Work Text:
Spring of 1890
[my cold hands]
It should have been dark, but it wasn’t.
Instead it was white – purified, holy, angelic. A rare occurrence what with all the smog the factories seemed to emit nowadays, plumes of dust fading into the already grey sky.
The snow scrunched beneath his feet, thick and heavy and its icy cold penetrated the soles of his thin shoes, making his toes go numb.
It was cold, so very cold. The air in front of his face was littered with white clouds whenever he breathed out, his nose had been runny before but now it was just frozen solid and he couldn’t feel his fingers, his ears, anything.
Semi couldn’t exactly recall how he’d ended up in this situation. His memories were blurry, hard to make sense of, and as he tramped through the white thicket like that, it felt as if he left a small amount of himself, what made him himself, behind with every step he took deeper into the relentless terrain. He had been on his way home, that much he was sure of at least. Every day was the same, over and over again – they’d probably just started bleeding into each other, and the cold had done the rest.
His teeth chattered, the sound of bones in his body grinding against one another in protest, shifting and moving beneath skin that felt like paper, doing nothing to fend off the cold.
As far as he remembered, the snow had just come. Appeared like that, out of thin air, and stayed. It buried the town, his neighbourhood, and no matter how hard you worked to shovel it off your property, it was back the next day. Not that he really had any property to shovel it off of.
Semi shuddered, pulling his coat tightly around himself. It was cold. So goddamned cold. He meekly coughed into his collar, sniffling a little.
A snowstorm in the middle of spring; how ironic was that?
He sighed, shaking his head a little. It was what it was, the snow was here and as it seemed, it’d stay for quite a while. Discontented, he made his way through the piles of white on either side of him, always growing.
The area he passed through was barely discernible from the rest of the town, hidden beneath a thick layer of snow and ice, and he slipped slightly, his feet losing their ground before he could regain his balance. Semi shook his head to clear the snowflakes away, and the white danced and shimmered around him.
He could barely feel the cobblestone hidden beneath, and his footsteps echoed around, reverberating from the piles of snow that encumbered him here, trapped him.
He hurried on, desperate to get out of the snow, and passed underneath the dimly shining streetlights that had taken on the appearance of ghostly visitors. At least he knew these streetlights, that much he was sure of.
Despite the blindingly white snow, Semi knew that the sun was setting somewhere behind the heaps of white powder. The streetlights wouldn’t have turned on otherwise.
Whatever snow had settled in his mind and clouded his thoughts seemed to be mostly gone now, nothing but a trace left of it, and Semi veered towards the right, stepping into the narrow street that was almost too small to actually be called a street. He buried his nose in the collar of his coat, sniffling pathetically once again, as the light of the windows he passed by lit up the ground from time to time.
No one was out here at this time, no one but him.
With a sigh, he stopped in front of a run-down door, rummaging around in his pockets to find the key. It felt cold in his hands as he curled his fingers around it, but it didn’t matter much to him. Semi unlocked the door and let himself in, frowning at the disarray of his house.
Well, if it could even be called a house.
He opted to keep his shoes on, and the old floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he stepped inside the apartment he was renting at the moment. It wasn’t much to look at, but it had seen him through the winter, so that was something.
Breathing out, he watched as a small, misty cloud rose from his mouth and disappeared into thin air before he wriggled out of his coat and unceremoniously dropped it on one of the two still intact chairs that stood around the kitchen table. Rubbing his hands together, Semi hurried into the living room, shooting his pitifully small stack of firewood nothing more than a quick glance before putting a few logs in the fireplace and lighting them.
The warmth was a welcome change, and he was content to just sit in front of it for a few, precious moments. That persistent cough tickled the back of his throat again, but he suppressed it and closed his eyes instead, letting the warm shine of the flames paint the insides of his eyelids red.
But alas, he couldn’t keep sitting here. Forcing his body to obey, Semi heaved himself up and dragged his feet towards the small kitchen, passing the dusty piano and looking at the meagre contents of his shelf. The familiar motions of preparing bread and tea were soothing, but Semi desperately longed for the long bygone times when he’d been with his parents, their hearty meals and the chatter around the dinner table.
Well, it didn’t matter much now, did it?
He prepared his dinner and then went to sit in front of the fire place once more. He had a perfectly functional table, but watching the warm flames eat away at the firewood seemed less lonely than staring out the dark window.
With deliberate bites he consumed his food until only crumbs were left, curling his calloused fingers around the steaming cup and raising it to his face to softly blow on it. Its surface felt rough beneath his fingers, so unlike the delicate china porcelain he’d grown up with.
Semi sighed again.
Maybe he should write a letter soon, just to see how they were faring. He couldn’t tell if his parents wanted to hear from him or not, but it was always worth a try, wasn’t it? And besides, his mother sometimes included photographs of his little sister in her letters, and that was always something he looked forward to.
His thought process was rudely interrupted by a knock at his door – which was a strange occurrence in itself, surely. No one ever came to visit him. At least not here, where no one actually knew him. And not this late into the day, when the sun had already set and shadows painted the streets.
Frowning a little, he got up to check on the door. It was never good to let one’s guests wait, and despite what his teachers had said about him, he did have manners. Semi crept towards the door, placing his hand on the cold handle and slowly pressing down. It swung open without as much as a creak, letting the dim light of his apartment spill out onto the street and illuminate the boy in front of his door that was looking up at him with bored eyes.
Semi tilted his head to one side. “Can I help you?” he asked politely, although the boy’s stare was a bit unnerving if he was being honest.
The boy tilted his head towards the other side, burying his hands in his pockets as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Pardon me,” he said, and his voice had a French lilt to it if Semi had ever heard one. “You are not the one I was looking for.”
Without another word, he turned around and disappeared into the darkness.
Semi was left standing at the open door, his mouth slightly agape; and when he finally was able to close the door and lock it behind him, when he brushed his teeth and washed his face and settled into his bed, the boy’s empty eyes followed him into his dreams and it felt as if a heavy weight had settled on his chest.
He woke up because of the cough.
It was soft, barely clawed at the insides of his throat, but it was there nonetheless. Maybe he was getting sick after all; it’d certainly fit the miserable weather.
But there was something else as well; the ringing of a bell, muffled by walls and snow. Still buried underneath heaps and mountains of scratchy blankets, Semi closed his eyes for a second, sending a short prayer up towards heaven. Hearing a passing-bell at this time of day was never a good omen – not that he believed in omens.
He allowed himself to dwell in his thoughts for a few more minutes before he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got up, shuffling into the kitchen to put the kettle on before facing his own image in the mirror.
Bloodshot eyes greeted him, but he was used to that by now. The water he washed his face with was cold, but he’d expected nothing else. It was best to just forget he ever had experienced any luxuries and move on. Sighing, Semi grabbed the brush and haphazardly dragged it though his thick hair, trying to get it to lay flat on his head. He gave up halfway through; it wasn’t like he had anyone to impress.
After a quick breakfast (he wasn’t all that hungry), Semi threw on his coat and stepped out of the door, only to be greeted by the same boy he’d seen the night before, sitting on the snowed-in staircase that led up to his neighbour’s house.
He frowned. “What are you doing here?” Semi demanded to know. He hadn’t seen the boy around here before. “Are you loitering? You ought to leave.”
The boy didn’t move; he simply kept on staring at his dirty feet, red from the cold snow.
Maybe he hadn’t understood? Semi repeated himself, louder this time, shifting from one foot to the other. The cold was getting to him.
He was about to ask for the boy’s parents, if he had anyone to get him (because even though he wore no shoes, the boy didn’t look all that homeless) when the boy raised his head, staring straight into Semi’s eyes. “I’m waiting,” he said softly.
Semi waited for him to elaborate, but nothing came. “What are you waiting for?”
“You’ll see.” The boy drew his knees up to his chest and slung his arms around his legs, resting his cheek on his knees. “Don’t you need to leave? You don’t have time to be standing around here.”
He cursed softly; maybe the boy did have no place to go, but he very well couldn’t…
Well, it didn’t matter.
Semi shot him one last look before he made his way through the mountains of snow.
The street was nearly deserted when he came back, soot and grime covering his hands and face. That nasty cough had accompanied him throughout the entire day, slowly building up until it reached its crescendo and then ebbing away as if it never had been there, leaving nothing but a sore throat in its wake
He sniffled miserably as he walked down the street, dragging his feet through the now muddy snow. It smelled of cold iron and pine needles.
Semi hummed a quiet tune to himself as he neared his own hearth and home, already digging inside his pockets for the keys, when he first heard it. A woman’s voice, hissing at whoever had drawn her wrath to themselves. He cringed slightly, reminded of his mother’s tone whenever she had scolded him.
The closer he got, the louder the yelling (and it could be considered yelling at this point) became, until he came to a halt in front of his neighbour’s house, watching as the scene unfolded in front of him.
The same boy from before was standing at the foot of the steps leading up to the doorway, his head held at an angle as the woman cowered behind the half-closed door. “Would you leave already!” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down.
Semi furrowed his brows, drawing up next to the boy. “Is there a problem?”
“Oh, thank God!” the woman whispered sharply, seemingly afraid of raising her voice. “Do you perchance know this boy?”
Shooting the apathetic boy next to him a glance, Semi gnawed on his lower lip. He didn’t actually know the guy, but maybe- maybe he was being stupid. He shook his head at himself, one of his hands leaving the warmth of his pockets to massage the bridge of his nose. “We are acquaintances, yes. Is he bothering you?”
“I can’t get him to leave,” the woman lamented. “God knows I have larger things to worry about than a layabout.”
Semi nodded, grabbing the boy’s thin arm without any forewarning. The boy didn’t even flinch. “Was it you that rang the bell this morning?”
“Yes, yes. That would have been me indeed.” She dragged one of her thick hands across her face, closing her eyes briefly. “Matters have not been settled yet. May he rest in peace.”
“My condolences,” Semi started, already starting to drag the boy away from the woman’s home. “The hectic fever, I presume?” At her nod, he continued. “May God rest his soul.”
She thanked him, and when he was sure that the woman had closed her door, he turned towards the boy, lips drawn into a tight line. “Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you want here, but you really ought to leave. This isn’t a place for young lads like yourself.”
The boy raised an eyebrow at him. “I have business here,” he assured Semi.
“Business?”
The boy didn’t elaborate.
“Don’t you have anywhere else to go? I could call your parents? What about-” He interrupted himself with another rather nasty sounding cough, turning away to hide his face in the crook of his elbow. “We ought not to talk out here, the cold air won’t do us well. Come inside with me for a minute?”
The boy simply shrugged, so Semi grabbed his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door for them, beckoning the boy to step inside first. Once both of them were out of the cold, he shrugged off his coat, hurrying to get a fire started.
Once the flames were crackling, licking away at the firewood, Semi dragged both chairs into the living room, motioning for the boy – who had, until this point, stood motionlessly in the entry hall – to take a seat.
The boy did so reluctantly, folding his hands neatly in his lap, head turned towards the warm fire.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Semi asked, more out of politeness than anything else.
When the boy didn’t answer, he made one regardless, occupying himself by scrutinizing the boy’s appearance while the water boiled. Carrying both cups into the living room, he carefully handed one cup over to the boy before settling down with his own cup.
“So, why don’t the two of us talk about… your, uh, current situation?” he started, curling his fingers – still covered with grime – around the hot cup.
“What is there to talk about?” the boy asked back, dark eyes staring right into his soul.
“How about you tell me your name first?”
The boy hesitated for a few seconds. “My name is Shirabu.”
Shirabu.
Semi repeated the name a few times in his head, letting it roll off his tongue. It was pleasant sounding, matching the boy’s pretty face. “My name is Semi,” he responded after a few beats of silence. “What are you doing here, all on your own? Shouldn’t you be with your parents?”
Shirabu shook his head. “I am of age already. And like I already said, I have business here. You oughtn’t worry about me, I assure you. I’ll simply stay outside, I needn’t much to survive.”
Frowning, Semi took a sip of his still-hot tea, burning his tongue. “Are you sure? The weather seems awful, and I don’t think I can condone letting a child like you stay out there.”
The boy’s eyes flashed for a moment, but it was gone as fast as it had come. “And I’m telling you, I’m not a child. I can care take of myself.”
Semi huffed. “You sure eat vinegar with a fork, don’t you? Even if you tell me you already are of age, you cannot be much older than, say, 18. Barely an adult. You really ought to hurry back to your parents.”
“My parents are dead.”
“Oh.” Well, that certainly made more sense, then. “My condolences.”
“It’s fine.” Shirabu averted his eyes. “But that is why I cannot go back. And I have business here.” He was really adamant about the business aspect, it seemed.
“And you have nowhere else to stay?”
Shirabu shook his head. “But I do not care much. The cold doesn’t affect me.”
Semi hummed quietly. “You know,” he started, rubbing the rough surface of the cup with his thumb. “If you don’t mind, you could, well, stay here for a while. I’d only expect you to pull your weight. But if you’ve got ‘business’ here and had no place to go, I wouldn’t mind a little company.”
He watched as Shirabu’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “That would be too kind,” he croaked out, eyes glued to the cup in his hand that was still untouched. “But I couldn’t accept that kind of generosity, I’m afraid.”
“Why not? Consider it at least,” Semi urged him. He didn’t quite know why he was so pushy about the subject; he didn’t know the boy all that well. Maybe it was a little out of spite as well; his mother certainly wouldn’t approve of this. But it simply had been too long since he’d had company, and he severely missed the liveliness of another human being. “I wouldn’t mind. Even though my apartment is not much to look at, I do find it to be quite empty and lonesome at times. And it would only be for a while, after all.”
Shirabu seemed conflicted, teeth digging into his soft lower lip. “I don’t know…” he admitted at last. “I would rather just be another bystander.”
His utterances were weird at times, but Semi wasn’t dejected in the slightest. “No, I insist on it. What kind of business is it that you have here?”
Maybe he was being too bold, because Shirabu froze up, his eyes darting around frantically as he licked his lips. “Nothing of importance. Nothing you would understand, at least.” He took a hasty sip of his tea, hiding the lower half of his face with his cup afterwards.
“Alright, then. Keep your secrets.” Semi nipped at his own tea, crossing his legs. “No need to get all poked up about it.” He got up, stretching his legs and wandering over to the kitchen to finally wash his hands. The cold water sent chills down his spine.
“Where are you going?” Shirabu asked, although he didn’t sound alarmed in the slightest.
“Nowhere,” he replied easily, drying his hands with a nearby towel. “So? Have you thought about it?”
Shirabu grunted noncommittedly.
“It wouldn’t be forever. Just until the snow lets up. Then we can part ways.”
Shirabu’s brown eyes glimmered in the soft firelight, and when he nodded, Semi almost felt as if he were making a pact with the devil. “I needn’t much,” he repeated. “And I will be gone as soon as the sun starts to thaw the ground.”
“Of course,” Semi agreed, settling down on the chair once again. “I hope you don’t mind sleeping here for now. I’m afraid I don’t have a second bed.”
Shirabu shook his head. “It’s fine. I will be working throughout the night most of the time. And I don’t need much sleep, anyhow.”
“Alright then. If you’ll excuse me, I should head to bed soon.” Semi gave Shirabu a tilted smile. “I’ll go and fetch some blankets for you, alright? And we should probably let you get a key made, shouldn’t we? Oh, and you seem like you could also use some new clothes.”
Frowning at him, Shirabu softly tugged on the hem of his off-white shirt. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” he asked, voice affronted.
“Nothing,” Semi hurriedly replied, “they just seem a little… outdated, that’s all. But we’ll take care of that tomorrow.”
After that, their conversation died down. Semi brought a few of the blankets that weren’t as moth-bitten as the others to the place in front of the fire, laying them down, and then they bid each other good night.
When Semi changed into his nightgown and climbed into his own bed, the cough from before was naught but a remote memory in the back of his head. He hadn’t had much time for any sort of friendship in the last few months, gaining a foothold in the city had taken up most of his time; but maybe that was about to change now.
Shirabu was still there the next morning, which was a surprise in and of itself. He honestly had expected the kid to bail as soon as he’d hit the hay, but there he was, sitting in Semi’s kitchen and bathing in the cool morning light.
He merely glanced at him when Semi started preparing a tea, thumbing through one of the dog-eared books that Semi liked to keep around for nostalgia’s sake.
“Good morning,” Semi yawned, staring out the window for a few seconds before a coughing fit came over him and racked his body. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” he continued, when the pain in his chest had subsided.
Shirabu only hummed in response, eyes still glued to the book.
“What are you reading?” Semi asked, preparing cups of tea for both himself and Shirabu and then pushing one cup across the table towards the boy.
“Nothing in particular,” Shirabu responded, closing the book and placing it on the table with the cover facing the wood. “Does it hurt?”
Semi stared at him for a few seconds. “Does what hurt?” he asked dumbfounded.
“Your cough. Does it hurt?”
He raised one eyebrow. “It’s just a cold. But I can keep my distance, if you’d prefer that.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Scratching his nose for a second, Semi frowned. Did it hurt? A little, perhaps. “I don’t know. What’s it to you?”
Shirabu let his fingers glide over the cup, staring down at it. “You’re right, it’s none of my business. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work or the like?”
Semi knew a deflection when he heard one, but this time he could humour the boy. “Today’s Sunday,” he answered instead, eyeing Shirabu. “If you don’t have any business today, we could get you some new clothes. To make you look as presentable as possible.” With the slightest hint of disdain, he took in Shirabu’s disarranged clothes and dishevelled, way-too-long hair that partially hid his eyes. Which was probably a good thing, since he was most likely staring daggers at Semi.
He sighed. “Only if you want to, of course,” he added belatedly. “I’m just saying you might want to consider my offer.”
Shirabu scrunched his nose up, turning his head away from Semi. “And how would you pay for it?”
That certainly was a fair point – Semi really didn’t have the means to pay for anything excess, let alone an entire new wardrobe. But-
“You think my neighbour might already be grinning at the daisy roots?”
If possible, Shirabu’s nose scrunched up even more; Semi noticed that a few freckles were splattered across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. “Is that not a little morbid of you to say?”
Perhaps it was. Perhaps Semi lacked the proper etiquette – but fact was, a dead man didn’t need clothes, and he didn’t care much about etiquette either way. “We ought to ask at least.” He coughed a little, clearing his throat afterwards. “If you’ll wait here, I can go ask right now.”
He got up before Shirabu could object, stumbling a little as a feeling of vertigo came over him but catching himself on the edge of the table and moving towards the door. He could feel Shirabu’s dispassionate eyes staring at his back as he opened it, traipsing down the snowy stairs towards his neighbour’s door.
Convincing the woman to at least spare them some clothes wasn’t as hard as he had expected it to be.
Arms laden full with old coats and shirts, he stumbled into his own apartment and dropped them onto the wooden table where Shirabu was waiting patiently, his tea cup still filled to the brim. “What do you think?” Semi asked, huffing and panting.
Lazily, Shirabu leaned forwards, slender fingers rifling through the clothes and feeling the materials. “This ought to suit me just fine,” he finally said after a few seconds of tense silence, dragging a long overcoat from the stack, as well as a shirt and some pants. “They might be a little too large, but I’ll make do.”
Grinning at him, Semi took the cap from the top of the stack and flung it on Shirabu’s head, who looked at him with sour eyes from beneath the brim. “We only need to worry about your hair, then. Say, Shirabu, would you trust me with a pair of scissors?”
“Not particularly so,” Shirabu admitted, pushing the cap back on his head. “Your hands do seem a little shaky to me.”
A little surprised, Semi looked down and – true to Shirabu’s words – his hands were trembling. Probably due the cold, he mused. “Well, it’s either me and my shaky hands or you’re not getting a haircut at all.” He attempted a half-smile, trying to still his hands.
“Oh, how god-awful that would be.” Shirabu rolled his eyes, but there was no contempt in his words. He seemed to have already become reconciled to his fate.
“Go on and change, then. I’ll prepare some warm water so we can wash that hair of yours.”
Shirabu simply huffed and left for the bedroom without Semi having to tell him twice, dragging his feet all the way like a petulant child.
True to his words, Semi put a kettle on the stove and started to boil some water, whistling a quiet melody that reminded him of his childhood, until the sounds grated on his throat and he had to cough to dislodge the toad that had seemed to have gotten stuck in there.
The snow was still there when he gazed outside the window, almost blinding him. It never had snowed this much back when he’d still been home. Maybe he should mention that in his letter to his little sister. It would probably make her happy.
In any case, it didn’t take long for Shirabu to change, and as soon as the water had started to boil, the door to his bedroom opened and Shirabu stepped out, dressed in clean clothes, his shirt haphazardly (and wrongly) buttoned up.
Semi sighed, letting the water stay on the stove for a second longer as he made his way over to Shirabu, daft hands already unbuttoning Shirabu’s shirt to close them in the right order this time. “Have you never dressed yourself?” he asked, half-jokingly.
“Of course I have,” Shirabu scoffed, although a light blush spread across his cheeks, “this is ridiculous. And a waste of time.”
Snorting, Semi closed the last of his formerly mismatched buttons and smoothed the fabric out, stepping back to take a look at his work. “You’ll see, people will take you more seriously with clean clothes. And a new haircut. Come on.”
He took the kettle from the stove and motioned for Shirabu to join him on the way to the small bathroom, squeezing inside to make enough room for Shirabu. “If you want to pay your fair share, you ought to look presentable,” he hummed, digging around for a pair of scissors. “I am no barber by any means, but I think I’ll be able to do that. Don’t worry,” he added belatedly as he noticed Shirabu’s white-knuckled grab on the sink. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Shirabu nodded once, twice, tearing his gaze from the mirror and lowering his head as Semi started to wash his hair with the already cooling water. It didn’t feel as greasy beneath his fingers as he’d expected it to be. Instead it flowed through his hands like the current, thick and hard to tame, and as he worked the shampoo in (and washed it out again) and his hands grazed Shirabu’s neck, he noticed how cold the boy’s skin was.
“Alright,” Semi murmured after a few minutes of silent work. “You might want to sit down for this.”
Shirabu unceremoniously dropped down onto the tiled floor, crossing his legs, and Semi positioned himself behind Shirabu, chest almost pressing against Shirabu’s back. There was no warmth between them, and he could feel the cold creep up into his bare feet. Semi shuddered, suppressing a cough.
“Any preferences?”
Shaking his head, and then jerking it to the side a little, Shirabu motioned for him to just start and get on with it.
And so Semi did; the scissor legs closed and the first few locks of Shirabu’s caramel-coloured hair fell to the ground. For a second, Semi contemplated getting a towel or something, because hair was always hard to clean up, but he decided against it when he noticed Shirabu’s hands, palms pressed flat against the ground, and just kept going until his hair was at an acceptable length again.
He stepped back as Shirabu got up, and he watched as his new roommate stared at his reflection in the mirror, brushing his hands through his considerably shorter hair.
“I think it looks good on you,” Semi offered when Shirabu didn’t say anything.
“I suppose it does,” the other answered after a beat of silence, twirling a strand of his hair around his finger. “Thank you. For your help, I mean.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was something like gratitude in Shirabu’s words, and Semi soaked them up like they were pure sunlight.
Summer of 1890
[aren’t worthy of your warmth]
The snow had melted (not that Semi had ever doubted it) and left nothing but puddles and green grass in its wake.
To his surprise, however, Shirabu was still there, living with him. Semi had assumed he would leave as soon as the sun had started to melt the snow, but there he was, sitting in Semi’s living room and thumbing through his books, leaving them laying around on the ground once he was done with them, as if he’d always belonged there.
“Didn’t you say you were going to leave as soon as summer comes around?” Semi had asked him one sunny afternoon over a plate of scones that Shirabu didn’t touch, didn’t even look at.
Shirabu shook his head and nodded at the same time. “Unfinished business,” he simply said, “I’m still waiting. Do you want me to leave?”
“No, of course not.”
“I wouldn’t leave either way.”
They didn’t speak of the matter again after that. Semi, because he didn’t mind the company, and Shirabu- well, how would he know what was going on in that boy’s head?
As long as Shirabu continued to pay his fair share, everything was fine in Semi’s books.
Although he did wonder where Shirabu got the money from, now and then.
Semi’s cough had let up slightly, although it had not disappeared just yet. It got him some nasty glares from passers-by, but other than that no one really minded, especially not Shirabu.
“You cough with infinite grace,” he had once told Semi.
Semi had just shrugged, thinking nothing of the exchange.
The streets were always busy during the afternoons, and this time around, it was no different.
Semi despised it, hot bodies pressed together and sweat-stained clothes coming into contact with his own, sticky skin, so he ducked into a back alley, moving through the dimmed light like a cat.
He didn’t normally frequent these paths (no one knew what or who could be lurking in the shadows), but the shade did spend at least some coolness.
Closing his eyes for a split second, Semi almost bumped into someone standing in front of some sort of establishment. He hurried to apologize when he noticed the boy’s caramel hair and his rigid posture. “Shirabu?” he asked. It wasn’t often that he saw Shirabu go out during the day, especially not during this heat. “What are you doing here?”
When Shirabu turned around to him, Semi thought for a few moments that he was completely up the pole, with the way he swayed in the light breeze and his dilated pupils. When he turned towards the building they were in front of, it clicked in his head.
“Are you that much of a wooden spoon, Shirabu?” Semi hissed into his ear, grabbing him by the upper arm and dragging him away from the grey smoke curling out from behind the doors. “Those dens, they are not for the likes of you and me. You oughtn’t go in there, lest you want to stay there forever.”
Shirabu hummed quietly, the sound almost lost in the bustle of the city. “It reeks of-” His speech was slightly slurred.
“Don’t. Just don’t say it.” Semi heaved a weary sigh, dragging one hand across his face. “It’s a wretched hole, so low that they are unable to stand upright. Only men who have imbibed a taste for opium stay there, and it’s not good to mix with those folks.”
He hastily looked around them, just to make sure no one that knew him had seen him nearby before steering Shirabu towards their home, keeping out of the public’s eye. Not that anyone would actually care.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Semi pressed Shirabu down into a chair, pacing around the room. “What were you thinking?” he demanded to know, running his hands through his wet hair. “What in God’s name were you thinking?”
Shirabu stared at the tips of his shoes. “I was waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” Semi was getting exasperated. Shirabu’s inability to give straight answers was nerve-wracking, and it pressed down on his lungs until he dissolved into another coughing fit, fingers grasping the edge of the table.
Shirabu watched him from his chair, seemingly not knowing what to do. “You ought to lie down,” he simply stated, picking at his clothes.
Semi silenced him with a sharp glare. “I’m not- not done talking,” he wheezed, steadying himself before dropping down onto the other chair. “Don’t go there again. Promise me that much.”
Shirabu’s lips quirked up into a half-smile. “You’re worried.”
“Of course I am!” Raising his voice was not a smart move on his part, but Semi was getting fed up with this child’s play. “Of course I am,” he repeated softer, his voice already raw. He coughed weakly.
Sighing, Shirabu got up and walked over to where Semi was sitting. “I’ll bring you to bed,” he said, matter of fact, lightly grasping Semi’s upper arm and heaving him upwards.
Semi didn’t remember much after that.
Shirabu was reading somewhere in the kitchen; Semi could hear him turn the pages from time to time.
Heaving a sigh, he ran his fingers across the dusty keys of the old piano in his living room. It had been so long. Too long, perhaps.
Pressing down ever so lightly, a sound as bright as the early morning emerged, startling him a little. It had been too long.
The keys felt too smooth underneath his calloused fingers, and he swiped across them, the living room erupting in a cacophony of sounds. He could hear Shirabu clear his throat from the kitchen.
“Sorry,” he called towards him without really feeling sorry. “Want to hear something nice instead?”
Shirabu didn’t dignify him with an answer.
Sighing loudly, Semi let his fingers rest on the keys for a second longer before he willed his mind to remember the songs he had to learn growing up. The memories were barely there, buried beneath rubble and dust, but he dragged them towards the surface, and when he pressed down this time, it sounded a little more melodic.
He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts wander with the song’s tune, its highs and lows.
Semi only stopped playing when a cold hand came to rest on his shoulder, disrupting him from his play. He looked up, coming face to face with Shirabu. “Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, “did I disturb you?”
Shirabu gnawed on his lower lip for a second before opening his mouth to answer. “No, it’s- you’re fine. I just-” he cut himself off, lapsing back into silence.
Shirabu was hard to read at times; his dark eyes never betrayed what he was thinking about, and more often than not Semi found himself wondering what was going on in that head of his.
Maybe it was Semi’s turn to finally catch him off-guard.
He rose from the stool, taking Shirabu’s hand that had been laying on his shoulder into his. Their fingers slotted together perfectly as Semi drew him closer. “I think people ought to have fun more often,” he snickered as his other hand came to rest on Shirabu’s waist.
“What are you doing?” Shirabu asked, although he sounded more confused than actually offended.
“Well, what does it look like?” As if to prove a point, Semi started moving, letting Shirabu follow his swift steps. “We’re dancing, of course.” He stopped for a second to rearrange Shirabu’s free hand. “You’ve surely done this before, haven’t you?”
Shirabu looked up at him as they moved around the living room, the back of Semi’s knees bumping into furniture wherever he went. Whereas Semi’s hair was plastered to his face, not even a strand of Shirabu’s hair was out of place. “It must have been some years ago,” he finally said after a beat of silence.
“There’s no shame in that.” Semi allowed himself to grin down at the boy as they twirled around, Shirabu now smoothly following Semi’s lead. He probably looked like a madman right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
The afternoon sun illuminated the living room and painted Shirabu’s hair shades of caramel; his pale skin seemed almost translucent.
He really couldn’t bring himself to care; not when Shirabu was looking up at him with eyes like the sky during a starred night.
The ardour had crashed over the city like a big wave, soaking its inhabitants with sweat and foul temperatures, just as it did every summer. When Semi left his room to get himself a cup of cool water, Shirabu was draped over one of the kitchen chairs, fanning himself in the heat of the day.
He simply raised an eyebrow. “Not used to the heat?”
Shirabu glared him, the corners of his mouth twitching. “What’s it to you?”
Laughing quietly, Semi dragged the other chair away from the table, plopping down to face Shirabu. “I just think it’s a little funny.”
“Funny how?”
Semi shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just funny to me.” His laugh turned into a cough, and Semi grimaced, rubbing his chest. “Do we have any laudanum left?” he asked, fingers tapping a rhythm on the table.
“How should I know?” Shirabu rolled his eyes and rested his head on the table for a few seconds, sighing quietly. His face was completely red at this point and small beads of sweats rolled down his temples. Semi followed their traces with his eyes; it was mesmerizing, in a weird way. He averted his eyes.
“We should go get some, then.” His mouth felt dry, and not because of the heat.
Across him, Shirabu raised an eyebrow. “You are assuming colour. I thought you said you were accustomed to the heat?”
Spluttering, Semi fixated his gaze on the window through which the sunlight fell, illuminating the small kitchen. “I am!” A little quieter, then, “I am.”
“It must be the sickness, then,” Shirabu agreed amicably.
“It must be,” Semi echoed hollowly, the sound almost lost in the room. “Let us get going, Shirabu. We ought to get some laudanum.”
Shirabu just shot him a dirty look.
Autumn of 1890
[but i’m greedy]
His cough was getting worse again. It accompanied him throughout the entire day and night, never leaving his side once. It roused him from sleep and cradled his face with its spindly fingers.
The first day of autumn – Shirabu was already up, or perhaps he’d never slept at all, it was hard to tell with him – Semi dragged his sluggish body to the bathroom, sleep still clinging to him. He could hear Shirabu fuss around, his light footsteps on the wooden floor as he paced the living room. It was getting colder again, and they still didn’t have a second bed for him.
Thoughts still revolving around their current living arrangements, Semi opened the door to the bathroom, toes curling inwards as he stepped onto the freezing tiles. He coughed weakly, coming to a halt in front of the mirror.
Bloodshot eyes looked back at him, and Semi lazily dragged a finger across the blueish eye bags that marred his otherwise pale face. He closed his eyes again, breathed in deeply through his nose – but that only made it worse. Soon enough he was left spluttering and coughing, gasping for air as his fingers curled around the porcelain sink.
He covered his mouth with his hand to stop himself from disturbing his neighbours this early in the day, and for a second he wondered if the metallic taste was there because he’d accidentally bitten down – but no, when he removed his hand from his face, his palm was speckled with droplets of fine, hot blood.
This couldn’t be good; Semi was by no means a doctor, but surely this couldn’t be good.
Almost shamefully he washed the blood off his hands, bending over the sink so his reflection didn’t stare right back at him. He attempted to hum, but no sound emerged from his raw throat.
The roaring of his blood pounding in his ears was so loud that he nearly missed the sound of the door opening until a cold hand was placed on his shoulder. He flinched, knocking over a small bottle of some sort that clattered noisily to the ground. “I’m fine,” he croaked, clearing his throat afterwards.
Shirabu’s eyebrows were drawn together in what could be mistaken as concern but probably wasn’t. “That cough doesn’t sound good,” he stated offhandedly. “You shouldn’t wait much longer.”
“I’ll get it checked out,” Semi agreed, averting his eyes.
It wasn’t that he was embarrassed of needing to have this conversation; it was more so that Shirabu wasn’t completely dressed yet. His upper body was fully exposed, cool water running down his pale, moon-kissed skin and pooling in the hollow of his collarbone, droplets glistening on his arms.
Semi scratched the back of his head, still staring at his feet; he was no stranger to sensations of this nature; they just served as another reminder of his unchangeable condition.
Shirabu hummed noncommittedly, his gaze still intently focused on Semi’s form. “Maybe you shouldn’t go to work today.”
If it only was that easy. It never was.
“We need the money,” Semi said, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh of his palms. “I can’t just not go to work.” He wasn’t completely sure when ‘I’ had become a ‘we’.
Shirabu’s eyes followed him as Semi pushed past him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.
Maybe he was tired, too.
It was another Sunday some time in autumn (Semi had lost track of the days a long time ago) and the setting sun was painting the sky a thousand colours as it dipped behind houses just like his own.
Shirabu sat across him, completely immersed in just another book he’d snatched from Semi’s ever-growing collection.
He watched the younger boy for a few minutes, followed the way his eyes hushed across the pages, how he would lick his lips from time to time or how he would tuck a strand of hair behind his ears until even that seemed boring to him. Semi sighed loudly.
“I’m bored,” he announced to the open room.
Shirabu only raised an eyebrow.
“I’m bored,” he repeated. “You know, Shirabu, we’ve been living together for so long now, and you never even told me what it is that you do or where you’re from. How is that possible?”
Finally, Shirabu rolled his eyes and put the book down, focusing on Semi once more. “You never asked.”
Semi frowned. “I asked you what your “business” consists of nearly a thousand times. Is it something illegal? You don’t seem like the kind of person who would do shady things.” Talking this much wasn’t good for his throat, but Semi couldn’t help it. He’d gone by long enough without answers and his curiosity was getting the better of him.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Shirabu shrugged. “It’ll be over soon, I assume. Then you won’t have to worry anymore.” Perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him, but Semi swore that he saw a hint of sadness on Shirabu’s face, the slightest twitch of the corners of his mouth.
“Fine,” he pouted, “it’s alright if you don’t want to tell me.”
Shirabu snorted quietly. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. You just wouldn’t understand.”
“Then try to explain it to me.”
Shaking his head, Shirabu began playing with the book in his hands. “No, you oughtn’t have to worry about this, too.”
“Alright then, keep your secrets once more.” Semi delved into his thoughts for a second, gaze wandering around the kitchen. “Say, Shirabu, how long has it been since you’ve had a hot chocolate?” He was already out of his chair and moving, collecting pots and pans and all the necessary ingredients.
When Shirabu answered, it sounded like he was frowning. “I can’t remember ever having it. What does it taste like?”
Flabbergasted, Semi whirled around to face Shirabu. “You’ve never had hot chocolate? Oh, we’ll have to change that now!” It had been a long time since he had made the beverage himself, but Semi still remembered most of the steps; and what he didn’t remember he could make up on the spot.
“Hot chocolate, isn’t that rather butter upon bacon? Why not just enjoy chocolate in itself? Why make it warm?”
“You’ll see,” Semi simply responded, winking at him before turning towards the stove once more. “You’ll see.”
Shirabu hummed from somewhere behind him. “Will you have some yourself?”
Once, long ago (it felt like centuries to him) Semi probably would have said yes without a second thought. “I don’t know. I’m not really hungry, you see.”
“You should have some,” Shirabu urged him on, “it would do you well.”
He was probably right.
Semi sighed.
Autumn was nearing its end, dead leaves already covering the streets and alleyways.
Semi could hear soft rain pelting against his window, and he knew he had to get up, but his entire body felt as if it was burning up from the inside. He simply groaned, drawing his blanket over his head. The heat settled in his body, making his limbs sluggish and hard to move. The blanket on his body felt heavy, constricting, just another layer keeping him down, as if a wall had crumbled and was now slowly suffocating him.
Semi willed his eyes to open. It was already bright outside and the light was hurting his eyes, creating a throbbing sort of pain behind his forehead. It was unpleasant, to say the least. Pushing himself up with the use of his arms, he coughed feebly, body writhing and squirming.
He was about to swing his legs over the edge of the bed when his door opened and Shirabu stepped inside, watching him with a serious look on his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked after a minute of silence.
Semi tried a smile. “Suppose I just got the morbs.”
Shirabu hummed silently, stepping ever closer until he was looming over Semi’s frail form on the bed. Then he kneeled down, pressing the back of his hand to Semi’s forehead. “You’re running a fever,” he commented, still not taking his hand away, “you ought to stay in bed. I’ll take care of everything.” Carefully, Shirabu pushed a stray strand of hair, slick with Semi’s sweat, out of his face. “And don’t argue with me,” he added when Semi opened his mouth.
He grimaced, settling back into the bed. “Yes sir, of course.” He rolled his eyes, which was a bad decision on his part, because the world swayed lightly and he had to close his eyes for a second.
“I’ll make you something to eat.”
Semi huffed a breath. “You can’t even cook properly,” he said, a smile playing around his lips.
Shirabu shut the door behind him with a quiet snort.
Semi must have fallen asleep, because he couldn’t for the life of him remember Shirabu coming in, but there the other was, standing next to his bed like an ominous shadow.
“Here,” the boy said, thrusting a bowl of soup at him. A small blush crept up on his cheeks. “Just don’t complain about it.”
Semi coughed weakly, trying to heave his upper body up so he could accept the bowl, but when he reached out to grab it, the tips of his fingers merely grazed its smooth surface before he let his hand drop with a soft thud. He tried anew, raising his trembling fingers to get it over with, but he missed again.
Shirabu sighed, placing the bowl on the nightstand next to Semi’s bed before disappearing out of the door once again. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be right back,” he called from wherever he was going.
Frowning, Semi stared at his still shaking hand as if it had just personally insulted him. His entire body hurt, from the tips of his toes up to his head.
But – true to his words – Shirabu was back a second later with a chair in tow, depositing it next to Semi’s bed and dropping down with a sort of elegance only he seemed to possess. He took the bowl in his hands and leaned forward, filling the spoon with steaming soup. Then, carefully, he reached over, balancing the full spoon right in front of Semi’s face.
He raised an eyebrow.
Rolling his eyes, Shirabu caught a stray drop of soup before it could splatter onto the bedsheets. “Don’t make a fuss,” he simply said, his hand holding the spoon unnaturally still. “You’re clearly in poor health, I’m just trying to make it easier for you.”
Semi scoffed. “I don’t need your help. Or pity.”
Shirabu hummed quietly. “It’s not pity,” he said. “Come on, now.” He waved the spoon around a little. “Eat, or I’ll spill the soup everywhere. And I’ll make you clean it up, too.”
Still scowling, Semi obediently opened his mouth and let the warm liquid run down his throat, pooling in his stomach. It didn’t taste bad per se but he was not going to tell Shirabu that. As he mulled over what all of this meant, Shirabu was already preparing a second spoon, and silently the game continued until Semi pushed what might have been the tenth or eleventh spoonful of soup away.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” he said as Shirabu stared down at the still half-filled bowl. Then, quieter, “thank you, in any case.”
Shrugging, Shirabu placed the bowl on the nightstand again, crossing his legs on the chair. “You ought to eat more, Semi. How will you get healthy again if you don’t eat?”
“I’ll be fine,” he deflected, eyes already drooping a little. His toes felt cold and he drew the blanket a little tighter around himself. “Don’t worry.” He sighed as he sunk back into his soft pillows.
Shirabu sighed, moving to stand up, but – and this was a surprise to even himself – Semi’s hand shot out from under the blanket, fingers curling around Shirabu’s slender wrist. His skin was cold. “What is it?” Shirabu asked. “Do you need anything else?”
Semi grimaced at the toad stuck in his throat and he coughed quietly, the sound wet. “Stay,” he croaked, “just for a little while longer. Just until I’m asleep.”
Shirabu seemed a little put off, but his face smoothened out after a few seconds and he sank back into the chair, managing to get his wrist out of Semi’s loose grasp. But before Semi could draw his hand back under the warmth of his covers, Shirabu had already intertwined their fingers, his thumb running over the back of Semi’s hand. “Then sleep.”
He was burning up again, hair sticking to his face and his eyes, clouded by the fever, skipped around the room, but Shirabu’s hand, even if it was cold, was comforting, just the right amount of pressure to keep him grounded in reality. “’m sorry,” he mumbled, eyes already slipping shut.
He could hear rustling as Shirabu opened a book. “What for?”
Semi laughed quietly, a rasping sound in the back of his throat. “For probably getting you sick as well.”
There was a softness in Shirabu’s voice as the boy leaned forward and ran his fingers through Semi’s sweat-soaked hair. “Don’t be. I don’t get sick.”
Winter of 1890
Semi had seen the sun rise and he’d seen the moon shine, but for he hadn’t moved since God knew when, the sun never set. Shirabu was still sitting on the chair next to his bed, just as it always had been. Powdery snow accumulated on the windowsill.
“Shirabu,” Semi croaked out, lightly tugging at the other’s hand. “Shirabu.”
Shirabu looked up when he heard his name, his eyes unreadable. “What is it?”
Semi coughed weakly, chest rattling with every breath that he took. “Might you be able to pick up some laudanum for me tomorrow? I fear my cough is getting worse again.”
Frowning at him, Shirabu closed the book and put it aside. “You oughtn’t take that medicine anymore, Semi. It’s not good for you.”
He wheezed a laugh, head lolling to the side so he could face Shirabu. “It’s the only thing that makes it bearable. Please, Shirabu.” That wasn’t true; Shirabu made it somewhat bearable as well, but he wasn’t about to inflate the boy’s ego any more.
Shirabu’s reply was forceful. “No.” It didn’t leave much room for arguing.
Huffing a breath, Semi burrowed himself deeper in his blankets, blistering heat pouring off of him in waves. It was unbearably hot, even for him. “You always say no,” he lamented quietly, blocking out Shirabu’s snort of amusement. “You always do.” He didn’t resurface until he desperately needed the air, gasping and coughing as he emerged from the blankets. “You ought to go home, Shirabu.”
Shirabu’s eyebrows shot up on his face, almost comically so. “Why’s that?”
Semi shook his head. “You really ought to go home.”
Sighing, Shirabu leant back in his chair. “I’m not done waiting yet. There’s still something that I have to finish. And besides-” he averted his gaze- “who will take care of you if I leave now?”
That was a good point, actually. “Then you at least ought to stay out of my room. It can’t be good for you.”
Shirabu sighed again. “Move over,” he commanded, making a shooing motion with his hand.
Semi obeyed without a second thought, carefully manoeuvring his sluggish body away from the bed’s edge.
When he was still once more, Shirabu climbed in beside him, slipping underneath the blanket and turning around to face Semi. “I won’t leave,” he said quietly, cold breath ghosting over Semi’s face. “Not now, not ever.”
Semi closed his eyes for a second, tried to block out their proximity, the way Shirabu’s black lashes lay on his cheeks whenever he blinked or the slight curve of his lips. “Alright then,” he breathed out, still keeping his eyes shut.
He only opened them when he heard rustling, and he watched as Shirabu’s hand came up, pushing a strand of hair out of his face. His cold fingers lingered on Semi’s temple for a second before he withdrew them again, eyes scrutinizing Semi’s face.
Averting his eyes, Semi tried to breathe through his nose, to calm his erratic heartbeat. “This isn’t- we shouldn’t. This isn’t right, Shirabu.” He bit down on his lower lip until it started to bleed, the metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.
“Isn’t it?” Shirabu asked. Underneath the blanket, his hand came to rest on Semi’s hip. It didn’t move, but its presence was comforting nevertheless.
“No,” Semi whispered back, hesitant to raise his voice, “it’s not right.” Despite his protests, he leaned into Shirabu’s touch, let his forehead rest against Shirabu’s.
Shirabu’s hand slid up, over his prominent ribs until it was situated in the nape of Semi’s neck, lightly playing with the hair there. “Don’t worry,” he whispered back, “the waiting’s almost over now.”
Semi’s breath hitched in his throat, an awful sensation.
He fell asleep with Shirabu’s hand resting on his cheek, their faces mere inches away.
He woke from a fitful sleep, body tensing before he noticed Shirabu’s presence, the small lantern he kept on him whenever he read in the dark. Sometimes Semi suspected he didn’t actually need it.
Shirabu glanced up briefly when he noticed that Semi was awake, leaning forward to rest the back of his hand against Semi’s forehead. “Nightmare or fever?” he asked.
Semi coughed lightly. “Both, perhaps,” he answered vaguely, enjoying the feeling of Shirabu’s hand upon his skin. Black spots danced at the edge of his vision. He pointed at Shirabu’s book instead. “You aren’t done with it yet?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded weak.
Shirabu hummed, closing the book. “I was a little distracted. Did you know that you snore?”
Frowning, Semi licked his dry lips, “It must be the cold.”
“It must be, then,” Shirabu agreed. “You should sleep some more. It’ll do you well.”
He nodded half-heartedly. Sleeping seemed to be the only thing he did nowadays. “And you’ll stay?”
“Of course,” Shirabu sighed softly. He closed the book and placed it one the small table beside Semi’s bed, settling down on the edge. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
The mattress barely dipped beneath his weight.
With trembling hands, Semi reached for Shirabu’s hand, pressing a soft kiss to each pale knuckle. “It’s for good luck,” he croaked out when Shirabu shot him a confused look.
Shirabu’s hand, the one not holding Semi’s, sat atop his head when he rested his eyes, gliding through greasy locks.
Semi woke up one morning with his bedsheets twisted around his body and beads of sweat on his face, despite the cool temperatures.
Shirabu was resting beside him, he knew that much even though his eyes were clouded by the fever, unseeing. His breaths were even, barely there, and Semi listened to them for a few seconds before he felt around, resting one of his hands on Shirabu’s chest and feeling it rise and fall evenly.
It was comforting, despite the way his body violently shivered and how he clenched his teeth to stop them from chattering, painfully cold even as he was burning up from the inside. Well, it was comforting until he sneezed and ruined the silence that seemingly appertained to early mornings.
Next to him, Shirabu yawned, rolling over to tuck his head under Semi’s chin. “You’re already awake,” he mumbled into Semi’s skin, and the other shivered as cold lips ghosted over his sensitive neck.
“I am,” Semi answered, pressing a kiss on the top of Shirabu’s head. Whatever they had, it was weird, but Semi wasn’t about to complain. He coughed weakly, his body barely moving. “Although I wish I wasn’t. I fear I am tired as ever.”
He felt Shirabu’s fingers glide over his face, and he could feel a small smile playing around his lips when Shirabu tipped his head up and kissed one corner of his mouth. “Sleep, then. It’s almost time.”
Sighing, and still unseeing, Semi searched for Shirabu’s lips in the dark and pressed a chaste kiss to them, barely lasting a second. “Tell me a story, so I shall sleep well.”
Shirabu chuckled quietly. “I don’t know any stories, but I could recite you a poem.”
It didn’t matter to Semi; hearing Shirabu’s voice that was as steady as ever was all he needed. “Go on, then,” he whispered, the skin of his lips cracking open when he smiled wider. There was a muffled noise in the back of his head.
Shirabu’s voice was quiet when he started.
“How wonderful is Death,
Death, and his brother Sleep!
One, pale as yonder waning moon
With lips of lurid blue;
The other, rosy as the morn
When throned on ocean's wave
It blushes o'er the world;
Yet both so passing wonderful!”
His hand found Shirabu’s cold one in the dark, and he squeezed it slightly. “Stay with me? Until sleep embraces me once more?”
“I’ll do you one better,” Shirabu whispered back, drawing Semi’s frail body closer to him and holding him tight, “Until we see each other on the other side.”
Semi smiled softly. “I’d very much like that. Sorry that I kept you waiting for this long.”
The world behind his eyelids was painted black when he closed them.