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Was this...really okay?
The fact he was feeling so happy...so at ease...so peaceful...it was as though these were things he wasn’t allowed, and he didn’t know why.
No...that was a lie.
He knew exactly why.
This person sitting before him, drinking and laughing on the floor of his apartment with such a relaxed air, as though he knew he could trust him.
He knew he didn’t deserve this.
Shirase knew it.
“...anyway, the guy finally coughed up his plans, and the black lizard managed to find the stolen weapons before his little friends could escape. It was pretty easy, considering all the hassle it took to get him to start talking.” Chuuya took another swig of wine, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small, content smile. “Anyway, how’s the old S.A.D? I heard most of the people there wouldn’t be able to tell if someone cracked a joke even if it was spelled out to them.”
Shirase laughed nervously, tapping his fingers against his glass; he wasn’t too big on alcohol, so instead happily settled with some orange juice.
“It’s...good. The work is hard, and there are more rules than there are stars in the sky, but...it’s good.”
Chuuya hummed, nodding his head. “Sounds like a total pain in the ass.”
Shirase scratched his head with a chuckle. “You’re right about the people though. I feel like I’m being interrogated when I’m asked if I had a good weekend.”
Chuuya giggled into his next sip of wine; Shirase knew that he couldn’t hold his drink, and considering the red flush on his ears and cheeks that had appeared a few minutes ago, he was more than a bit tipsy.
“Oh yeah…” The drunk in question said with a slight wobble as he propped himself up on his elbow. “There’s this new chick that’s been popping up lately...Hibu...Higuni?” He hit his forehead with his fist, eyes scrunched up in concentration. “What’s-her-face. Anyway, she’s a total servant to Akutagawa. Does everything he says as though it’s all she’s ever wanted to do her entire life...it’s kinda...depressing to watch...”
Shirase watched as Chuuya’s eyes slowly began to shut, arm wavering slightly before he finally collapsed in a heap onto the carpet.
After a few seconds, loud snores started to sound from where the red head lay, and Shirase knew that he was out for the count.
“It’s barely been twenty minutes…” He sighed, but there was a fond smile on his face as he said it.
Deciding it would be rude to leave his host lying in a drooling heap on the floor, Shirase put away the glasses and plates in the kitchen and went over to pick Chuuya up off the floor to put him on the sofa.
As he brushed his shoulder, however, he noticed his hand move instinctively to cover his stomach, as though to protect it.
It was such a small movement, one that barely anyone would notice, but it made Shirase feel sick.
That reflexive action showed more than a thousand words could.
It showed countless nights of being unable to sleep, countless hours spent washing and dressing the wound over and over until it faded into a milky white, the mere sight of it in the mirror bringing back memories more painful than any stab wound could hope to be.
To know that even after all this, even after five years of covering that scar as he dreamlessly slept, Chuuya could look at him without disgust and sadness, felt so undeserved it hurt.
“It’s not right, Chuuya…” Shirase whispered, moving his hand from his sleeping friend’s shoulder. “You could have at least hated me. I would have been prepared for that.”
For a few minutes, he stared at nothing in particular, mind growing groggy despite not having a drop of alcohol all night.
In the end, Shirase didn't dare touch Chuuya to move him from the floor again, and by the time the mafioso woke up an hour later, he was gone.