Chapter Text
Takemitchy’s screams ring through the house. They’re a shrill, heartbreaking sound, bouncing off corners and making its way upstairs, leaving a ringing silence in its wake before another one inevitably rises up. The most bewildering thing about it is that the cops have somehow not yet been called, even though the noise is nearly enough to rattle the generic portraits hanging from the mostly-barren walls.
It’s driving Chifuyu fucking insane.
“Holy mother of fuck,” he says. “Takemitchy, shut the hell up. I’m so serious right now. Your neighbors are gonna think you’re being murdered.”
“I’m not entirely convinced I’m not,” Takemitchy answers through gritted teeth. His face is blotchy and red, both from crying — and he is; neither of them even bother to pretend he’s not, even if they don’t comment on it — and from physically restraining himself from screaming. Probably. Not that he’s doing a great job at it.
“Don’t be a baby,” Chifuyu chides for the umpteenth time, settling his hands on Takemitchy’s left arm again and categorically ignoring the whine it evokes.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Takemitchy says, “whose are the bones in question?”
“For the last time, there’s nothing wrong with your bones.” Chifuyu makes sure that the hoodie under Takemitchy’s head is doing its proper job as a makeshift pillow, hands not moving from their position. “Your bones are fine. If they were strained or broken, we’d already be able to see the swelling. Also it’d be purple and ugly as fuck.” He pauses. “I mean, that last thing is already true, so maybe—”
“Shut up,” says Takemitchy, a teary grin creeping up on his face. Chifuyu mentally high-fives himself. “No bones, no opinions.”
“I do have bones,” Chifuyu informs him, just to be difficult, and then shoves Takemitchy’s shoulder back into place.
A step-by-step guide to setting a dislocated shoulder: bend the arm at the elbow, rotate the limb outward, pushing gently, further and further until the bone snaps back to where it should be. It’s nothing like the violent wrenching you see in movies, but the click sound it makes is pretty cartoonish. The way Takemitchy’s eyes keep bugging out like they’re about to pop out of his head is also kind of funny.
“Don’t move, moron,” Chifuyu snaps, halfheartedly. The slippery slope between doing it right and fucking up Takemitchy’s ligaments is as slippery as slippery gets, and a Takemitchy with fucked up ligaments is a recipe for a very pissed off Mikey.
He wouldn’t be pissed at Chifuyu, though. Maybe at Takemitchy himself, or the Black Dragon fuckers that stomped him, or most likely at Hakkai for bringing them into their territory in the first place, but not at Chifuyu. No one can really afford to be pissed at him.
Takemitchy is still crying a bit, but he’s not screaming anymore, which Chifuyu counts as a win. They had to use the floor so he could work properly, since he needed a stable surface and the couches in Takemitchy’s house, although store-new and pretty much unused, are still soft enough to dip under his weight. Also Takemitchy’s mom might not be home a lot — Pretty much never, Takemitchy had guaranteed, when they stumbled through the door in a heap of bruises and open wounds—, but they still didn’t want to risk it. Blood stains are pretty recognizable anywhere, and they don’t come off easy.
Chifuyu scoots away from Takemitchy’s side, pulling his legs closer to himself and leaning his chin on his knees. Damn, he’s tired. He hurts all over, too, but it’s just bruises and scrapes; he’s feeling it now that the adrenaline is running out. It’s nothing like Takemitchy, whose bloodied face and swollen-shut eye had almost made Chifuyu drop all his reservations and drag his stubborn ass to a hospital. The fact that he’d passed out for a good two minutes still doesn’t do anything for Chifuyu’s peace of mind — a part of him wants to believe it’d just been from the pain, if only so he doesn’t have to dwell on thoughts of a concussed Takemitchy. A concussed Takemitchy who essentially lives alone and is also a fucking idiot. It’s like all of Mom’s cautionary tales come to life.
He steals a glance at his friend, trying to pretend like he isn’t looking, because that’s fretting, and Chifuyu doesn’t fret. Takemitchy hasn’t moved from his original position, even though he has to be uncomfortable laying down on the bare floorboards like that with only a hoodie as neck support. He’d said some shit about not wanting to get blood on the carpet (a green, threadbare thing that’s seen better days. Takemitchy’s weirdly attached to it) and crawled away from it like a worm when Chifuyu tried to get him more settled. An idiot, he’s saying.
Takemitchy opens a bleary eye, staring at the ceiling while heaving deep breaths and then turning his head back to Chifuyu. “So,” he says, conversationally, “I’m a terrible host. Would you like something to drink?”
Chifuyu stares at him. “You have nearly torn ligaments on your shoulders, a sprained ankle, and a suspected concussion. Don’t you fucking dare move.”
“Chifuyu,” Takemitchy whines, making pleading eyes, but Chifuyu is strong. He will not give in. “It’s the first time you’ve properly been to my place! That one dinner doesn’t count, I have to make a good impression!”
“Failed step one,” Chifuyu deadpans. He leans over and flicks him on the forehead — softly, because he isn’t an asshole. “When did I ever make a good impression on you , moron? Remember when we first met?”
“That was different, though,” Takemitchy says. His head lolls back to the ceiling, but Chifuyu stays close enough that he can see how he’s still looking askance at him. “You were being brave. It was a great first impression.”
Chifuyu swallows around something in his throat. “You’re delirious,” he says. “I’ll go get your lazy ass something to drink.”
“Cups are on the third cupboard over the sink!” Takemitchy calls out cheerily as Chifuyu leaves the room. He finds them easily enough, filling two with cold water from the tap as he keeps an eye out to make sure Takemitchy doesn’t move. His house has a weird interior design, which is very decidedly western; the only sign that they’re even someplace in Japan at all is the genkan by the entrance, and even that is weirdly small for such a big house. The kitchen has an American-style island, complete with bar stools, and everything is very open: from the sink, Chifuyu can see the living room across the hallway and the beginning of the stairs, as well as the small traditional dinner table at the corner. There’s three sitting pillows settled around it, but only the right side looks like it’s seen any use recently.
He hadn’t paid that much attention to anything the first time he came over. It’d been mere hours after Bloody Halloween, and most of that night is completely lost on Chifuyu; he remembers it in facts and faces, walking around the city with Takemitchy for hours and then breaking down in a park, and arguing with Mitsuya, and crying like his heart was about to fall out of his chest. Then he remembers a hot meal that’d sat on his stomach and warmed him up until he could feel his hands again, and talking about it all until his voice had gone hoarse. Then Mitsuya took him home, and Chifuyu didn’t leave his futon for an entire day.
But now that he’s looking at it, it’s a lonely house. Like that poem he read in English class once: Haunted house. Lonely house. House with hands. House of guilt. House that other houses built. The cadence of it keeps it stuck in his head, even if Chifuyu’s English is average at best. Being in here reminds him of it.
But it’s still Takemitchy’s house, so he doesn’t mind the uneasiness. He brings the water over and helps his friend sit up so he can drink without choking and dying, which is not Chifuyu’s favorite plan for a Friday night.
Takemitchy pales a little as he sits upright, but doesn’t sway or look faint. All good signs; whatever it is, Chifuyu hopes it’s not a concussion. Man, he hopes so bad. A first aid qualification does not make him a doctor, and he’s scared shitless of concussions.
“Easy,” Chifuyu says, keeping a hand on Takemitchy’s back to steady him as he hands him the cup. “How’s the shoulder feel?”
He waits until Takemitchy is done drinking for a response. A good part of the water just dribbles down his chin with the haste he downs it, but Chifuyu ignores that. He’s not a babysitter.
“It feels…” Takemitchy says a couple seconds later, scrunching up his nose in thought. “I mean, a bit sore? But it’s definitely back where it should be.” He smiles, face lighting up through the bruises, and Chifuyu can feel his own face soften. “You were so good at that, Chifuyu! Where’d you even learn how to do it?”
Chifuyu shrugs a bit awkwardly. He cracks the knuckles of his opposite hand, settling on sitting criss-crossed next to Takemitchy as soon as he’s sure he won’t keel over. “Mom’s a paramedic,” he answers. “First responder and stuff, trauma and first aid. She kind of taught me everything.”
“Woah,” Takemitchy whispers, eyes wide, and Chifuyu tries not to preen under the attention. He used to wonder how this wimpy ass dude with absolutely no fighting abilities or smarts had managed to get the higher ups of Toman wrapped around his little finger, and now look at him. “That’s so cool!”
“Nah, it’s nothin’ much,” Chifuyu says, like a liar.
Because it is a big deal. Injuries are daily occurrences to people like them, and while there are limits — if someone’s coughing up blood or not feeling one of their limbs they better get a sob story together and haul their ass to the hospital —, the bottom line of being in a gang like Toman is that the more stuff you manage to handle by yourself, the better. It also means that having someone who actually knows what they’re doing is very, very valuable.
Mostly because it’s so rare. Kids who got surgeons as parents are hardly running around with delinquents; they’re up in their preppy ass private schools with monthly allowances that could buy the clothes off Chifuyu’s back. His mom is not a doctor, and that was the first thing he made sure Mikey, Draken and Baji knew. He gave them the little spiel she always told him: she’s a first responder. She rides around in the ambulance and handles the very first aid, enough to keep people from kicking it before they make it to the hospital. Chifuyu can’t be responsible for saving anyone’s life all on his own.
After hearing that, Baji gave him a smile that was all teeth. “Chifuyu, your Ma’s got medic in her title. You’re gonna be the one guy in Toman no one will ever be able to piss off.”
Mikey cleared his throat.
“Ignore him,” Draken told Chifuyu. “He’s got allergies.”
“He also can’t tell a sprain from a break, so I stand by my point,” said Baji. “Glad to work with you, vice-captain.”
So there it was. Chifuyu can’t do brain surgery, but he can do stitches, splint broken noses, and put a tourniquet on sprained ankles. He can identify the signs of a concussion or internal bleeding, and tell the poor fuckers to go get some actual help. He can bandage wounds and set dislocated limbs. He’s CPR certified, though luckily he’s never had to use it, and that makes him worth gold.
It’s also pretty much the reason why Chifuyu became vice-captain of the first division so soon after joining Toman. For the first handful of months, he was just Baji’s friend; some people in their division had it going on that Chifuyu was the one Baji trusted the most, which to Chifuyu’s eyes sounded quite rude when Mikey and the other Toman founders were right there. And maybe Baji did trust him, and like him, and want him around a lot, but while his word as captain of the first division had a lot of weight, Baji couldn’t make Chifuyu his right hand man by word alone. Chifuyu needed to be at least a blip in Mikey’s radar for it to be even considered, and during those early days, he just stuck to the shadows and watched.
Then, about five months later, the vice-captain of the fourth division got cornered by ex-members of the ninth generation of the Black Dragons as petty revenge, and almost bled to death.
There’s nothing that forges a life-long friendship like applying pressure to someone’s stab wound with your entire body as you yell at the leader of your gang to Hurry the fuck up and call an ambulance. Angry and Chifuyu have been thick as thieves since then (“I’m naming this scar after you,” Angry had said, delirious from painkillers on a hospital bed while Smiley looked like he was about to burst a vein), and Mikey, after it was all said and done, just turned to look at Baji and gave him an approving nod.
Making Chifuyu vice-captain of the first division was, essentially, a declaration of war. Here’s our guy, it said, and if you lay a finger on him, there’ll be nothing left of you to tell the story.
It was such a clear statement of being wanted. Chifuyu still gets giddy just thinking about it.
Baji had been so happy for him, too. They’d been friends for nearly a year then, but that, he’d said, was like making it official. “Everyone knows Draken would die for Mikey, and that Mikey would kill for him,” he’d said, tipsy on the rush of sugar from the sodas they’d gotten alongside peyoung yakisoba, as a treat. “Same for Angry and Smiley, for Mitsuya and Hakkai, Pah-chin and Peh-yan.” He smiled, and his face was like summer. “And now, the same goes for you and I.”
Chifuyu rubs a hand over his chest, as if fending off some phantom pain. The thought of Baji is like an ache most days, more like a bruise than a wound that won’t stop weeping. Even with the seams stitched tightly, the scars remain. Chifuyu knows that well.
He also knows that grief is a body of water, and metaphors about death are for people who think ghosts give a fuck about sound.
This isn’t about the dead, though. It’s about what the living do. And what the living do is this: they miss their dead like it’s the only chance they’ll ever get to do anything. The dead are only alive in retrospect.
“Chifuyu,” Takemitchy calls. “Are you alright?”
Chifuyu drags his gaze back up to meet his, and ends up looking somewhere north of his forehead. The earnestness in Takemitchy’s eyes is too much to look straight on. “Why’re you asking?”
Takemitchy shrugs, winces, and pretends like nothing happened. Chifuyu tries not to laugh. “Dunno. You just looked really sad for a moment.”
“I was thinking about the earfuls we’ll have to hear tomorrow in the meeting with Mikey,” he drawls. “Imagine the headache. Welcome to captaincy, partner.” Chifuyu dips his head in a mock bow. “Just as much endless talk as you’d expect.”
Takemitchy smiles like he can see right through his bullshit, but is nice enough not to comment on it. Then he frowns a little, and his expression turns nervous. He grips his empty cup very tightly before noticing and setting it down to the floor. “Chifuyu,” he says hesitantly, “do you think Hakkai is really going to leave Toman?”
Chifuyu stares at him again. “ That’s what you’re worried about?” His voice sounds baffled to his own ears, and he leans back on his elbows as if gaining some distance might help him see what the hell goes on inside his friend’s head. “Sorry to break it to you, but it’s a big almost definitely. I know you’re all mushy and shit, and Hakkai didn’t do anything to you directly, but even if he does leave the gang like it’s his own idea, there’s no way Mikey would let him stay.” Takemitchy opens his mouth to argue, but Chifuyu shakes his head, certain. “Hakkai being Taiju’s brother has always meant his position was hard. And it doesn’t matter that he didn’t mean for you to be soaked, because he lives in Black Dragon territory, and he should’ve known better.”
It’s quiet for a few long moments while Takemitchy mulls it over. Chifuyu looks around the room again, just for the sake of looking — if he’s being honest, even though his friendship circle is exclusive to other members of Toman, actually going over to someone’s house is rare. Most of them don’t have places that are worth visiting or even staying over, be it because of too many relatives that live under the same roof, or shitty parents, or shitty foster parents, or apartments that are barely big enough to be walked around in. Before this, Chifuyu had only ever been to Baji’s apartment (which barely counts, since they live — lived — in the same building), and to Angry’s place. The Kawata’s live in the apartment above the family’s convenience store, and it is as homely as homely gets. Chifuyu visits often, because the tonkatsu Angry’s Ma makes is to die for.
In turn, Takemitchy’s place, which is a two-story house in a nice neighborhood — he has a goddamn yard — and by all accounts should be awesome, it's just… not much of anything. The entire first floor looks straight out of a magazine about interior design, and he swears to God the pillows on the couch smell new. There are no shoes other than theirs at the genkan, and the walls are bare. The fridge door is just white, and to Chifuyu, who’s grown up in an apartment where it’s cluttered with post-it grocery lists, an unhealthy amount of colored magnets and the odd kid picture, that’s just plain weird.
Takemitchy still hasn’t said a word about parents. Chifuyu’s not gonna prod.
His eyes sting from the lack of sleep. It isn’t that late; it was still light out when they got here, but so much has happened today it’s left him completely drained. He knows he won’t get much sleep though, because he’s staying over and keeping an eye on the moron he calls his friend, because he’s still worried about a damn concussion.
Takemitchy opens his mouth as if to speak. His breath quickens a little, and Chifuyu waits through half-lidded eyes as he seems to work up the courage to say whatever he’s thinking. “It wasn’t Hakkai’s fault,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, and Chifuyu wants to bang his head against a wall. He doesn’t, because he’s nice like that. Takemitchy continues, “And — just — you know what might happen if he leaves Toman. If he goes through with it. What will happen. I told you — you know — I’m just afraid—”
He keeps going like that, stumbling and second-guessing his words, hands wringing nervously in his lap. There’s a bruise on his cheekbone that looks almost pitch black in this light, and his right eye is bloodshot. Chifuyu puts both arms around his own legs again and aches, too, because he does know. He’s barely listening to whatever else Takemitchy’s blabbering about, because he already got all he needed to know from the first two sentences.
You know I’m afraid.
He does. Chifuyu is also afraid. He’s so afraid his fear is growing teeth and gnawing at his stomach, because he remembers every single word Takemitchy has told him about the future, and it’s fucking terrifying. That Toman may change like that, and that Hakkai might kill his brother, and that might mean Mikey will go off the deep end, and—
Chifuyu catches himself before he can spiral. He has to cut it out with the might, too, because none of that is a mere possibility. It’s a certainty, because it’s what Takemitchy has seen with his own two eyes, and Takemitchy doesn’t lie.
The only thing scarier than the idea of a future that turns out like that is the fact that it has already turned out like that, and Takemitchy has lived it. That they have to make things go differently, otherwise nothing will change, and every terrible thing will still happen. Like Baji.
Chifuyu is not letting a repeat of that happen, so long as he has any say in it. Now that he does, he will not.
(The moment Takemitchy tells him about the time travel goes like this:
They’re at the back of a drug store where Chifuyu has just made the quickest purchase of bandages, gauze and antiseptic of his entire goddamn life, because he’s not sure if Takemitchy has a first aid kit at home and some of the cuts on his face are bleeding enough for it to be worrying. Also, it’s easier to walk through down to the suburbs when the person walking with you doesn’t look like Carrie the fucking Strange.
So they’re sitting in a parking lot, Takemitchy’s back to the wall and Chifuyu kneeling in front of him, working as swiftly as he can when he’s also not completely uninjured, and it’s hot enough with the Toman uniform that sweat keeps dripping in his eyes. He also bought a hair tie to pull the hair out of his sight, since his fringe is growing too long, and the thoughtless movements of his fingers as he’d tied it had made his heart go all stuttery and weird.
Baji is still in everything he has taught him.
Takemitchy looks awful. He’s pale and sweaty and bloody, like an apparition, hair falling in fluffy clumps around his face. He whimpers with every dab of antiseptic, and only relaxes when the bandage is tight and secure around its respective wound. There are many of them, and by the time Chifuyu figures he’s done what he can while out in the open, the sun is way lower in the sky than it was when they got here. The fact that no one yelled at them for loitering is a miracle.
He leans back on his calves and waits for Takemitchy to show a sign of life, but he just keeps breathing hard, eyes shut tight. He looks small, all crumpled like this, and Chifuyu has to swallow the sheer anger he feels at the Black Dragon fuckers who did this. The helplessness he’d felt at seeing his captain, his partner being thrown around like a ragdoll still lingers, and Chifuyu knows he’s not sleeping well tonight. If he does, his dreams will be red.
“Idiot,” Chifuyu says, quietly, when he still doesn’t move after a few minutes. Takemitchy opens bleary eyes, one pinkish with the beginnings of a burst vessel and both hazy with a sheen of tears. He looks dazed and panicked at first, but it quickly dies when he recognizes who it is that called him. Chifuyu can’t help the way he softens at it. “Takemitchy, hey. Look alive, dude, we still got a ways to walk.”
Then, for some reason, he lifts a hand and ruffles Takemitchy’s hair. There’s not much thought behind the action — something in him just needs a more tangible confirmation that his friend is really alright, that he’s hurt but he’s okay, and the blood from his wounds will stop flowing and scab over instead of coating Chifuyu’s hands so thoroughly it takes him weeks to wash off. That the next time he smiles there won’t be red staining his teeth, because no blood has gotten to his lungs, and he’s going to live.
And Takemitchy lets out a chest-rattling sob, leans his head into the touch as if starving for it, and says, in a voice so hitched and full of tears that the words are barely intelligible, “I came from the future.”
Then he just keeps talking. About dying, joining Toman to save Tachibana, the twelve-years-to-the-day rule; about Mikey and Draken, Kisaki, and to Chifuyu’s retroactive horror, Chifuyu’s own death. It’s messy — Takemitchy is so out of it that he has half a mind to wonder if he’s just delirious, but even though what his friend says is interrupted by sobs and bouts of hysterical crying, it’s entirely too much for Takemitchy to just make up. Takemitchy hides things and shifts the focus, but he doesn’t lie.
So Chifuyu just sits there until his legs grow numb, and when his legs grow numb he sits down on the concrete and feels his head pound. Somewhere during the spiel Takemitchy’s hands found Chifuyu’s wrists, and they’ve been holding on to each other ever since. Takemitchy as if he’s afraid Chifuyu will disappear if he lets go, and Chifuyu because he’s only ever believed in things he can see and touch.
Once upon a time, the only thing Chifuyu believed in was Baji, and he’d told himself his heart was only big enough to house so much trust. But here’s Takemitchy: telling him things that make no sense, that shouldn’t make sense, because this sort of stuff isn’t real, and what Chifuyu should be doing is anything but what he is. At best, he should just shake his head and dismiss this as some weird pain-induced dream his friend is having. At worst he should be getting pissed the fuck off by having something like his own death used against him in some sick kind of joke, which is absolutely fucked up.
But Chifuyu believes him.
He says nothing for a really long time. Long enough that the sun dips further, casting shadows all around them, and Takemitchy’s sniffles die down to nothing. This silence feels hardened, something unripe and green in it, like neither of them are really ready for everything they’re hearing and saying. Chifuyu doesn’t even think Takemitchy meant to say any of that, because for most of his little monologue, he hardly seemed aware of what kept dropping out of his mouth, blinking hazy eyes and shaking like a leaf.
Even so, as much as he tries, Chifuyu can’t hold on to skepticism for a second. It just slips out from between his fingers every time he remembers this is Takemitchy, the guy he made a promise to, who gave everything Chifuyu offered him right back with just as much fierce loyalty. A liar doesn’t trust like that. Takemitchy might be a fool for doing it so easily, but he won’t be a fool for trusting Chifuyu. He’ll make sure of it.
“It’s bullshit, right?” Takemitchy blurts out suddenly, blue eyes wide and desperate even as he hitches up his shoulders with a gasp of pain. “It’s bullshit and impossible and I’m a liar. You don’t have to — I mean you won’t—”
“Shut up, Takemitchy,” Chifuyu says, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Takemitchy keeps looking at him like he’s waiting for Chifuyu to just up and leave, and he can’t stand it. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine,” he adds when he gets an incredulous look, “and it sounds like bullshit, sure, but people who’re lying don’t sound like that. And… it may be hard to believe, but you aren’t.”
Which is the crux of the issue. Somehow, Takemitchy’s dug his way straight through Chifuyu’s walls, which are there less as protection and more as a safety net. Chifuyu trusts, but he doesn’t make a habit out of it. What he makes out of being left is an art. And Takemitchy is sitting there and saying that he can leave but he doesn’t want to, that he needs to fix things but seeing Chifuyu dead made him drop everything and come back immediately so as to see him alive and to not let a future in which that happens turn out ever again.
If Chifuyu were someone crueler, the idea that Takemitchy somehow knew about Baji’s death and still failed to stop him would’ve been enough of a reason for hatred. If he were someone more consumed by pain, the thought might have even crossed his mind.
Instead, he finds himself smiling. It’s not the huge grin he offers when he’s been cheeky, but something else — shier and less wide, directed at the ground. The sort of smile that makes his eyes burn.
“C’mon, partner,” he says. “Let’s get you somewhere warm.”)
Now, four hours later, Chifuyu looks at Takemitchy with steady eyes and asks, “What do you want to do about it?”
Takemitchy shivers, mirroring him and hugging his legs to his chest. Chifuyu would tell him to put on the hoodie — it’s getting to that point in winter where it gets freezing, and there’s only so much internal heating can do — but it’s stained with blood, so that’s a no go. Plus, he can’t be sure if the shivering is from cold or just Takemitchy’s own head. “We need to talk to him,” he says. “Hakkai, I mean. Just — convince him to not do it. Sure Taiju’s, like, the worst brother ever, but…”
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Chifuyu says, bonelessly leaning back to rest his head on the cushioned arm of the couch. “You’re going to pull the ‘bad people still shouldn’t be killed because no one deserves to die’ card, right?”
“No?” Takemitchy says, phrasing it like a question. Chifuyu raises a brow. Takemitchy sighs and slumps his shoulders, dejected. “I mean, yeah, but—”
“Cut it out,” Chifuyu tells him, firmly. “Don’t make this a morality question. I sincerely don’t care if Taiju deserves to die or if he doesn’t, and you shouldn’t either. Think about this like a gang member: if Taiju dies, what happens?”
Takemitchy furrows his brow. Good. That means he won’t be stupid about this. “The tenth generation of the Black Dragons ends,” he answers, slowly. He frowns further. “With the way the gang works, that means they’re… done. At least until someone else takes up the mantle of president and starts a new generation.” Takemitchy blinks a few times in quick succession, as if realizing something. “Hakkai goes to juvie for a few years, and when he’s out, he’s inherited all the respect his brother had, just because he was strong enough to kill someone like Taiju. And the eleventh generation is his.”
“Right,” Chifuyu says. In his haste, he’d forgotten that he only has the broad strokes of Takemitchy’s story, and not the details of why he’s suddenly hyper focused on the Shiba family. “And that generation becomes worse.”
“Because they’re adults then,” Takemitchy explains. “My friend Yamagishi says that the moment you turn eighteen, being a gang member is something completely different. Drugs, trafficking rings, hired beatings and hitmen — that’s commonplace.”
Chifuyu sucks in his teeth. “And Toman ends up right in the middle of that,” he completes. “Fuck. Do you have to think about this, like, all the time?”
It sounds exhausting. It’s been less than five minutes and the headache that’s been teasing at the back of Chifuyu’s skull since they left Hakkai and Yuzuha behind feels like it’s growing into a full blown migraine.
“Well,” Takemitchy says, suddenly looking shy, “in the future, there’s Naoto. He’s got pretty good intel. But the moment I get back, yeah, I’m on my own. Though I guess,” he smiles, and it makes him look even younger, “I’m not anymore.”
“Damn straight you aren’t,” Chifuyu says. “As if I’d let my partner carry this sort of thing all by himself.”
“Wouldn’t be a very good vice-captain if that were the case,” Takemitchy teases. Chifuyu fiddles a little with his fingers, wondering if he should say what he wants next.
Then he thinks of the fear in Takemitchy’s eyes as he told him the truth, and the way he’d held him the night after Baji died. Thinks of how he’d cleaned the blood from Chifuyu’s face with shaky but sure hands, and made him lunch bentos every day for a week afterwards, just because.
“I’m not saying this as just a Toman member,” Chifuyu says, because he needs Takemitchy to hear this. He meets his friend’s gaze and holds it. “I’m saying this as someone who cares too damn much about your dumb ass to see it hurt, okay? And I know you can’t avoid the hurt, crybaby hero, but at the very least, you can sure as hell be sure that you’re never going to be hurt and alone. Not if I have a say in it. Okay?”
Takemitchy blinks twice, throws himself forward to bury his face in Chifuyu’s chest, and bursts into tears.
“Chifuyu,” he wails, loud enough to make Chifuyu’s head pound. “No one has ever said something like that to me before! How are you real? Oh my God!”
He slowly lifts his arms up to Takemitchy’s back, hugging him back as firmly as he can without causing pain. The action is more of a reflex than anything; he doesn’t really do hugging, but he’s not heartless enough to not reciprocate, especially when he’s feeling a little raw himself.
Takemitchy’s tears are very quickly drenching the front of his Toman uniform, and every time he thinks he may be calming down, Takemitchy splutters about how much this means to him and the sobs begin anew. “Oh, Jesus,” Chifuyu says, realizing, one hand awkwardly patting Takemitchy’s shoulder. “I signed up for this. I literally just signed up for this.”
“You did!” Takemitchy yells into his chest.
Their positioning grows uncomfortable soon, but Takemitchy shows no sign of moving. The tears die down eventually, but he stays there, seemingly seeking comfort and somehow finding it in Chifuyu. It’s weird, but nice. So Chifuyu rests his chin on top of Takemitchy’s head, and breathes.
There’s a space at the bottom of an exhale, a little hitch between taking in and letting out that’s a perfect zero you can go into. There’s a rest point between the heart muscle’s close and opens, an instant of keenest living when you’re momentarily not. Chifuyu rests there for a moment or two.
His head is still pounding. He feels sweaty and disgusting, grimy from a whole day out on the street, and his chest is swirling with so many emotions he can barely make sense of them: righteous anger at Hakkai, anticipation for what Mikey will have to say, fear about the future, a dull ache about the thought of his own death. A violent sort of sadness at the idea that in one such future, both he and Baji died before even making it to thirty.
Hell, from what he gathers, in the first timeline none of Toman’s founding members properly made it into adulthood. Takemitchy had said that by the time he died, Toman had no Draken, no Mitsuya, no Kazutora, and no Baji. Pah-chin had been in jail. Mikey was alone.
None of them even got to know who Takemitchy was.
Chifuyu unconsciously tightens his arms around him. Something about that makes him unspeakably sad. It reminds him of the first months after Dad died, when he’d wake up yelling in the middle of the night, startling himself up from dreams of falling down and never stopping, of his father disappearing into the vastness of the sky around them. Mom spent all those months sleeping right beside him instead of in her own room, and she’d hold onto him just like this — his head tucked under her chin, her hands cupping the small of his back. The pain felt unbearable, and he was always so scared, from ages ten to twelve. But Mom would always hold him tight and whisper into his hair, Don’t be afraid. The end of the road is so far ahead it’s already behind us.
He wouldn’t have survived Baji’s death if he weren’t for her. His friends helped, but Mom was the one who taught him how to handle it.
“This is nice,” Takemitchy mumbles, muffled in Chifuyu’s clothes. “People don’t hug me much. I wish they would do it more.”
“Sap,” Chifuyu says, but it sounds fond even to his own ears. He squeezes him one more time for good measure. “Okay, get off, we’re both gross.”
Takemitchy grumbles but complies, scooting back a few steps. Chifuyu can see the beginnings of a deep bruise in erratic shapes all around his shoulder, which is what they get for doing a do-it-yourself medical checkup. The other injuries are also going to scar over way worse than they would have if they had gone to a hospital, but it’s not like they can go back in time.
Well. That’s not the full truth. But it’s not a full lie, either. Takemitchy can go back to the past, but he can only do it once. He can’t go back more than he already has. It makes Chifuyu want to crawl out of his skin.
He doesn’t pity him. He wouldn’t. He just thinks that’s somehow worse.
The overhead lights feel too bright. Chifuyu grimaces a little, squeezing his eyes so he can focus properly, and what he sees is Takemitchy standing up, legs shaking like a newborn fawn, and walking over to wall where he fiddles with the light switch until the living room lamps are off, and the only light is a warm glow coming from a lampshade on the other side of the couch, which he hadn’t even noticed was already on in the first place.
His head still aches, but the discomfort isn’t so much that he has to push through the pain to keep going. The place looks more homey in the near-gloom, shadows making its corners softer and less defined. In spite of himself, he feels a yawn crawling up his throat, and has to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop it from coming.
It’s not enough to fool Takemitchy, apparently. Not that Chifuyu would expect anything less, considering the guy is probably not even going to remember most of tonight in detail but still noticed a headache Chifuyu barely even had any outward reaction to. “Hey,” Takemitchy whispers. “Are you staying the night?”
“What?” Chifuyu’s voice is teasing, but just as quiet. The lighting calls for it. “You wanna get rid of me?”
Takemitchy rolls his eyes. “The spare futon is on the closet in my room,” he says. “I think ‘m gonna draw a bath. Do you mind going second? We have another bathroom attached to my mother’s room, but she keeps the doors locked when she’s away. I have no idea where the key is.”
“I don’t mind,” Chifuyu replies, trying to act like he’s not very aware of that off-handed mention of family. It’s the first Takemitchy has ever dropped. “Lead the way, partner.”
For some reason, Takemitchy looks sort of wistful for a moment. Then he smiles, a small bright thing in the dark, and even as Chifuyu follows him upstairs, he still feels as if he’s missing part of a conversation.
“You know,” Chifuyu says, laying down on top of the covers in Takemitchy’s spare futon, “I noticed you don’t wear your hair up anymore.”
Takemitchy peers at him from the bed. “Hm?”
“Nah, it’s nothing.” He shifts, somehow unable to get comfortable. The thought of sleep seems as far away as ever. “Just somethin’ I noticed. And it looks — fuck you, not nice , you wouldn’t know nice if it punched you in the face — but it’s… not the color of piss. ‘D you find out what toning means?”
“I did find out what toning means, thank you ,” Takemitchy says, and the biting tone is enough to make Chifuyu barks a laugh. It echoes in the room. The only sliver of light comes from a nightlight in the hallway, some sort of childish habit he’s been careful not to comment on. “About the other thing, I got a new personality next week and realized I looked stupid.” Takemitchy shifts on the bed, winces, and pouts like a little baby. “I mean, I’m twenty-six. I’ve known my hair at fourteen looked awful for years. Honestly, sort of glad I got the chance to fix it.”
The statement catches Chifuyu a bit off-guard. Of course he knows now that Takemitchy is from the future and shit, but it’s hard to wrap his head around the fact that apparently one of his best friends in the entire world has actually lived over a decade more than he has, even though they’re by some definition the same age.
“And,” Takemitchy continues, “I’m lucky I knew. If it were up to you all, I would’ve just kept it. Why did you never even mention how dumb I looked, with all the gel in my hair? I thought we were friends.”
“You have to understand,” Chifuyu replies, purposefully pausing for dramatic effect. He holds it out for a few seconds just to hear Takemitchy squirm. “It was really, really funny—”
He’s learned a lot about Takemitchy tonight. Maybe more than he’s ever learned about anyone. And right now he learns something else: Takemitchy’s aim is ridiculously good, even with an arm down for the count and a dark room. The pillow hits Chifuyu straight in the face.
And they laugh. It grows in a crescendo, until the sound of it is deafening in the night, partly relieved, partly hysterical, and all together buoyant and endless. Chifuyu laughs until he feels like a little kid again, heaving for breath, and Takemitchy keeps letting out high-pitched bursts of giggles that just make him laugh harder. They laugh because they’re capable of disaster and they are scared, because there are some odd thirty years of experience between the two of them and it’s not enough, not nearly enough, it never gets to be enough. They laugh because they can’t cry and because they’ve run out of tears.
Laughter is serious. More complicated, more serious than tears. But it’s good to laugh. Chifuyu wants to laugh and laugh until he laughs himself into some other world where Baji is still alive, and for a minute, that makes him forget the strange and awful feeling at the bottom of his stomach.
But then he thinks that maybe a world in which Baji lives might be a world without Takemitchy, and suddenly the room looks much darker and colder. The laughter petters out until there’s only breathing again, and the quiet is very loud.
Chifuyu thinks Takemitchy may have fallen asleep already. A few minutes later, he’s surprised by a small voice saying, “Hey, Chifuyu?”
He always says his name, even though there’s only the two of them. “Yeah?”
“You should go home soon.” Takemitchy’s words are slightly slurred, and Chifuyu knows for sure he won’t remember saying this. “Your mom will worry.”
Chifuyu doesn’t mention that he called her work to tell her he’d be spending the night over, nor does he say anything else. He just hums, and waits until Takemitchy’s breath evens out entirely before he allows himself to start relaxing and trying to get some rest.
He ends up dozing in fits and starts, waking up every half hour with a dry mouth and dried sweat on his skin. He keeps dreaming, but he can never remember what about. By the time it starts to get lighter behind the blinds, Chifuyu stands up, puts on the clothes Takemitchy had lent him, rolls up the futon back into the closet, gets his things, and leaves. He lingers for a few moments, watching Takemitchy frown in his sleep, but something in him really, really wants to be home. At least for a while, before he has to make it through another day.
He’s never made his way back home so early. His neighborhood isn’t the best one, so he has to be careful when it’s dark, but right now it’s light enough that some street lights have been turned off, and yet everything is completely silent and empty. It’s like one of those dystopian shows — like Imawa no Kuni no Alice, only Chifuyu is pretty sure the people of Tokyo have not disappeared in order to make the city the stage for death games. He keeps one foot in front of the other, the beat of his steps echoing in his head.
It’s become a habit, as he steps into his building, to do a quick look around to see if there’s anyone around. He didn’t used to mind greeting his neighbors, and he doesn’t really mind it now, but…
He still sees Baji’s mom sometimes, in the entranceway, making quiet small talk with elderly neighbors and ignoring the pitying side-looks she still gets. He always nods at her, but never says a thing. For whoever’s sake, she always smiles. And he always, always has to steel himself for it.
(When your child dies, the first thing you do is fall to your knees. You fall to your knees and your mouth falls open and your stomach drops and it is all an endless process of falling down, down, down, because your child is dead and that means something in you is also dead. It’s a part of you you will never get back. There’s a language you’re never going to speak with anyone else. And your child is still dead, and the overworked cop lady on the phone is sympathetic but impatient; she gives you the name of the hospital his body is at and tells you the name of another child you recognize, who was at the scene.
You recognize the name. But while the overworked cop lady is probably one of the many that will think Hanemiya Kazutora responsible for this death, you make a split second decision to think of that boy — with the too wide eyes and even wider smile, the one you’ve seen grow up in between bursts of time, one of his best friends — as the one who was next to your child right before it was over. That’s a half-truth that no one will be able to take away from you, because no one would be cruel enough. No one would.
The second thing you do is this: when your child dies, you feel everything you expect to feel, and you don’t resent the boy your boy loved. You couldn’t. But you also can’t really look at him without the pain being almost unbearable, so you don’t invite him over for Friday dinners anymore, and you don’t meet his eyes when you pass each other on the hallway. But you always smile.
Because Matsuno Chifuyu loved your boy, and everyone always said that Keisuke got his smile from you.)
But at this time no one is there at all, and he takes the stairs two at a time, until he gets to his floor and wrenches his door open (it’s got a faulty lock that came with the place) as quietly as he can, shushing Peke J before the bastard cat can start yowling. It’s early enough that it can still be called late, and his mother is there.
They both keep odd hours and communicate almost exclusively through post-it notes and voicemails; seeing each other for extended periods of time is rare and usually an occasion that warrants ordering takeout and watching shitty, old sci-fi movies on tv together.
But there’s no takeout today. There’s no Back to the Future. There’s his mother and her tired shoulders from a long shift sitting by the kitchen table, legs folded under herself on the pillows, and the way her face crumples when she sees him open the door.
It’s easy to forget that Chifuyu wasn’t the only one who lost someone in Baji. Their mothers had been fast friends, and the only way Chifuyu’s mom could know Baji more intimately than she already did was if she had been in the delivery room when Baji was born.
So he knows what this is. Because mom works a lot and probably hasn’t had time to sit and think about it, and every time Chifuyu wants to bring it up with her — just for the sake of talking, because she always listens and mostly says the right things — the words get stuck on his throat. Like the ball of grief that sits there. He thinks he’ll never get it out. He knows it because he thinks about it all the damn time, and the fact is that this could have happened any other day, but it had to be this one, now that he’s not sure how to feel about anything anymore, now that he knows there was a possibility of Baji not dying, now that his world, which has been crooked ever since Halloween, has shifted just slightly more to the left.
He doesn’t blame Takemitchy. Twenty-six or not, he’s a kid . It’s unfair to blame him or be angry with him at all, because it’s not his fault. But it’s not anyone else’s fault either, and Chifuyu doesn’t know what the hell to do with that.
“Oh, baby,” Mom says, and Chifuyu’s knees fail him just as he reaches the kotatsu. He falls right into her chest; she’s still able to hold him like a small child, even as he grows taller and taller than her. She squeezes him tightly. “I can see it in your face. He was so young. He was older than you and you looked up to him so much but he was so young .”
“I know, mom,” Chifuyu whispers. “Fuck, I know.”
In this pocket of time, this space of time in between spaces, before a day begins and the other ends, Chifuyu takes a shaky breath, then another. Then he’s crying silently, like he always does — no theatrical sobs or loud sniffles, just tears running down his face, clogging up his nose, and making Mom’s scrubs go damp. They’re close enough that he can also feel the stuttering of her chest, and they hold each other tight to keep themselves together.
Later, Chifuyu will go over to Takemitchy’s place again and kill time in his room ‘till he wakes up, making small talk with his other friends, who’re afraid of him to the point of it being amusing. Then he’ll steal Takemitchy away so they can properly discuss what they’ll do next about Hakkai, and he’ll find, impossibly, that the damn moron was dizzy enough the day before that he wasn’t sure if he’d really told Chifuyu or just dreamt it up, and he’ll tell him all over again. Then, Chifuyu will be brave enough to say, Be proud of yourself, Takemitchy. You’ve been fighting all alone. The results don’t matter.
I don’t blame you, he’ll think, but won’t say. If he said it out loud, it would stop being for his own sake.
What he and Takemitchy have is odd, especially now that they’re captain and vice-captain, because captains and vice-captains kill and die for each other. Because Chifuyu loved Baji, and Baji loved Chifuyu right back. Because everyone knew they loved each other, and that’s why no one really expected that Chifuyu would appoint a new captain so quickly, or that he would stay in Toman at all. For years that were entirely too short, it was sort of a running joke: wherever Baji goes, Chifuyu will follow, and Chifuyu will never go anywhere without Baji.
Baji was always the braver between the two of them. Now he’s gone on where Chifuyu can’t go after.
Chifuyu refuses to love an absence. He'll love the memory instead.
And so winter begins, first with a scream, then with a long, green silence that slowly turns to blue.