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“It’s started getting worse, hasn’t it?”
Shouta had been trying to edit some gallery notes tucked up in the nook by the living room window when he was interrupted. He looked up at Hizashi leaning in the door frame, all golden hair and long limbs. If he could have photographed the man right then and there, he would have. Instead Shouta turned away with a huff and continued squinting at the paper.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do, stop being deliberately obtuse.”
“Big words for you Zashi.”
“Sho.” Hizashi was a patient and loving man especially with him, but anyone could hear the exhaustion and hurt in his voice. It cut Shouta to the core to hear his partner speak his name in that tone.
“It’s just dark in here. I’ll nip to the store after the gallery opening on Thursday and get a proper reading light.”
Hizashi folded himself into the reading nook opposite him and looked out of the window. He was silent, and Aizawa knew something was coming so he set aside his notes and pushed his glasses further up his nose.
“I’m glad we got this place, I love the view.”
Shouta nodded, looking out over the city. The sky had turned vermillion and tangerine, lending the scene the most beautiful glow. As a photographer he had always found using this time of day over done and boring, but he would never deny that just enjoying the view was special, especially when the light drew out the green and gold in Hizashi's eyes.
“So do I.”
The silence stretched out. Shouta knew what this was about, but didn’t have the energy to start the conversation.
When Hizashi finally spoke, his voice was strained.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“Explaining that you were getting tested for a rapidly degenerative eye disease would have been a start.” His voice was louder now. More hurt, more fear.
“I could barely accept it myself. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“That’s bullshit Shouta, and you know it. You were the one who demanded open honesty between us.” He became even louder and more agitated. “How can I trust you if you don’t tell me you're going to the hospital for tests? Jesus, I could have been there with you. And what about today? Do you know how awful it was to find out through a receptionist?”
“For once this isn’t about you!” Shouta was shouting too now. Both men were beyond stubborn but this argument was fuelled by far more than just ego. He pushed himself out of the nook and away from Hizashi. His partner was always like this; reactive. Shouta had been trying to protect him until he knew everything. Until he knew what sort of beast they would be tackling. Hizashi followed him onto his feet.
“I know it’s not, but I’m scared Shouta!”
“ You’re scared?! I’m the one who’s going blind!”
Everything stopped.
There it was. The ugly, frightening truth he’d been holding inside for the last few months. What a loaded word. Blind. How could he be going blind? He was young, barely in his thirties. No family history of eye problems and, apart from the occasional bout of dry eyes, he himself had never even needed glasses.
Until he did, and then it got worse rapidly. The doctors knew what it was but not how it happened. Pure fluke. Bad Luck. Even worse, there was nothing to be done about it.
“...Three years.” He answers the unspoken question.
“Is that what they’ve said? Three years?” Hizashi was quieter now.
“That’s the best timeframe they’ve given me, yeah.”
“Sho… I’m sorry, I just… Fuck.” All the anger and confusion evaporated instantly and Hizashi immediately embraced him. “I’m sorry Sho, I was just so worried. I shouldn’t have shouted, I shouldn’t have…”
Shouta wanted to say it was okay, but it wasn’t. None of it was, but at least it was all out in the open now. Instead he held Hizashi’s hand and pulled him gently to his desk.
He hadn’t done any tidying for a while. Papers spilled out over drawers; Important documents, gallery notes, post sticks from his husband. But he didn’t need to bother with any of those. Instead Shouta opens the bottom compartment and pulls out a box binder file.
“I’ve been making this book. Well, collection.” Shouta held up the scrappy looking file with loose photos spilling out of it.
There wasn’t enough clear space on the desk, so Shouta sits on the floor in the middle of the room.
Hizashi watched him shuffling through pages of paper and film for a brief moment before joining him on the floor. There were polaroids and crappy, well thumbed print outs along with quality gloss and matt photos.
“This is the night we met.” It wasn’t a proper photo of them in the typical sense. Hizashi had been performing karaoke, as was common at every house party he went to. He’d gotten the broom out of the kitchen and had given the air guitar solo of his life. Shouta was in the background laughing, vodka coke in hand. He’d approached him after the performance and had spent the rest of the night chatting on the sofa.
There were early snap shots of Shouta and Hizashi from their first Christmas as a couple. Hizashi had been shocked at Shouta's insistence on matching jumpers, and it had been a tradition ever since.
Their first holiday, to a cheap beach resort where they’d drunk so many bar shots they’d ended up passed out on a strip of grass outside the hotel. The hangover had not been worth it and Shouta had sworn off sambuca for life afterwards.
Photos of different gigs Hizashi had performed at, all beautifully shot by Shouta whether it was a coffee shop gig or a headline act. Every single one had the date and location written on the back.
Shouta's first gallery opening. He in his trademark black turtleneck and jeans and Hizashi in a loud orange silk shirt he’d thrifted just for that night, grinning widely next to each other as Nemuri took the shot. Hizashi remembers the pure pride he’d felt as he’d watched his fiance talk about his work to critics and potential buyers. Oboro actually had to tell him to cool it with the gushing over every little detail of certain pictures, because he looked obsessive.
Then there were the candid photos.
Hizashi was well aware that his partner was snap happy, usually targeting him to use as a practice subject for new equipment or techniques. It had reached the point that Hizashi was the perfect candid subject because he never even noticed the camera pointed at him.These photos were never used in shows or exhibitions, never sold on his website, and never posted on social media. But here they were in detailed, loving glory.
One that caught Hizashi's eyes was a strangely composed image of him in his studio. The viewer looked through the partly closed door to find Hizashi, hair tied back and in pink, lazy day sweats he stole from Shoutas side of the wardrobe, sitting with his guitar. The use of lines and space was quintessential Aizawa Shouta, and there amongst the void, was Hizashi. Bold and beautiful.
“Sho, this is gorgeous.”
“I want to make sure you know what I see when I look at you. I-” His voice caught in his throat. Hizashi looked away from the photos for the first time since he’d been shown them and saw Shouta looking nothing less than heartbroken. He dropped the binder he was holding and pulled him into a tight embrace. Shouta tried speaking again, “I wanted you to know what I will see in my mind when I think of you.”
“Sho, oh my love.” Hizashi pulled him impossibly closer.
They stayed like that until the sun had set completely. Only Hizashi spoke occasionally, muttering soft, empty words meant to soothe and heal because he didn’t know what else to do. Shouta heaved dry sobs on his shoulder and twisted his fingers into the ends of Hizashi’s hair.
It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was the end of a lifetime of hard work.
The entire flat was dark when they pulled away from each other, the only light coming from the city below them. Shouta let Hizashi get up first before he gathered himself and followed him into the kitchen. He could barely see when it was this dark, but muscle memory and Hizashi’s constant background noise made it easy to know what was happening. Still, they turned the lights on eventually.
They made tea and agreed that Hizashi would come to his hospital appointment next week but other than that they sat in relative quiet on the sofa, just listening to the taptaptap of Hizashi’s ringed fingers against his mug.
Shouta ended up so lost in his own thoughts that he barely noticed the other man wandering off in the direction of his studio. Then he was back on the sofa and cuddling into Shouta’s side.
“I’ve got something for you.” Hizashi all but whispered, and handed him a thin strip of photo paper.
It was a set of 4 shots from a photo booth at their friend's wedding. They had taken a few sets, Shouta even had one in the collection already, but this set he didn’t remember. It was at the end of the night, when things were a little wild and they had both made the most of the available open bar. Shirts had been untucked, and waistcoats loosened. Hizashi had been dragged out of the booth at the last minute by friends, and Shouta had just laughed and watched them force him out onto the dancefloor for some pop number.
Normally Shouta was a very gruff and guarded person. He rarely took or allowed photos of himself, and certainly never with such unbridled joy. The final shot was of him smiling at a scene off camera.
“I love you Sho,” Hizashi brought him into his arms and hugged him hard. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but I am saying it’s going to be okay.”
And, for the first time, Shouta thought he might be right.