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Ever in my heart,
All the little pieces of you,
Look how they shine above;
Come away with me tonight,
We’ll be dreaming away there
Always
“Where are we going?” Kenjirou laughs, his eyes covered by large hands, half-stumbling forward as his boyfriend guides him gently from behind.
Eita lets out a breathy chuckle in his ear, then pulls Kenjirou’s head back slightly. “Wait, wait, wait, turn a bit—” Kenjirou shifts to his left. “— Other way, dummy,” Eita turns with him, and he bites back a retort. Whatever is happening, it must be special if Eita’s going to such lengths to surprise him.
“Sit?” He asks instead, feeling the backs of his knees hit the soft cushions of their couch.
“Yep,” says Eita from somewhere to his left.
“Can I see yet?”
“Nope.”
Carefully, Kenjirou lowers himself onto the couch, fighting back a smile as Eita’s fingers spread marginally and (accidentally) allow him a small glimpse into their heavily decorated living room. The coffee table has a scattered display of their photos, there’s sparkling wrapping paper everywhere, and somehow, fairy lights artfully surround them, glowing warmly in the dusk light.
This is certainly new. He had just arrived home after a relatively short day of classes when his boyfriend descended on him with a wide smile and a hop in his step. It wasn’t often that Eita was energetic in the early evening, so Kenjirou had decided to humour him— after all, what was the worst that could happen?
“Okay, okay,” Eita sounds—nervous? “I’m going to remove my hands, but you need to keep closing your eyes, okay? Just until I say you can open them.”
Nodding, Kenjirou bites the inside of his cheek and dutifully keeps his eyes closed while Eita rummages for something beside him. The rummaging stops after a few short moments, but any further observations screech to the halt because Eita is sliding something onto his head and there’s something light hitting the nape of his neck and his left hand is being enveloped in the warmth of Eita’s and—
Kenjirou opens his eyes to gape down.
Oh.
His boyfriend is on one knee, sliding a ring down his fourth finger; a slim, silver band engraved with some intricate pattern of feathers.
“Dummy, you weren’t supposed to have opened your eyes yet,” Eita complains, but his voice is soft, and his eyes full of tender affection.
Kenjirou’s higher mental processes seem to have stopped completely in favour of staring at the ring on his finger, feeling the weight of the veil on his head, and taking in the weight of the situation.
“I had a whole speech prepared and everything, too,” Eita continues, gently running his thumb over Kenjirou’s knuckles. “But I think—”
“Yes,” Kenjirou whispers. The giddiness is setting in now, and he marvels at the sensation of a ring on his finger. “Yes.”
With a huff, Eita’s lips curve up in a smile, his eyes shining with mirth. “I haven’t even asked you yet.”
Kenjirou flushes with anticipation. “What are you waiting for, then?”
He watches as the blond takes a deep breath, tongue poking out to lick his lips—an old nervous tic from their high school volleyball days.
“Shirabu Kenjirou, I love you. And I know I tell you every damn day; I probably annoy you with how much I tell you, but God, Kenjirou, I’m not in the business of hiding my feelings when it comes to you. I love you so, so damn much.
We’re at crossroads in life: I’m graduating in two months, and you’re going to spend your last year in a lab, for the most part. People would probably say that it’s insane to even think of getting married, especially with how young we are. But I can say with certainty that there is no other person I would rather dedicate the rest of my life to—not now, nor ever. You’re it for me forever, Kenjirou. I hope I’m it for you, too.”
Kenjirou is trembling all over, but he mouths yes, you are all the same. Yes, you are, I love you too, I love you, I love you.
“Will you marry me?”
The lump in his throat is nearly suffocating, and it’s only now that he feels tears of happiness streaking down his cheeks. With a watery smile, he joins Eita in kneeling on the floor, pulling the man into a tight hug and burying his face in the crook of his neck.
“Yes,” he breathes, peppering light kisses on Eita’s skin. “Please, yes.”
-X-
They stand at the crossroads in the park, facing each other with an insurmountable distance between them.
Inside Kenjirou is a raging storm, a pool of agony threatening to well up and overflow. Eita—well, Eita looks resigned, almost. Sad, but accepting of what is about to come.
Suddenly, Kenjirou can’t stand to look at him anymore. He glares down at the ground, wrapping his arms tighter around himself, willing himself to stay composed. Across from him, the sounds of Eita scuffling his feet on the ground echo loudly in the silence of the park.
“Kenjirou,” he hears. It’s a stilted, shy, absolute abhorrent use of his name. “Kenjirou, please, if there’s any—”
“—Don’t call me that.” Kenjirou feels the first tear fall, and he grinds his teeth together. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.” The words are harsh, grating on his tongue and heart. He glances up.
-X-
“You know, I didn’t think you had a single aesthetic bone in your body,” Kenjirou sighs contentedly, pressing himself closer to fiancé’s side.
They’ve long since gotten off the floor and cleaned up the wrapping paper (though they kept the fairy lights around them, because Mood Lighting). Eita has one arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, grounding him in this new reality that is engagement, and Kenjirou couldn’t be happier.
“Ushijima helped,” Eita mutters embarrassedly. “The lights are his.”
There’s a second of silence while Kenjirou digests this information. Of course, Ushijima would have fairy lights and an eye for romantic proposal set-ups. Of course. Kenjirou lets out a bark of laughter and leans forward to take the stack of photos before settling back into Eita.
The photos vary in age—the oldest being five years ago at Shiratorizawa, the most recent being a selfie from last week’s date night. Languidly, they flip through the pile, reminiscing together as the skies fade from orange to indigo to black. If an outsider had looked in on that moment, they would have seen nothing but the soft glow of contentment around a picture-perfect couple.
(Perhaps that’s why it’s so jarring to think that this is how they end, years later.)
-X-
“Shirabu,” Eita’s voice cracks. “Where did we go wrong?”
Kenjirou swallows. “That’s just it, isn’t it?”
When Eita doesn’t reply, he continues.
“I think the both of us know we’re done.”
He has a theory, see—love isn’t enough, sometimes. Sometimes, two people can love each other more than anything, and still, that isn’t, and will never be, enough. Love is a double-edged sword, one that cuts down as easily as it fights for, and the both of them are trapped by it.
It is an endless cycle of push and pull, give and take, and in this moment, Kenjirou knows it can’t go on anymore.
“I love you,” the other man reaches out for him, taking a few steps forward. “Please, Shirabu, I love you.” Eita stops an arm’s length away, hand still outstretched, yet something prevents him from making contact. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”
The words dry in Kenjirou’s mouth. Isn’t it funny, he thinks wryly, that he loves Eita, too? He loves the man with every cell in his body. He loves this man so much that it physically pains him to leave, and he blinks rapidly to dispel the tears.
“But are you happy, Semi?” He asks, throat tightening and threatening to cut off his speech entirely. “Truly?”
-X-
“Come on, we don’t need to move out—we’ve been here for years, it’s home,” Eita says, taking another bite of his meal.
They’re sitting at the kitchen table for a late dinner, Eita having come home extremely late. Kenjirou ended up eating without his fiancé and spending the majority of the night alone with his readings.
Sighing, he sips his tea to clear his thoughts. “I know, I know, but don’t you think it’d be better if we could have a place of our own?”
Eita frowns. “I mean, sure, but that’s expensive, and it’s a huge commitment.”
“Marriage isn’t a huge commitment, but settling down is?”
The phrase passes through his lips without any filter, and Kenjirou lets the words hang heavily in the air.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” the other man starts, hesitant.
“I don’t know, actually.” Slowly, the itch for a fight burns beneath his skin, some lingering, pent-up irritation ready to burst. “We dated for five years, have been engaged for nearly two, and you’re still not willing to start a new chapter?”
Eita’s frown deepens, and he sets his chopsticks down carefully on the table. “Kenjirou, we’ve discussed this. We’re not ready—”
“No,” he snaps. “You’re not ready. You told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, but you haven’t proven it. I’m ready for something more, Eita. When will you realize that?”
-X-
“That’s what I thought,” Kenjirou mutters under his breath after Eita doesn’t answer. Time seems to slow to a crawl, and he watches helplessly as his tears obscure his vision. Tightening his grip around himself, he whips around and starts walking down the path out of the park.
So much for forever, he thinks, unable to hold the sobs in his chest. They escape him like hiccups—an unsteady exhale, an uneven jump in his vocal cords, the visceral sound of him choking on his broken heart, the repeated soundbite in his mind of I love you, I love you, I—
Kenjirou is suddenly pulled into a tight hug. Eita is crying too, breathing heavily as he holds on like his life depends on it. The feeling is welcome for a few, fleeting seconds; he uses the moment to take in Eita’s cologne, warmth, and that something that makes Kenjirou’s head spin with comfort and familiarity.
Then, he remembers himself, and gently pries the older man off. Eita looks like a wreck (and wouldn’t Kenjirou love to gather him close to his heart and kiss his quivering lips until they smiled for him again), but Kenjirou suspects he doesn’t look too much better. He drops his gaze to the gravel path.
“I’ll crash at Taichi’s tonight and come back for my things,” he says quietly, refusing to glance up again as he slips off his engagement ring and places it in Eita’s hand.
“Please, no…”
Kenjirou shakes his head and walks wordlessly away.
-X-
Someday, we’ll meet again;
It’ll be the happiest day;
I will go to you like the first snow…