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If you lined up all the surviving members of the Japanese police force tasked with catching Kira by order of guilt, Ide generally imagines that he’d be planted firmly at the end. It’s not an astounding feat, since their numbers cut off at four, but he’s still grateful that he doesn’t wake up everyday contemplating the Life and Times of Yagami Light, or whether or not he deserved to die screaming in a puddle of his own blood, as abandoned as the dirty warehouse his body ceased to move in. It’s a depressing thought, and he’s glad, in a way, that they were never too close. He liked the guy well enough, sure, but he was hardly attached, and when Aizawa followed in L’s footsteps and decided to investigate him, Ide elected to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.
He also imagines that that trait is more or less unique to him. Aizawa and Mogi prepared for the worst and Matsuda did more than hope for the best; as a result Matsuda was blindsided by Light’s betrayal, while Aizawa and Mogi were forced to stand by a man they were sure was a murderer, all the while aware of their likely impending demise. Ide wishes that things could have turned out better, of course — he regrets the lives lost to Kira, and he supposes that Light counts as one of those, even if the attempt at a god had no one to blame but himself for it — but he accepts the past as it is. He thinks he’s the only one who does. To some extent, at least.
Matsuda definitely took it the worst out of all of them, because of course he did — he is all faith and trust, anyways, or was, once upon a time. It took him long enough to recover from it (and Ide would know, he was there for it, he was there when everything crumbled away and he was the one who tried so hard to rebuild it) and the strength of his current condition was always at least somewhat up for question. Ide was always careful of that, because he knew; the same went for Aizawa, after a fair demonstration. It is a silent rule not to be too berating, not to relapse into insults, not to pick up their relationship as it stood five years ago because things are different now in more ways than one. Generally, Ide’s efforts suffice; generally, he is the one reassuring Aizawa when something seems off, the one checking in to make sure nothing is too far amiss. He is good about these things.
There are some dates, though, that should be recorded in a calendar, a planner, an itemized list entitled “DAYS TO PRIORITIZE TENDERNESS” in large, bold print. Ide has them memorized well enough since they all relate to the long since memorialized, but even he is prone to mistakes every so often; even he overestimates the thickness of his boyfriend’s skin sometimes.
Ide generally imagines himself as the least guilty of the bunch, yes, but maybe that only applies to the Kira case. When it comes to minor mistakes ending in upset, he might need to reconsider.
He’s seated on the hotel armchair, partially hunched over himself and in contemplation as Aizawa tugs the curtains open. The motion is carefully quiet and Matsuda remains stretched over one of the beds in whatever state of dreaming he’s in. The teddy bear — the damn thing looks so innocent, it’s almost like it has no idea all the chaos it’s caused — is crushed underneath a spread arm, and Matsuda looks like something between a small child and a fraternity boy in a drunken stupor. He is a deep sleeper, luckily, and remains graciously unaware as Ide slips after Aizawa out onto the hotel balcony. Ide hopes that whatever is playing out in the younger man’s head right now is pleasant. He’s gone through enough today. (There’s that damn guilt again.)
The glass door is slid shut behind him, and Ide leans up against the railing overlooking the city. L put them up in a damn nice hotel, and a good couple of blocks are visible from this floor. The cold air causes bumps to rise on Ide’s arm, but he’s at least dressed for it — besides, he’s always been too hot-natured. Aizawa, on the other hand, flips the collar of his jacket up over his mouth, rubbing his hands together and staring out at the embassy across the street. It’s no easy task to read his expression like this, with the entire lower half of his face shrouded, but Ide has decades of experience interpreting Aizawa’s mannerisms and subtle indicators; the knitting of his eyebrows is a telltale sign.
“Is it always so damn chilly in America this time of year?” he finally says. Ide can tell he’s stalling.
“America is a big country.” Even Ide wants to wince at the sound of his own voice; his anxiety is palpable in the high lilt to his tone, the slight underlying tremble, and he knows that it gives him away. As if Aizawa needs any more evidence. “It’s not as rainy as last time I was here, though.”
Aizawa responds with a low hum, fingers thrumming rhythmically against the metal beam that divides them from the rest of the cold city. Evidently, he’s tired himself of avoiding the subject, because he finally turns to face Ide, tucking his collar back down and fixing him with a concerned gaze. “Hideki, can we talk?”
That’s never a good sign, but Ide can guess for himself what Aizawa wants to talk about; it’s rather obvious, all things considered. His lips press into a thin line. “Always.”
“Great.” Aizawa rests his hand on his hip. “So. Are you okay?”
Ide bites his lip. “Sure. I’m mostly just worried about Touta.”
“Yeah, so am I. Let’s not focus on him for a second, though — you know he’ll be alright, Hideki. It’s you I want to focus on.”
“I can tell.” Ide considers trying for a smile, but doesn’t. “Where do you want me to start, then?”
“Well, you’ve obviously been upset ever since what happened at the toy store. I can understand why,” Aizawa says, eyes focused on Ide with that tired intensity that’s become so characteristic of him over the course of these past several years, “but I think you should talk about it some. It might help.”
“Alright.” Ide is still plagued by a creeping inhibition to vulnerability on his own part, but he’s willing to compromise for Aizawa. Still, his eyes stray to the avenue below in searching attempt to focus on something, anything other than his boyfriend’s piercing stare — he loves Aizawa deeply, but he knows so much about him. Normally, that is a good thing; tonight, it only serves to make him insecure. “It can’t be anything you haven’t realized for yourself, but if you want to hear it from my mouth, then fine. You can hear it. ... I just feel bad about what happened. I know to be gentle with Touta and I thought I knew better than that but somehow I still managed to fuck it up. And over a stupid teddy bear.” His mouth twitches. “A grown man giving his significant other a breakdown in the middle of a goddamn toy store. Some idiot I must’ve looked like.”
“You didn’t look like an idiot, Hideki.” Aizawa’s voice is calm, rational, gentle without being condescending. “It was an honest mistake.”
“A mistake I shouldn’t have made,” Ide insists crossly. “I know Touta. I should’ve known better than that. Here I am, trying to act like the sensible one all the time, but this…” He pauses, reevaluates himself, closes his eyes for a moment and breathes out. “I’m frustrated with myself, Shuichi. This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen because of me. I’m the one who should be fixing it.”
Aizawa lets out a low sigh, and Ide opens his eyes in time to see it fade into the air around them. He shivers, and Aizawa says firmly, “This isn’t your fault, Hideki. You know that Touta’s moods get a little unpredictable on days like these — and that isn’t his fault, but it certainly isn’t yours, either. You’re doing your best, but it isn’t your responsibility to play parent all the time. Sometimes these things happen. There’s no use beating yourself up over it. Touta doesn’t blame you, and I definitely don’t.”
Ide isn’t entirely sure what to say to that. The corner of his mouth twitches and he stares just a bit harder at the streets below; a part of him knows that Aizawa is right, but there’s still a nagging feeling in his gut that screams otherwise. Rationally, he knows that this is no one’s fault, that these things just happen sometimes, but his knee-jerk reaction is still one of self-condemnation. It’s dramatic, yes, he’ll admit that, but then, so was Matsuda’s reaction earlier. It’s germane.
The other man’s sobbing is still echoing in his head. He’s heard it before — most notably five years ago, when Matsuda was plastered over his living room floor and weighed down by alcohol and general misery — but he doesn’t very much like it when it’s resulting from his own misjudgments, his own poor choice of words. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Look at me, Hideki,” Aizawa says. His voice is quiet and all too gentle against the cutting wind and the churning in Ide’s stomach. Ide, for his part, does as he’s commanded and is rewarded by the touch of Aizawa’s hand against his own. “It’ll be okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me.”
Trust me. Ide can’t help himself; something within him melts when Aizawa says that and he draws himself up against the other man’s chest. He’s always been shy about physical affection but something about the moment struck a very particular chord within him and it’s so cold outside and Ide is reminded of being in college, of being sure of himself and the world around him and allowing Aizawa into his life tentatively, gradually, of being unable to properly identify the throbbing in his chest or the redness in his cheeks. He is sure it made him physically ill at one point; then, he acclimatized himself to it.
He doesn’t feel ill now. Ide moves his arms to rest around Aizawa, fingers splayed over his shoulder blades, and tucks his head under his chin. He hears something hitch in Aizawa’s breathing and then he feels a firm, strong hand carding its fingers through his hair.
A few moments pass, enough time for Ide to grow embarrassed and pull away. He makes shy eye contact with Aizawa and is just a little bit floored by the fondness he sees there. It is cold and Aizawa’s cheeks are red and Ide is just as in love now as he was all those years, all those decades ago.
“... It’s freezing out here,” he states finally, definitively, and Ide is tugged carefully back to Earth. He nods back and follows Aizawa into the hotel room.
“Do you think Touta will be feeling any better tomorrow?” he finds himself murmuring, cautious not to wake Matsuda up — as if a cattle stampede could rouse that man from his slumber.
Aizawa hums. “Probably,” he confirms after a moment, sliding the glass door shut. “I’d imagine so.”
“Let’s hope. I suppose we have hot chocolate to look forward to, at least.”
That garners a quiet chuckle from his companion, and Ide’s stomach does a flip. “Yes, there’s always that.”
He smiles back, just a little bit. “There’s always that.”