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The quiet was a comfort that Morisaki had almost forgotten. He almost didn’t miss it.
Tokyo was all here and now; Kochi was unbothered.
Tokyo was a distraction, just as much as Muto was.
Morisaki hadn’t meant to think of her like that. As an extension of Tokyo. Someone else. Someone other. It just ended up that way.
Matsuno didn’t understand, and it wasn’t his fault. Morisaki let him. He let Matsuno believe he was holding back, when in reality, he was holding in. He didn’t want to be pitied. He didn’t want Matsuno knowing that he was suffocating whenever the conversation shifted to Muto. He didn’t want him knowing.
But he said nothing, and Morisaki said nothing, and Muto said nothing.
The thing was, Morisaki didn’t want to lose Matsuno. And like with everyone else’s didn’t wants, it was too late before he realized that he already had. He lost all of him.
Matsuno shouldn’t have picked him up.
It was embarrassing. After months of not speaking to each other, Matsuno seemed to think that showing up at the airport would fix what Morisaki had broken.
Sure, they could be close again. They could have late night phone calls where Matsuno talks and Morisaki listens. He could ditch work when Matsuno asked. He could do Best Friends.
But Morisaki didn’t want to. He was tired of missing Matsuno when he was on the other line, when he was walking home with him, when he was driving him home from the airport. He wanted more. He wanted what Matsuno had wanted when he looked at Muto. He wanted to stop missing Matsuno when he was right next to him.
I shouldn’t have asked to go on a walk.
He picked up the pace, worried that if he looked at Matsuno, he would have to say what he should have months ago. Afraid to say it wrong.
I should have let him drop me off.
They hadn’t said a word to each other since they exited the car.
Is this how we used to be?
As they neared the water, Morisaki kept walking. He wanted to stay ahead of Matsuno. He needed to. It was sunset. Morisaki watched the ground.
Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of—
“I was angry that time,” Matsuno started, pressing his foot against the edge of the dock, “because I knew you were holding back on my account.”
You don’t know anything.
Morisaki wanted to tell him. He wanted to say everything.
What do I say? This is so much. This is too much.
“I hadn’t noticed till then...” Morisaki crouched, the water stopping him from going any farther, “that you really liked Muto.”
Morisaki closed his eyes.
“You don’t know anything.”
He felt his words settle, and focused on the sounds of the sea. He knew that this was it; his last chance to tell him. If he didn’t say it now, he never would, and he realized that that would hurt more than any reaction.
He didn’t open his eyes, he wasn’t facing Matsuno anyways.
“You seriously don’t know a thing.”
They sat like that for a few minutes. Morisaki crouched, eyes shut, hiding. Matsuno, standing, hands in his pockets.
“Tell me then,” Matsuno said.
I’m in love with an idiot.
The realization was too delayed—years late—and it was so utterly tragic that he couldn’t laugh.
Morisaki opened his eyes, “I never said that.”
“Said what?”
“You don’t know anything,” Morisaki repeated, standing up. “I really can’t believe I just noticed.”
“Please, Morisaki.”
“I never said that.”
“Said what?” Matsuno was patient. Always patient.
“I never liked her,” he started. He didn’t think he could stop if he tried. “I think I may have even hated her at one point.”
“What are you saying? I don’t understand.”
Matsuno. Matsuno.
“I missed you. I missed you so much it hurt to speak. Hurt to think.”
“I’ve missed you too, but what does that have to do with this?” He still didn’t get it.
Morisaki took a deep breath, "No. That’s not what I mean... I’ve missed you for so long... Too long,” he was rambling. It didn’t matter. It never would have mattered. Not to him. But it was too late to dwell on that. Too late.
“I missed you when we walked home from school. I missed you when I went to work. I missed you when you wanted to talk about a girl. I missed you when you called. I missed you before you called. I don’t think I’ve stopped missing you, and I don’t think I ever will.
There.
“Oh.”
Oh.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” they were facing each other now. “Morisaki… Why didn’t you tell me?”
Morisaki looked him in the eyes, his back to the setting sun, “Would it have changed anything?”
Matsuno looked down.
“That’s why.” He turned around, and watched the sky.