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Mitsuya glances at his watch. Half past eleven. He slips into his boots and steps out of his apartment. This is his regular Saturday night voyage. Into the night he goes, keeping close to the inner side of the road. He is certainly not at ease in the dark, but the thought of his destination gives him a sense of comfort. This trip is a secret to everyone but himself, and he marvels at the thought of it.
Half an hour later he arrives at a quiet corner around a pair of wooden doors illuminated by a soft yellow light from a chandelier hung above, seemingly out of place. Mitsuya stands in the shadow of the tall building, lights a cigarette and waits in silence. He glances at his watch again, which reads five past midnight. He has been to this place before. More than a couple of times, actually. It’s a French fine dining restaurant owned by Taiju and Mitsuya’s favourite dish from there is the raspberry mille feuille.
Just as he contemplates on his wait, the doors open.It plays like a slow motion movie in front of Mitsuya’s eyes. Having arrived slightly earlier allowed his eyes to adjust to the brightness (or the lack thereof) and it deceives him into believing that his slight is crystal clear. Sometimes so clearly it’s as if he can see the dust specks suspending in the middle of the air. The hazy yellow lights cast on the pavement allows him to make out the silhouette of the man stepping out of the doors. His brows curve at a low angle in an attempt to squint and have a better look, wanting to engrave every detail at the back of his eyes. It gives him a lot of comfort that he can still recognise Taiju in the dark, from a distance. The broad shoulders, the slick hair, the frown between his eyebrows, Mitsuya finds every familiar detail endlessly endearing. For a moment he can smell the cologne on Taiju’s neck and feel the temperature of Taiju’s skin pressed against his, every detail so familiar. He suddenly remembers the way he’d cling onto Taiju during snowy nights when they cuddled on the sofa watching corny movies. Taiju hated them so much.
Mitsuya tugs deeper into the sleeves and breathes into the collar of his coat, revering in the warmth of the air that he exhales. He stares at the hazy reflection from the crystals of the chandelier dancing on Taiju’s shoulder while the latter man speaks to someone still inside the doors, and for a moment loses his trail of thought. Imagination or not, he finds reassurance in the fact that he still knows the man he loves like the back of his own palm.
It’s been almost two years since the day he left their apartment.
Mitsuya’s relationship with Taiju dates back to the Christmas many years ago when he was still in middle school. It was one hell of a fight that Mitsuya would never wish to go through again, but he was amused at Taiju’s almost instant admission of defeat. He thought Taiju would vent his anger somewhere, but nothing dramatic really. The man quietly admitted to defeat. Looking at Taiju kneeling on the front steps of the church, Mitsuya thought he was unbelievably clumsy with his love expressions.
So somehow he managed to get hold of Taiju’s number, and in a whim sent a text of an invitation to the crepe place that had then newly opened. He didn’t expect Taiju to turn up, but he did. Then they started spending more time together, Mitsuya found Taiju’s lack of social eloquence and clumsy love language endlessly amusing. As days and months went by, Mitsuya realised that interest had turned into affection. Then one Christmas Eve Mitsuya kissed Taiju on the lips, and Taiju kissed back.
Throughout the years they had argued more than once about the nature of what Mitsuya was doing. Taiju never understood why he wouldn’t stop doing things that gave him nightmares every night, but accepted it anyway and simply held Mitsuya in his arms when he shivered in cold sweat. “I don’t think I can ever only belong to you,” Mitsuya apologised one night when they were lying in bed, softly placing his palm on Taiju’s. Taiju understood. Mitsuya belonged to Toman, to Mikey, to Hanagaki Takemichi, and to the many who looked up and adored him. He never held back on his love and devotion either and always gave for those whom he cared for. Taiju just hoped that a part of Mitsuya’s heart would also belong to him. That would be good enough.
Mitsuya takes a deep inhale of his cigarette and smiles as he puffs out the smoke. Every time he makes this trip he remembers some distinct detail from the life he shared with Taiju, and every heart wrench reminds him how in love he is. He used to joke with Taiju that the taller man should be glad he never lost the patience with him, but really it’s him who feels privileged to be able to see the hidden sides of Taiju that others don’t get to see.
Taiju finishes speaking and slips into his car that has parked in front of the restaurant entrance. Mitsuya sees him off until the car vanishes into distance, puts out his cigarette and turns around to the way home.
Home, Mitsuya ponders. He isn’t sure whether he’d call the apartment that he’s returning to, home. Home used to be the small room that he shared with his mom and two younger sisters in the rundown neighbourhood. Then it became the penthouse that Taiju had had since Black Dragon days. After that, he isn’t so sure. He wonders how the penthouse is like now. He still has the keys and he knows Taiju hasn’t changed the lock - not until at least a year after he moved out. He slipped back into the apartment once, taking advantage of knowing Taiju’s schedule. Everything was just as he remembered - the cooking tools and tupperware that he knew Taiju would just never use himself, his favourite shampoo, the matching pyjamas - everything in the same place spotless. Mitsuya wanted to cry upon the sight, for the fact that Taiju had always been waiting for him to return and the fact that he would never be able to. It’s too risky. Taiju had left that world for good and he would never intend to involve him again. Mitsuya was originally going to make up some sort of excuse to break up with Taiju; in fact he spent a lot of time looking for said excuse because he felt Taiju would be able to see through him just so easily. But he never got to arrive at one. It was all happening too quickly, and he had to go. So he did, in the middle of the night, leaving everything behind in the apartment and just disappeared from Taiju’s life.
Mitsuya knew very well then how cruel it was to Taiju, and that understanding was nailed into his spine when he saw how little the apartment had changed. He wished Taiju would simply move on. Move out of the place and just forget how terrible of a lover Mitsuya had been to him. But Mitsuya knows Taiju. He knows Taiju would not, which makes everything all the worse.
Mitsuya changes direction and heads towards the penthouse. His mind is restless tonight, filled with memories and what ifs. He knows that despite how late it is, Taiju will be heading to his office first before going home. He has enough time to sneak in once again, probably one last time. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do there. Maybe lie in the bed that they used to share, make lunch for Taiju tomorrow, or even just sit on the sofa and watch some tv. He doesn’t know; all he knows is that he needs to be there right now. He wants to be there so hard he can feel his soul aching.
But then a voice came up from behind him, saying his name like the devil’s song.
He knows they are coming for him. It started with Draken, then Kazutora, Chifuyu, Hakkai, so on so forth. Maybe deep down he knows that it’s going to be tonight. That’s why his body is screaming for him to revisit his happiest days one more time. But there has never been mercy on him for all the things that he has done, and so it’s only natural for him to never be able to bid the goodbyes that he wants to say.
He feels the keys to home in his pocket as the fingers tighten around his neck. His survival instinct is trying to cling onto the last string of oxygen but he feels like a fish floundering on a tideless beach.