms wrapped around his head, and he cries, and cries, and cries until he thinks he has no more tears left. Ryo’s head hurts, his chest hurts, his everything hurts. He feels so hollow, his mind foggy. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, his mind going blank and he’s slipping farther and farther away from his body, away from reality, away from the hurt, the fear, the anger.

It’s dark by the time full awareness returns to him. Dark and cold. He’s trembling, shivering. His back hurts. Ryo sways when he finally stands, the world spinning, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. And he staggers back to his car, still running all this time, in need of a gas refill. Ryo stumbles off to the side, vomiting into the bushes, then slips back into his car, sniffling, his mouth tasting like shit, his throat sore, his eyes burning.

He knows he won’t be able to avoid it much longer, so he sets a course for home, stopping once to refill his gas tank, not caring about how he must look like hell as he gets out of the car and shoves the pump in.

The drive back is dead silent. Ryo doesn’t turn his phone back on, he knows if he does he’ll be bombarded with a wave of unread texts and dozens of missed calls. Akira must be wondering where he is, too. Ryo wonders if he knows what’s happened, or if it’s been kept quiet. He doesn’t want to face him right now, even if he desperately needs someone there, someone who will just listen, who won’t judge him or pity him.

Akira will find out eventually. Ryo will have to talk to him again soon, but for now, he shuts himself off from the rest of the world.

When he drives up to the gates of the mansion, he finds them open, and he finds Jenny has already beaten him back and the police are still there. Jenny has John on a leash, and the dog begins whining and pulling when he sees Ryo get out of his car. She lets go of the leash, and John barrels towards Ryo, who squats down and throws his arms around the dog’s neck, nuzzling into his short fur.

Jenny approaches soon after, lowering herself down to eye-level. She isn’t smiling anymore.

“How did he do it?” Ryo asks weakly without looking up. Jenny reaches over to touch his back, pausing in case the touch is unwelcome, but Ryo doesn’t care. He doesn’t pull away. He just sits on his knees hugging his dog while Jenny smooths her hand out over his back.

“A gun,” she replies, her voice distant. Ryo begins to shake again. “He left a note.”

“Where?”

Jenny reaches into her coat pocket, pulling out a folded, wrinkled piece of paper. Ryo pulls back from John, keeping one hand on the dog’s neck while he holds the paper in the other.

This is for my son.

Ryo, there is no way you will ever forgive me for this. It is selfish and cowardly. It will hurt you deeply, and for that, I still want to say that I am so very sorry.

You are my son, you were my boy even before you told me and your mother to call you that when you were still so small.

You are the symbol of the love Eden and I shared. And I love you, I’ve never stopped loving you, I’ve always wanted the best for you but I was incapable of giving you that and only hurt you further. To hear you finally say you loved me, well, shouldn’t that have been enough to help me keep going? I suppose not, because here I am, on the tenth anniversary of your mother’s passing, sitting in my office writing this note, preparing to do something that will surely make you hate me for the rest of time.

I don’t ask for your forgiveness. I won’t ask you to not hate me for this.

But I will ask is that you carry on. You are strong, you are fiercely intelligent, you have so much left in life to look forward to even with your parents gone. And you are not alone, you have many people who care, so many people who will remain at your side. You have friends, real friends, who have been more of a family to you in two months than I have in ten years. Jenny will always be there if you wish for her to be. Even John; your sweet, silly dog.

You have Akira, who looks at you just like I looked at your mother. To know someone loves my son that much fills me with hope. Hold onto him, Ryo. Let him help you through this. To remind you that you are not alone.

I’ve left everything to you in my will. The mansion, everything inside it. My research. All of our money, down to the very last penny. It is all yours to do with what you will. I have only one last request, and that is to be buried beside your mother.

I love you, do not forget I love you and I will continue to love you even beyond the grave. My son, my boy, my little star, my Ryo. I love you, I love you, and I am so sorry.

                         - Dad.

There are tear stains on the paper, smudging the ink. The further along the note goes, the shakier the handwriting becomes, and Ryo has a hard time reading past his own tears.

When he reaches the end, he breaks down again. John laps at his face, whimpering. Jenny scoots closer to pull him into a hug and he just sits limply in her arms, head turning to the night sky, sobs ripping themselves from his throat, wailing up to the heavens, cursing God for whatever cruel prank He must be playing and how He finds such joy in Ryo’s suffering.

He spends the night at a hotel, John curled up at his feet, that dinosaur plush Akira gifted to him held tight to his chest, the weighted blanket hardly a comfort now.

His sleep is light and fitful.

His phone remains off.

---

None of his calls are going through. Straight to voicemail. Texts are sent but not delivered, unread. Ryo must have his phone turned off for… whatever reason.

There has been nothing but radio silence from Ryo. It's been like that the past two days and Akira has no idea what the hell happened and none of his other friends seem to know either. The last he saw him was at school when the counselor pulled him out of class, and Akira wonders if he's in some sort of trouble.

But that doesn't make sense. Wouldn't Ryo tell him? Wouldn't Ryo say something? What could have been so bad that it would warrant this?

Akira had certainly not planned to spend his break like this, worried sick over his boyfriend. His boyfriend! He thought maybe Ryo would talk to him if no one else. So why is he being shut out along with everyone else? It's worrying, it's irritating, and it's starting to piss Akira off.

What’s worse, is he’s sure his parents know. They’ve been acting strangely since, secretive in a way. He’s heard them talking to each other in low tones when they thought Akira wasn’t around. Quiet enough that Akira could not really hear them, but was able to pick up Ryo’s name here and there. That only makes him angrier, that not even his own parents will tell him.

So it’s Thanksgiving eve, nearly ten o’clock, the sky dark and stars still shining, the moon almost full, Akira sitting in his room with his laptop, when his phone goes off. He lunges for it instantly, hoping, praying, and he sees there is a text, but it isn’t from Ryo. His heart sinks. The lump in his throat is swallowed down roughly. Akira sets the phone aside. Two minutes later, it’s going off again, and Akira grumbles, reaching for it again.

FROM: Miki

> you still awake??

> this is important

> akira

> akiraaaaaaaaaaa

> akira

> akira

> STOP IGNORING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

> this is about your boyfriend

TO: Miki

> what?

FROM: Miki

> wow that got your attention

> meet me n miko at the park stat

> I don’t care if you have to sneak out just do it

> we can’t come pick you up just take your bike

> 10 minutes

> see you

TO: Miki

> wait why the park?

> you can’t just tell me like this?

FROM: Miki

> see

> you

> akira

Akira drags a hand down his face. He’s so damn exhausted, he hasn’t been sleeping well the past two days, he really doesn’t want to deal with this, but he knows if he doesn’t go then he’ll have to deal with Miki’s wrath which is… not something anyone would want. God damn it.

He shuts his laptop and sets it aside, changes from sweats and a t-shirt into clothes more suitable for the biting temperatures outside, and slinks downstairs as quiet as he possibly can. His parents are asleep, he hopes they stay that way until he’s back home because he doesn’t want them to worry-- and he doesn’t want them angry.

With his coat and scarf tugged on, shoes tied, phone in his pocket and earbuds in, he drags his bike out of the garage and hops on. The park is only five minutes away by bike, he doesn’t need to rush, but he finds himself speeding down the streets regardless, the streetlamps casting him in orange light.

When the park is finally in sight, he already sees Miko’s car parked in a spot at the curb. Akira hops off of his bike, rolling it across the street and chaining it to the leg of a bench, and strains his eyes to see into the dark. They aren’t on the playground, he can’t see anyone anywhere despite Miko’s car being there. And for a moment, he fears for the worst, because even if their little town is relatively safe--

"BOO!”

Akira nearly screams, stumbling back and catching himself just in time before his ass could hit the ground. Miki stands before him, hands on her hips, her grin wide. She’d been hiding behind a damn tree, just waiting for him to show up so she could nearly make him piss his pants. Akira clutches his chest, his heart pounding wildly and his breathing heavy as he tries to calm down.

“What the hell, Miki--”

“You aaaaare,” Miki checks her invisible watch, “One minute late!”

Miko is strolling up to Miki’s side, looking like she practically materialized from the darkness. She’s snickering, nose wrinkling and dimples pressing into her cheeks.

“I went as fast as I could,” Akira grumbles. He pulls his earbuds out and unplugs them from his phone, shoving them into the pocket of his coat. “What’s so important you wanted me to come all the way out here?”

Miki and Miko glance at each other, frowning.

“Let’s stop at 7-Eleven first. You’re gonna need a slushie to get through this,” Miki replies, walking right past him to Miko’s car.

“You want a slushie when it’s this cold out?” Akira sniffs. He shares a look with Miko, who only shrugs. “Okay.”

After he unchains his bike and puts it in the trunk of Miko’s car, they’re driving silently through the dark streets. The sign for the 7-Eleven flickers, the light inside one of the few still on in this little part of town. No one says a word, and the silence feels suffocating for him, and his appetite is close to nonexistent because he’s so fucking worried.

The cashier doesn’t pay much attention to them until they pay for their slushies, three candy bars, and two bags of chips. When they’re back in Miko’s car, sitting in the empty parking lot, the heater inside running to fight off the cold from outside and the cold from their drinks, that’s when the silence is finally broken.

“So he really hasn’t heard,” Miko muses aloud.

Akira snaps his head up. “Heard what?”

“About your boyfriend.” And Miki suddenly looks very serious, her eyes cast downward, lips tightening. Dread pools in Akira’s gut, but he still leans forward. Interested, yet terrified. “I just-- I mean, I overheard my mom talking to yours on the phone earlier today… and…”

“And…?”

Miko sighs, staring out of the windshield, saying nothing. Miki bites her bottom lip. She turns in the passenger’s seat, staring at Akira with wide eyes. Wide, sad eyes, the glimmer in them having faded away.

“His dad.”

---

TO: Ryo

> turn your phone on

> turn your phone on

> turn your phone on

> ryo

> please turn your phone on

> for fuck’s sake

> i’m not joking PLEASE turn your fucking phone on

> answer me as soon as you see these

---

FROM: Ryo

> hey

---

For someone whose father just died, Ryo looks surprisingly put together. You can't even tell that he's nursing a nasty hangover and just went through hours of detoxing the pot from his system and is running on two hours of sleep. A little makeup to hide the bags under his eyes and, bam, he looks like he isn't falling apart mentally. Like he doesn’t want to shove a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger like his father did.

Akira wouldn’t even notice, Ryo thinks. Then he wants to laugh because of course Akira would notice, because Akira knows him better than anyone.

When he had finally turned his phone on at three in the morning after throwing up the copious amount of alcohol in his system, he was met with an onslaught of texts from Akira, Miki, and Miko. Mostly Akira. Starting from the afternoon that Ryo was pulled out of class, that his entire world began to crumble again right after it started to slowly piece itself back together. The texts, at first, were not too frantic. There were some few hours between them. But as more time passed, they came more frequently, more hurried, more worried and scared. The last text from Miki was yesterday, right before noon.

FROM: Miki

> I heard what happened

> if you don’t stop hiding and tell him then I will

> even if I don’t he’ll find out eventually

Then, multiple texts from Akira, the timestamp nearly twelve hours after Miki’s last messages. Telling Ryo that he knows. Somehow, they know. He supposes that his school has been informed, that other parents have been informed, that news has already begun to travel quickly through their town.

It’s angering, it’s exhausting. Ryo barely left the hotel the past what is now three days since the suicide. When he did, it was to illegally purchase alcohol and then drive off somewhere he could get cross-faded out of his mind and sob without tears because he thinks all his tears have been used up. And he hides away from everyone, shuts out the world, dwelling on ‘what if’ s and ‘would have’ s.

He doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy. He doesn’t want to hear their condolences. Ryo had to bury his mother at eight and now he has to bury his father at eighteen. There is no other family left for him to go to. No grandparents. His aunt disappearing after her sister’s funeral.

It’s the morning of Thanksgiving Day now, not that he (and his parents) ever really celebrated. And he sits alone on a bench at the park, dull pain throbbing in his skull, John’s leash wrapped around his hand, the dog lying calmly at his feet. Akira should be meeting him soon, something Ryo had hesitantly agreed on. Because he wants to see him, but at the same time, he does not. He’s lonely and terrified, he wants no one to see him like this, but he is spiraling down, down, down into a suffocating darkness he isn’t sure he’ll be able to claw his way out of and needs someone to take his hand and drag him out. And there is only one person his pride will allow to help him.

There’s the sound of a bike and John perks up, his tump of a tail beginning to wiggle in excitement. Ryo lifts his head, forces himself to sit up a little straighter, because Akira is rolling his bike across the street and practically throws it into the grass the moment he spots Ryo. There’s no time to say anything, no time to even stand because suddenly there are warm and familiar arms around him and all Ryo can do is sit there, limp, face in Akira’s shoulder and eyes a little wide.

“Ryo,” Akira practically whines into the material of his scarf, the same scarf he gave him. “Ryo, I’m sorry. I’m sorry--”

Akira’s breath is hitching, his body trembling. Ryo can’t see his face, but he knows he’s crying. He wishes he could make himself return the embrace, he needs something solid and secure to grasp onto, but he can’t get his arms to move. He can’t even bring himself to speak. Akira is cradling him to his chest like he’s the most fragile being alive; it’s almost infuriating, but he has no energy to be angry, and no reason to be, because maybe he is fragile.

“I was so-- so worried about you. But I didn’t know… I…” Akira pulls back, his hands coming up to hold Ryo’s face. There are fat, hot tears running down his cheeks, and he looks so terribly sad and Ryo feels a pang of guilt and self-hatred.

“Sorry,” is all he can say, lamely, the word awkward on his tongue. It’s all he can think to say.

“It’s okay. I-- well, I can’t say I understand, but… well…” Akira looks away and Ryo almost smiles at his floundering.

“I get it,” Ryo mumbles. Their eyes meet again and Ryo inwardly grimaces at the grief in Akira’s eyes. The tears have stopped flowing, for now. Akira runs his thumbs over Ryo’s cheekbones, the touch painfully tender. Ryo is reminded, for the thousandth time, how fucking in love he is.

When Akira leans in Ryo doesn’t move, his eyes falling shut. The kiss is soft, gentle, and chaste. He finds it in him to tilt his head and return the kiss carefully. Akira is crying again, he can taste the salt of his tears. He feels himself shivering, but not from the cold. Ryo raises one trembling hand, the other tightening its grip on John’s leash, and rests it on Akira’s wet cheek to brush the tears away.

John nudges his nose against Ryo’s hand. It’s what finally makes he and Akira part. Ryo rubs his dog behind the ears, dropping his other hand from Akira’s cheek to rub the bridge of his nose.

“How have you been holding up?” Akira asks, taking a seat next to him on the bench.

Ryo gives him a humorless smile. “What do you think?”

“I just thought I’d ask,” Akira sighs. “Sometimes, I never know what you’re thinking, or feeling.”

Ryo doesn’t respond. He just looks down, focused on scratching John’s ears and neck.

“But I--” Akira swallows then continues. “Just, I want you to know I’m here, okay? You don’t-- you don’t need to deal with this alone.”

Ryo pauses, looking up at Akira, lips parting because he wants to say something but isn’t sure what. Akira, sweet and patient Akira, doesn’t force him to say anything, so he closes his mouth again and looks away. They sit there for a long time, not speaking, listening instead to the wind and the creak of bare tree branches, to the light birdsong.

“Where have you been staying? At home?” Akira breaks the silence, his voice soft and gentle.

“The Holiday Inn between IHOP and the movie theater,” Ryo replies. He can’t bring himself to go back to his home again. His father had left the entire mansion to him in his will. But it’s too big for him, full of too many memories. And he might be eighteen now, but he’s hardly ready for that. Even if he spent years taking care of himself when no one else would, he… can’t do this. He was never prepared for this. “I don’t want to go back.”

“You’ll have to eventually.”

“I know, Akira,” Ryo says. “But I’d like to avoid it until after the funeral.”

Akira is silent for a moment, then, “When is it? The funeral, I mean.”

“Tuesday,” Ryo responds. He shakes his head, runs a restless hand through his hair. “I have to pick out a casket tomorrow. I hate this. I don’t want to go. It’s just-- it’s just going to be me and Jenny and his colleagues. And I don’t want to hear any of them tell me they’re sorry. It won’t make him any less dead. It won’t change the fact I’m eighteen years old and don’t have parents anymore.”

Akira slowly puts an arm around him, giving him time and space to pull away from the contact if he wants to. Ryo doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t lean into the touch.

“I'm totally alone. He was my only family.”

“You're not alone, Ryo.”

“It sure as hell feels like it. No matter how many times you tell me you're here. You don't know what it's like to have no family.” He's curling into himself, feeling painfully vulnerable. He can't stop thinking about mom, about dad. About when he was still a little kid and they were at least a semi-normal family, happy until that November evening.

The last thing he said to his father was that he loved him. It was too late, wasn't it? Not even those words could change his mind. Masaru Asuka had already made up his mind. Ryo wonders if anything could have prevented this. If he had actually attempted to understand, to listen to his father, not forcing him to wither away all alone. There's a crushing guilt that crashes over him that makes it hard to breathe.

Despite all of his bitter resentment, he had never stopped loving his father.

But it's too late.

Akira sighs. He leans over, pressing a kiss to the crown of Ryo's hair. Ryo wants to shove him away, tell him to stop being so gentle and sweet, but he doesn’t.

“Ryo,” he says, reaching up to fix the scarf around Ryo's neck, covering his face, pink from the cold, right up to his eyes. Ryo looks up to see Akira biting his lip, looking uncertain. “I-- well, do you… um… do you want to stay at my house for a bit? My parents won't mind.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a burden,” Ryo replies, ducking his head down to rest his forehead on the top of John’s head. “I’m sure I’d only bring the mood down.”

“No, no, no, Ryo. You wouldn’t be a burden. My parents love you, they know what’s going on and-- and they wouldn’t mind letting you stay for a while at all.” Akira squeezes him lightly. “At least for one night, Ryo. You know we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, but, well, my mom likes to cook a big meal for it anyway. And you don’t look like you’ve been eating well.”

Ryo doesn’t respond, because Akira’s right, and as usual Akira can see straight through him. He wants to disappear, wants the late autumn wind to take him away from this town, this state, this country, this world forever.

He looks up at the bright blue sky and he curses it for being so vibrant while he’s so dull.

This all definitely some cruel joke from God.

Ryo sighs. “Can John come?”

“Of course he can.”

---

Akira’s parents are understanding and welcoming. Of course they are. Where else would Akira get it from? They don’t smother him or tell him they’re ‘sorry’, but they smile when they see him and Akira’s mother asks if he’d like anything for lunch and Akira’s father helps set up the guest room upstairs.

Not that Ryo thinks he’ll be using it much.

John takes to sniffing out every corner of the house he can reach while Ryo puts his clothes away. He doesn’t think he’ll be staying here too long, Akira said one night is enough-- but he considers staying until after the funeral, at least. He wouldn’t want to overstay his welcome.

The day is mostly quiet, Ryo spending most of it in the living room with Akira’s father and the television on while Akira helps his mother in the kitchen. It makes his heart hurt, being among this happy family, this son with his two living parents. It almost makes him angry, but none of this is their fault, and it isn’t fair to them for him to be bitter towards them.

They aren’t coddling him, they aren’t pressing him to talk about anything he doesn’t want to. They’re treating him as they normally would: with smiles, with affection, like he’s their family, too.

“Can I come with you tomorrow?” Akira murmurs into his hair that night after Ryo had slipped into his room with John following close behind. They’re chest-to-back, with Akira’s arm around Ryo’s middle and their fingers tangled against his belly. “So you won’t be alone.”

“I won’t be alone. Jenny will be there.” Ryo feels Akira frown. “Okay. Fine. Yes, you can.”

“Thanks.”

They fall back into silence, Ryo closing his eyes again. He would have fallen asleep if it weren’t painfully obvious Akira had something else to say, Ryo still feels the frown against his hair and the way he keeps holding his breath against his back.

“Say it already,” Ryo mutters into the pillow. Akira jolts in surprise behind him and Ryo might have found it funny under different circumstances.

“Can I come to the funeral, too?” Akira’s voice is small, unsure, hesitant.

Ryo swallows thickly, difficult past his heart that’s leaped into his throat. He gives Akira’s hand a subtle squeeze, eyes cracking open to stare at the wall in front of him. There’s reluctance-- of course he wants Akira to come, because he knows Akira, and it meant that there would at least be one more person there he really knew. One more person he really knew besides Jenny. Someone outside of the men and women that worked alongside his father for years, who don’t really care too much about Ryo outside of the fact he was the esteemed archaeologist’s son. They may even try to get him to follow in his footsteps or try to wheedle his father’s research out of him, knowing even that was left to Ryo in his will.

But he isn’t sure what the funeral will be like. There is the possibility of him crumbling in the middle of it, in front of people who, for the most part, don’t give a shit about him and who he doesn’t give a shit about, because his father is dead and he hasn’t even seen the body yet and doesn’t know how he’ll react when he does. Because he’s going to have to give a fucking eulogy he hasn’t even started writing yet. He doesn’t want Akira to see him like that.

You can’t keep hiding forever.

“Okay.”

---

It’s cold.

Of course it’d be cold, it’s a late November day. But it feels like it’s colder than usual despite the clear blue sky and the winter sun shining.

It would be warmer inside, but inside is a funeral home, and inside is where the wake is taking place. Inside is where the body is. The body Ryo still hasn’t seen, because that’s not his father anymore. It’s just a shell.

Ryo doesn’t want to go back in, even though he’s shivering from the cold because he didn’t bother taking his coat outside with him and the casual suit jacket does little to keep him warm.

He watches the smoke from his cigarette float with the fog of his breath up into the cloudless sky. Ryo thinks it should be filled with clouds, thick and gray, and that it should be raining. It would be much more fitting for a day like this one.

But the world doesn’t stop just because one man dies. Men die every moment of every day, and another is born to take their place. Despite any fame one person may have obtained, the world will never truly stop for them. The sun will keep shining, the birds will keep singing, and the earth will continue to turn.

Ryo, in his inner fury, would destroy this earth if he could.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” a voice behind him says, and there’s the warm weight of his coat suddenly around his shoulders and Akira is sitting down next to him. Ryo snorts, humorless, inhaling smoke, hoping it suffocates him. He drops the dying cigarette to the pavement, squishing it beneath the heel of too-expensive dress shoes he’s had for ages but never worn.

“Your parents are still inside?” Ryo asks. The concrete steps are cold and uncomfortable, but he can’t bring himself to stand from them. Instead, he leans back, letting one step dig into his spine. It hurts, but at least it reminds him he exists.

Akira leans forward, elbows on his knees, his head turned to watch Ryo with worried eyes and a frown. The same expression everyone’s been giving him, except he knows Akira’s is genuine and not done because he feels obligated.

“Yeah. I just wanted to check on you.” Akira bites his lip. Ryo looks away from him. “You should come inside.”

“No,” Ryo responds, flat. “Everyone is expecting me to. But I don’t want to deal with any of them.”

His fingers are numb, practically burning from the cold. His face stinging and his eyes dry. If he froze to death, he doesn’t think he would mind. At least he’s in front of a funeral home. The thought, morbid as it may be, is almost enough to make him laugh.

“Are you just going to wait for the burial?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe I could just leave.” Ryo is slipping his arms into the sleeves of his coat. “Why does everyone want me to look at my dead dad so badly?”

“They don’t-- I mean, they do, but, well…” Akira wrings his hands in front of him. “It’s… I don’t know. I’ve only been to my grandparents’ funerals, in Japan, and it’s… different. I… mean… I don’t even know what-- what you feel.”

Ryo’s jaw clenches. I don’t either.

He looks down at his shoes. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

Ryo can still feel Akira’s eyes on him and he feels white-hot anger bubbling up from his gut to his chest, threatening to explode. He doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him. He doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy. What he does want is to be left alone. What he does want is to run away. What he does want is both of his parents back.

“Can you stop?” He bites out without thinking, oozing venom. Akira jumps in surprise.

“Stop what?” Akira is confused, to be expected.

“ Looking at me like that! Treating me like I’m-- I’m fragile. I’m…” This isn’t fair to him, Ryo knows that. Akira is his-- his boyfriend, of course he’d worry, of course he’d want Ryo to know that, of course he’d want to be there to support him. But he can’t fight his anger, and fuck, it isn’t even really Akira he’s angry with. He’s angry with everyone else, he’s angry with the world moving on around them, he’s angry with his father, he’s angry with himself. Ryo bows his head, resting it on his knees. “I’m not.”

He isn’t sure if the burning of his eyes is from the cold or from the threat of tears. Ryo swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Ryo, I only…” Akira sounds worried, frustrated, maybe a little hurt. Ryo really wants to shoot himself, too. “I’m just-- I’m worried. You don’t need to be all alone. Let me be here--”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Ryo spits and the coldness of his voice shocks even him. “I know how to take care of myself. You don’t need to worry. He’s my dad. So I can handle it. I don’t need anyone- I don’t need you fucking babying me--”

“Me caring about you isn’t me babying you.” The tone of Akira’s voice, full of frustration and hurt, is like a dagger driving itself deep into Ryo’s chest. He looks up when Akira stands, and Akira’s shoulders are tense and squared, he’s not looking at Ryo, he’s closing himself off. All patience lost. Ryo hates himself. “If you don’t want my help, fine. I get it.”

Akira walks up the short steps and to the door of the funeral home, not looking back. “There’s twenty minutes until the procession. You still have time unless you’re going to keep hiding out here.”

Ryo wants to say something, anything. He wants to apologize for lashing out, but that stubborn part of him holds him back, that insecure part of him holds him back. Akira’s been nothing but so kind, patient, and understanding, and he just keeps- he just keeps fucking it up. Ryo doesn’t deserve him. He wants to tear his hair out.

“Like you said, he’s your dad.” His own words thrown back in his face. It drives the dagger in deeper and gives a sharp twist. Then Akira is gone, disappearing back inside. Ryo curls in on himself and bites back his frustrated scream.

With ten minutes to spare, he enters the building wordlessly. People -- his father’s colleagues -- keep trying to stop him, keep trying to ask him what he’ll do now, but he just shoves past them and towards the casket to see the body of the man he called his father, who blew a hole in his skull on the ten year anniversary of his mother’s death.

There’s no sign of injury, unsurprisingly. The back of his father’s skull is concealed by the pillows beneath it, and if he weren’t so pale he might even look like he’s just sleeping. They trimmed his hair and his beard a little bit, applied makeup to hide the steady yellowing of his skin, put him in a nice white suit. Ryo stares down at him, from his face to his hands folded neatly on his belly. The wedding ring he never took off is still present.

Just like he wanted, he’ll be buried next to his wife, next to Ryo’s mother.

“I hate you,” Ryo whispers, but there’s no heart in it. It’s forced, insincere. It feels wrong in his mouth. “You weren’t the only one hurting. You didn’t have to go and… leave me behind. Your only son. You…”

He grips the edge of the open casket, head hanging.

“I thought things were looking up. Maybe I wouldn’t be as much of a fucked up disaster, because maybe we were working things out, and you would be my dad again. But then you go and blow your brains out in your office and they’re still cleaning bloodstains from the floors and wall. And now…” Ryo feels himself trembling. “I got angry at Akira even though he was just trying to be there for me. Even though you told me to let him help. How fucked is that? Now he’s angry at me, too.”

He doesn’t shed tears. Not yet.

“Please come back.”

---

The procession feels like it takes ten years, and by the time they arrive at the cemetery, it’s like the air got even colder. The birds, at least, have stopped singing.

The folded up eulogy feels like a dead weight in Ryo’s pocket. In just a few minutes, he’ll have to read it in front of a bunch of people who might as well be strangers. He doesn’t even know most of their names. Just Jenny and the Fudos. At least he knows they care, but everyone else…

And when he’s given the go-ahead, he stands straight with his head high and walks past the rest of the funeral-goers, up to the podium set up at the side of the casket. It’s still open, he can still see his father lying there. Ryo fishes the paper out of his pocket, unfolding it and smoothing it out. When he skims it, his frown deepens. It’s stiff, too practiced, too formal. It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound sincere. It…

Ryo crumples it up in his shaking hands and wings it.

“My father was a brilliant man,” he starts. “Of course, you all know that. But apparently he wasn’t smart enough to know shooting yourself in the head isn’t the way to deal with your problems. Then again, I’m not one to lecture anyone on how to deal with their problems.

Before my mother died, he was all smiles. He loved people, he loved animals, he loved books, and he loved dancing. He loved my mother, and he loved me. He never stopped loving us, despite everything. He told me that in his note. I just didn’t realize it until it was too late. Looking back on it, I must have been blind not to see it. Even when he closed himself off from everyone, from me, he still tried to show me. I mean, it’s thanks to him I can jab myself in the leg with a needle once a week so I won’t hate my stupid body even more. He let me take in a stray dog so I wouldn’t be lonely. And he kept working, so we could have even more money, so he could provide for me, and he made me go to school, and he listened to me even when I thought he wasn’t.”

Ryo feels that burning behind his eyes again. His voice is starting to shake.

“He was patient even when I got angry with him.” Ryo inhales sharply. “He was always patient with everyone. He always tried to see the best in others, no matter how difficult of a person they were. He had a heart way too big for his skinny body. And he was selfless, right up until his final, stupid, selfish decision that has us all standing here right now.

I wish I appreciated him more. But I’m at least glad the last thing I told him was that I loved him.”

Ryo is about to step away from the podium, but pauses, and turns back to the front.

“Also, all of his research? Y’know, the research most of you want to get your paws on? None of you can have it. I’m donating it.” He smiles wide, bitter. “All of you can go fuck yourselves.”

And he steps away from the podium, casts one last glance at his father, and then shoves past the other funeral-goers, marching across the moist grass, past gravestones, to where his car is parked on the curb.

He kind of wishes he stayed around to really take in the shocked faces of every one of his father’s colleagues, but if he spent any more time there he would have really gone insane. So, he sits in his car for just a few minutes with his music playing softly in the silence, long enough to watch the casket be lowered into the grave from a distance, and when the crowd disperses he turns the key in the ignition, prepared to leave.

The passenger side door opens before he can and Akira is sliding in, not even looking at Ryo. Ryo stares at him in confusion, brows twitching, and he almost asks him what he’s doing, why he’s not back with his parents, but Akira still won’t look at him, won’t even speak.

Ryo sighs. He must still be angry with him. Understandably.

So they drive in silence. Akira just watches the scenery pass by as Ryo drives, and Ryo keeps his eyes on the road. He drives, and drives, and drives, until he’s turning past that one old sign and down the dirt road through the trees, right up to the lakeside.

He keeps the heater running when he gets out, not really expecting Akira to follow him. Ryo pulls his scarf over his nose and shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat. Dead leaves crunch under his shoes as he makes his way to the dock, walking across the creaking wood and wondering what would happen if it gave away beneath him.

Ryo sits down at the very end, legs folded beneath him. He doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t do anything but stare out across the shimmering water, to the trees on the opposite shore, to the outline of the snow-capped mountains behind them. A slight breeze pushes through his hair. He closes his eyes, doesn’t even react when he hears Akira’s heavy footsteps against the wood of the dock and feels Akira sit beside him, their arms touching.

When he finally opens his eyes again, he speaks, “I’m sorry.”

Akira doesn’t say anything.

“You’re worried about me. You’re my boyfriend, it’s not a surprise.”

“I’d be worried even if I wasn’t your boyfriend,” Akira says.

“I--” Ryo clears his throat. “Still, I had no reason to snap at you. You didn’t… do anything wrong. I’m only…”

He runs an anxious hand through his hair. “I told you I’d tell you how I’m feeling when I figured it out. And, well, I’m confused. And I’m scared. And I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Akira doesn’t respond, but he’s at least looking at Ryo now.

“I- I’m really, really scared. Fuck.” Ryo doesn’t even notice he’s crying now until he tastes salt. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Akira. I don’t have an answer this time. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to leave. And I…”

He tips his head back, stares up at the bright blue sky. There’s one, single cloud now. Soft, pure white, fluffy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so lost before in my life. I haven’t been this scared. And it’s suffocating. And lonely. And I feel so alone, and--”

Akira is suddenly leaning over and cradling his jaw, cutting Ryo off mid-sentence, and Ryo can only stare at him in confusion.

“You can be really stupid,” Akira says, voice soft. “Really, really stupid.”

“Sorry,” Ryo croaks out.

“I know you’re hurting, I get that, but… you’re not alone, Ryo. You never were. Especially not now.” Akira is brushing his tears away with his thumbs. It’s so painfully tender. Ryo’s breath hitches. “I’m always going to be here to take care of your stupid, crazy, beautiful ass.”

Ryo laughs, the sound watery. “Just my ass, huh?”

“You know what I mean.” Akira leans in closer, his eyes softening. “I’m still kind of mad. But I forgive you.”

“Tha--”

“--But you need to be honest and open with me and not push me away if you want any of this to work.”

Ryo blinks, casting his gaze aside. Akira is watching him expectantly.

“Alright,” he mumbles. “I will.”

“I don’t really believe you, but okay,” Akira’s voice is fond, accompanied by a tiny smile. “We’ll work on it.”

Ryo doesn’t say another word, he just leans in and captures Akira’s lips with his own. He tastes like the winter, his lips a little dry, but his mouth is still so very warm. The kiss is returned and later Ryo will be embarrassed by his tears flowing freely yet again, but he notes even Akira is crying a little, so maybe there’s not much to be embarrassed about.

When they break away, Akira rests his forehead against Ryo’s.

“Let’s head home,” he says, and Ryo nods.

Home isn’t that big mansion on a hill thirty minutes out of town. It isn’t the inside of an expensive car or the shore of a lake. It isn’t an empty parking lot. It’s with Akira, in the Fudo household, or with his friends-- his friends, not just Akira’s friends now.

He knows he isn’t alone, but it sure as hell feels like it.

But he’ll push through this like anything else, and this time with someone beside him along the way. The hopeless feeling will disappear in time, so will the passive suicidal thoughts, the urges to hurt himself. It will be okay, even if it isn’t okay right now.

Healing is gradual. All he has to do is not tear open the wound.

Easier said than done, but he thinks he’ll manage.

Chapter Text

hi guys! sorry, this isn't a new chapter, haha... that'll come soon.

i'm posting this because i don't know who all checks twitter or tumblr, and i figured it was a good idea to post this here anyway.

this fic is NOT abandoned, i'm sorry i've made people worry. if you have been checking in on twitter/tumblr, you know i haven't been doing great health wise (mental and physical) and i don't have energy to do much, especially days when i work. but this fic is absolutely going to be continued. i have some of the next chapter written, but as you can imagine writing is very hard for me right now, especially heavier subjects.

chapter 6 will be up in time! thank you all for your continued support and patience. my twitter is here and my tumblr is here. feel free to continue asking me anything or just chatting.

thank you, and i'm sorry for the wait!