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When she arrives at the door, Keiichi stumbles into her, then grabs her shoulder for support. They both erupt into laughter more raucous than is warranted by the mishap, but then, they’d been like that for a while now.
It’s the night of Watanagashi, just hours since they’d defeated Takano, seemingly defeated fate. By the time the festival had died down, the three of them had already been in the assembly hall for some time, drinking with the adults after bidding goodnight to Satoko and Rika-chan. Eventually even Rena had had to leave, having told her father she’d be back. Still, the night was young—at least as far as they were concerned—and as they walked her back, the conversation had soon turned to ways to prolong the fun. By the time they’d reached Rena’s house and regrettably waved her inside, the two of them had resolved to go back to hers alone.
It’s only as they step into her room and close the door that a strange calm washes over her. The house is silent. Shion had disappeared earlier on, for reasons she could more or less discern. And all of a sudden, all of the chaos and static fizzle down to reveal this single moment: the first of the day where she can hear her breath, and her heartbeat.
Her heartbeat, which seems to trip over itself now, because Keiichi is standing right behind her. Her mind is a tapestry of blaring and blurred colours, all things that have long since lost shape and meaning, and this is where her numbed judgement has left her.
And yet even as she understands this, and the dull prodding urging her to set her thoughts and feelings back in their rightful order, she knows nothing is wrong. On the contrary, she only drags open the cupboard to pull out a second futon, allowing her face relax back into the same smile that’s burned bright all night.
Once it’s been set down, Keiichi collapses spread-angled—if he’s had anything resembling the same realisation she just has, it’s not evident. Instead, he immediately begins to unbutton his vest. She looks away abashedly, but once he’s tossed it aside, he curls up, seemingly ready to sleep. After a moment she follows suit, climbing under the covers and bundling herself up tight. She feels like a child again. An exhaustion the likes of which she’s never known is lapping at the shores of her mind.
They didn't need to talk. The day was surreal to even recall. It was and likely would remain the kind of turning point in their lives they wouldn’t encounter again. They’d both seemed to want the night to go on forever; the laughter, the joy, and most of all the simple gift of each moment of their gazes meeting—the understanding that they were still here, seemingly unbreakable. The fatigue that came the moment they lay down appeared a likewise shared experience, sudden and heavy. Still, that was fine, she thought; anything was fine, so long as they were together.
The minutes wear on, and a gentle tide washes her mind anew, bringing a new second wave of wakefulness, a shimmering plane beyond exhaustion. It’s a place where her conscious is doused in the rhythm of a slowly claiming sleep, yet captivated by a clarity that makes obvious so much that hadn't been in the light of day.
“You were amazing.” It’s Keiichi, whom for a moment she’s forgotten is there. His voice is soft, tired yet not. The same. He carries on. “I don’t know what I was expecting. You’ve always been amazing. But seeing that, today… I don’t know if I could’ve done it. Any of it. You were so brave. ...I keep thinking about it. About what would’ve happened if things had gone differently, and about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there. We’d’ve been so lost.”
“We all worked together.”
A sigh. “Sure, sure.” He rolls over to face her, though she can’t really make his expression out in the dark. “But, I mean it…” He falls silent, but the air is held taut. She knows there’s more he wants to share. “You’re amazing, Mion.”
“Okay, I get it, I’m amazing. I’m gonna quote that to everyone from now on. I won’t let you forget!”
He just chuckles at that. There's no retort. That was how it had been all night, as though something had fallen finally into place. She stumbles over the change in what had become such a familiar routine, and perhaps that’s why it slips out. “...You too, Kei-chan.”
“Huh? ...I didn’t do all that much, you know? Nothing, really, compared to you. Thanks, though.”
And that frustrates her. “That’s not true. That’s not true at all.”
He waits for her to continue. A tree rustles in a rare gust of wind outside her window. “I don’t think you have any clue… how much you’ve done for all of us, since you came here.” The words sink into the deep night-silence. Her voice is quiet, worn, but certain. “I guess you wouldn’t. You don’t know what it was like. You don’t know how much has changed.” At last, she allows her eyes to close.
When he doesn’t respond, she knows it’s because sleep is beckoning, but she’s glad, because she doesn’t have the energy to debate. Maybe it was a good thing, sometimes, not to have a constant back-and-forth.
Enough time passes, but she’s still awake, tethered to consciousness. It doesn’t feel right to let go yet. It doesn’t feel enough.
Keiichi speaks up then, as if thinking the same thing, asking if she’s cold. And it’s such a stupid, clumsy excuse, she almost wonders if it’s on purpose. But most of all it’s endearing, and the invitation she wants all the same. And so she says, “Yes, I’m cold,” and Keiichi pushes himself up from where he’s lying on top of the covers, crawls across the floor through the sticky summer night air and slides his way under her blanket. He manages to kick her in the back in the process—and there she goes giggling again, because it’s all so ridiculous. But that was just them, wasn’t it?
At this point she’s really starting to appreciate alcohol, because she’s sure it’s the only thing that’s pushing her heartbeats back down her throat as she feels his breath on the back of her neck. And maybe it’s only because she can’t help but forget everything else that she notices when those breaths take on a damp quality. He buries his face in her shoulder. His voice is gentle, so as not to let the sob escape, even if it wouldn’t be the first that night.
“I was so scared.”
The admission is so quiet, it could be another gust of wind. Truths escaping only in this moment that feels a thousand miles from anything else, like they’re one island in the middle of an ocean.
He wraps his arms around her, as if to affirm she isn’t bleeding out from the ghost of a bullet wound that never was. Sliding doors. And somehow, she allows her body to relax. And somehow, she breathes, as if for the both of them—as if to calm him, even as her heartbeats become these full-bodied things gasping for relief against the walls of their chambers. Together, they’re so warm, two bodies full of rushing, unspilt blood.
It’s really all that matters.
She turns and hugs him back, and finds herself suddenly choking on the same emotion, as though it’s consuming them both, a boat taking on water.
“I think we had too much to drink.” She sniffs.
“Agreed.”
And yet he only holds her tighter at this. And as if on cue, she suddenly feels so there again, and this is real, and his fingertips are pressing into the small of her back. Their patch of floor is dipped in a pool of moonlight, swimming under her now teary gaze. She’s sure her nails are leaving crescents on his shoulder blades.
The longer they remain that way, the less certain she becomes of the passage of time. She can feel the slow descent into sleep, a pleasant drowning. At first she listens to Keiichi’s breaths, and then they seems to swallow her whole, the rise and fall of his chest against her own a guide for her drowsy heartbeat.
The last thing her mind understands is something akin to light dancing on the surface of water, as seen from beneath. A pulsing—quiet, patient, yet enduring. She spends some time in the space between dreams trying to understand, until it comes to her wholly and simply.
I want to kiss him.
But night has already become the hollow of his neck, and her body isn’t answering, and his breathing is shallow.
It’s too late to find her way back to wakefulness now, and his embrace quells every unruly impulse in her body, softening them to a contentment with stillness she’s never known. And maybe it’s because the day has taught her not to take tomorrows for granted, or maybe it’s the alcohol, or the warmth of his body, or the way the night has dulled honesty’s glare, but most of all it’s the truth, and the thought of not sharing it here and now sparks a dull panic in her stomach, and so she says it.
“I love you.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, and sleep claims her like a gentle reward, as though, for a single moment, everything has found its equilibrium.