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"You here," Ryunosuke smiles, an expression of wild joy and disbelief. "You're alive."
"I never died."
When Ryunosuke’s hand brushes Kazuma’s as he gives him Karuma, it is as cold as the grave. It must be from the October chill.
With his duty as Lord van Zieks’ assistance, there isn’t much time for Kazuma to squeeze in to see anyone outside the judiciary. It seems that his recollection of his lost memories has made things slightly complicated. Lord van Zieks won’t talk to him and instead busies his hands with menial tasks, but that is the least of his concerns. There is something that bothers him.
The way Ryunosuke had looked at him. There had been nothing but love, nothing but tenderness, but he hadn’t been looking at Kazuma. Truth be told, he wasn’t even looking at the Kazuma from before. There was a third entity, someone unknown to him. Who could that have been?
Behind him, he hears the soft scratching of van Zieks' pen against paper. Kazuma lifts his head, squares his shoulders, and fixes his eyes to the wall before him.
“What are your thoughts on Ryunosuke Naruhodo?” he asks.
“I believe you have work you are meant to be doing.”
“Clearly, neither of us have great affection for the other, and you seem to have some issue with my parentage. But at least do me the tremendous honor of having a two minute conversation that will no doubt be as dry as bone.”
van Zieks’ pen is delicately set down with a soft click. “Alright then. In my best advice, I recommend you don’t concern yourself with that defense attorney. The inner workings of his mind are a mystery.”
Not to me. They’re not supposed to be mysterious to me. “Humor me. Maybe I want to see how the great Reaper of the Bailey views his opponents.”
The legs of his chair scrape across the floor, but Kazuma doesn’t hear him stand. It’s another moment before he speaks again. “He’s insufferable. Detail oriented, yet arranges those details in the most incomprehensible of orders. The most naive man I’ve ever met, but hesitant as the day is long.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but I can’t help but notice you’ve described a man of contradictions.”
“Do contradictions imply impossibility?”
“Am I wrong in believing so?”
“Now, there’s something you share in common.” Why does that make Kazuma’s heart twist so? “Whatever your friend is in court, he is… logical. He sees the case before him and prods at the missing connections like the space of a pulled tooth.”
He frowns. “Is that not what a lawyer should be?”
“A lawyer does not have just the truth to worry about. He has a jury as well. Your friend’s tactics often serve to alienate them. He only appeals to their logic, and humans by nature are illogical creatures.” Something taps against the hollow surface of van Zieks’ desk. His finger, perhaps? Or maybe the letter opener at the side. “When confronting the jury, it’s imperative to realize that contradictions are not always absence signifiers, but another side of the truth. Especially when it comes to people.”
Kauma had forgotten how good van Zieks was at understanding people, or at least how they worked. Though, honestly, it should have been harder to do so given how much van Zieks’ court tactics relied on the emotional.
“I have a hard time picturing Ryunosuke as you describe.”
van Zieks makes a frustrated noise, halfway between a growl and a groan. “You were previously acquainted with him. Why ask me?”
“You’re right. I can’t imagine a reason why I would have lost contact with him for any period of time,” Kazuma says dryly.
He hears the sound of polished leather groaning, a noise so subtle he would have missed it were it not for the fact he was listening for van Zieks’ movements. “You should consider yourself lucky you get to see him again.”
Kazuma finally spins around. “But I haven’t, have I?” Those words taste bitter as soon as they leave his mouth, like grave dirt, and he feels the urge to obscure the hand he’d just revealed to van Zieks. “You’ve trapped me here doing busywork.”
This was a bad idea. van Zieks’ face is obscured in shadow by the bright light pouring through the window behind him, but to turn away again would show weakness. He schools his face into as impassive an expression as he can and waits for the response.
“Why, Mr. Asogi.” His voice is as level as his perfectly-crafted desk. “You sound as if you’ll never see him again.”
Kazuma turns around. He cannot take the deep breath his lungs crave; it would be too obvious. “Thank you for the riveting conversation, my lord.”
Forty three seconds pass before he hears the scribbling of his pen. Kazuma counts them. “My pleasure. Consider it a rare gift.”
His knees ache. The light overhead flickers dangerously, casting long shadows over the floorboards of first class. He's been on the floor for a while now, judging from the dull throbbing, but it's not his hands he puts weight on. Or, it is, but…
His fingers are wrapped around Ryunosuke's throat. The only sounds are the distant noise of the waves lapping at the side of the ship and the wheezing gasps as his partner struggles for breath. He looks so pale. Kazuma vaguely thinks that that shouldn't be happening during asphyxiation.
Even stranger that Ryunosuke doesn't struggle. He just looks back at Kazuma, lips slightly parted. The only sign he has any particular opposition to his death is the labored rise and fall of his chest that doesn't truly reward him with any oxygen. Kazuma tightens his grip and Ryunosuke shudders.
“What are you doing?” Kazuma asks.
Of course, Ryunosuke doesn’t reply. Not for lack of trying. The soreness in Kazuma’s knees becomes just a bit too much, so he transfers some of his weight to press down even harder. Ryunosuke makes a pained sound.
“Why don’t you stop me?” Kazuma begs. “Why are you letting me do this?”
Ryunosuke smiles at him, lifts a trembling hand and brushes his thumb over the crest of his cheekbone. His lips move silently, but he can’t make out the words they form. It’s obvious that his body is slowly shutting down. The other hand extends towards his face, and one of the tails of Kazuma’s hachimaki slips over his shoulder. The end trails over his cheek like a rivulet of blood.
Ryunosuke’s eyes flutter shut and his arms fall to the ground. They don’t even make a sound when they hit the floor. Kazuma feels the moment his pulse stutters underneath his fingers, and then stops altogether. It’s only then that he no longer feels compelled to squeeze his throat.
“Ryunosuke?!” Kazuma throws himself off of him. “Ryunosuke, Ryunosuke, wake up.”
His hands shake as they hover over Ryunosuke’s face. He seems so serene. Like he’s just sleeping. He’s only sleeping.
But now there’s a tape outline around his body. Kazuma stands up numbly. That wasn’t there a second ago. He backs away. This can’t be happening. His foot catches on something behind him, and he’s falling, he falls so hard that he—
—jolts upright in his bed. Kazuma gasps for air, and immediately feels guilty for it. He isn’t the one who needs to breathe, he—
He’s in his lodgings in London. It’s a detail that descends on him all at once. He sees Karuma across the room, hachimaki dangling from its hilt alongside the saber given to him by van Zieks. It was a dream. Thank god it was just a dream.
But that only offers him comfort for a short period of time. Why on earth would he dream about that? There had never been such an event, and he certainly didn't want to hurt Ryunosuke. Maybe his brain was trying to piece things together after his amnesia. Though he hasn't had any other dreams like that, and it was growing close to a week since that day in the Old Bailey.
Kazuma doesn’t want to hurt Ryunosuke, he assures himself. Nightmares don’t always have to be logical or some hidden inner desires. Sometimes they’re just disparate pieces the psyche pulls together. This is a one time thing.
After the first day of van Zieks’ trial, Kazuma is entirely exhausted. He shouldn’t have pushed Mr. Vigil in the way he had, for his own sake as well as the former warder. Something had snapped in him. Logically, he could even recall in the moment he was projecting his own feelings onto the poor man, but he hadn’t been able to get himself to stop. This was beginning to become concerning. Mr. Vigil, almost Gregson, and…
That didn’t count. That had been a dream.
Kazuma is fraying at the edges. None of these feelings are new, but they’re starting to become so intense he can no longer hold them inside. And Ryunosuke. He didn’t know what he had been expecting when he entered the courtroom, but it hadn’t been that.
Is it really that strange? Ryunosuke has been studying law for almost a year now. He’d shown a natural propensity for it back in Japan, so it should only be common sense that he’d be so formidable.
But is that what is really bothering him? He knows it isn’t, but the true cause is eluding him. Kazuma sets to busying himself with preparing for tomorrow’s trial to get his mind off things. He becomes so absorbed in it, time collapses in on itself until someone knocks at the door of his office. A glance at the clock shows he’s been working for much longer than he had thought.
“Come in,” he calls.
Susato steps through the door, and it closes behind her.
“I wanted to come say hello,” she admits. She holds up a parcel wrapped in pink paper, patterned with flowers. “Iris Wilson has sent me with some tea for you, as well as some reading.”
Ah, yes, Iris. The little girl who he had seen with Ryunosuke in van Zieks’ office at the start of Harebrayne’s trial. “You can put it on the desk.”
Susato crosses the room and sets the package down, brushing off a bit of dust from the top. Not that it hadn’t already been practically spotless. “Naruhodo-san wanted to come see you as well, but his time has been consumed by the trial.”
“I understand. Things have become rather complicated.”
“He’ll probably stop by later, though,” Susato quickly adds. “To… clear up some things for the defense.”
Selfishly, Kazuma wishes that they didn’t have to talk about work every time they met. “I see.”
“I thought that maybe we could speak for a little while, though? It’s been such a long time.”
If Kazuma were responsible, he’d tell her no. He still has work to do, and he has to make sure he’ll be composed tomorrow. But that’s not what he does, because this is his little sister.
“Of course. Would you like some tea? I’m sure I can find a way to make some in this god forsaken place.”
“I’m alright, thank you.”
Kazuma stands from the desk. He feels awkward sitting when Susato can’t, and van Zieks was apparently too much of a pompous ass to keep extra chairs in his office. He leans against the window, arms crossed across his chest. “Have you been finding your way in London well enough?”
“I’ve been here longer than you, Kazuma-sama. We’ve settled in well enough. Or, I suppose Naruhodo-san has. I only returned a few days ago, he’s been here longer than either of us now.”
His heart twinges in his chest. “Returned?”
“Yes. My father requested I return home for a spell. It’s… a long story. One too long for today. I’m afraid Naruhodo-san spent six months on his own here.”
Six months? He uncrosses his arms to rest his palms on the window sill. He’d been alone for that long? “Susato-san,” Kazuma begins. “Has something happened to Ryunosuke?”
She tilts her head. “Whatever do you mean?”
“He seems… different.”
“Well, you knew him better than me before all of this but…” she pauses for a moment to ponder this. “He has grown more confident and assertive in the courtroom, though I’d hesitate to extend that to the rest of his life. He’s become more resolute in his beliefs, and he's willing to risk his life and livelihood for them.”
“I see.”
She tilts her head. “You seem perturbed by this. Is it really so strange to think that he’s changed in some ways? I’m sure that he’d say you’ve changed as well.”
Have I, though? “Thank you, Susato. I appreciate your insight.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Now, have you gotten up to any other trouble while you’ve been here?”
“Well, there was this one time in Lord Stronghart’s office…”
“Kazuma you’ve… changed.”
“No, Ryunosuke. I haven’t changed at all. It’s you who has changed.”
Kazuma’s fingers are tangled in strips of red silk. The fabric is cool and smooth, and slips easily over his skin. It doesn't restrain him, yet no matter how much he moves there are always ribbons loosely wrapped around his hands.
His eyes follow their trail to the floor. They weave and snake across wooden boards, dozens of bands of fabric. They lead to a wardrobe, all the silken strips coming from the seam at the bottom of the door. They drip with some kind of liquid, pooling on the floor like ink in the darkness. Kazuma steps towards the wardrobe, more ribbons wrapping around his ankles as he wades through the stream of fabric. He opens the panels, and a limp hand falls out alongside the red bands.
Ryunosuke sits inside, curled in on himself. The strips loosely bind his entire body, tangle round his neck, snare around his wrists, circle his ankles and legs. They hang between his fingers, and this time Kazuma can’t pretend he’s sleeping.
His lips and fingertips are tinged an unhealthy blue color, contrasting quite starkly with the red silk. The cool fabric wrapped around Kazuma’s hands takes on a queasy kind of warmth. As he reaches forward, they leave tacky smears on his palms. He touches his fingertips to Ryunosuke’s cheek and freezes. There are no strips of silk hanging from his palms, just blood dripping from his hands in thick droplets.
He draws his hand back, leaving behind wine-red fingerprints. He’s covered in it, splashed up his gaiters and staining his undershirt beneath his uniform. The blood now pours from the wardrobe, sloshing onto the floor. It’s not only a wardrobe, it’s also a trunk, and Ryunosuke’s hand hangs slack from both of them.
Kazuma wakes up drenched in a cold sweat. His room is sweltering, air so thick it’s hard to breathe. He scrambles out of bed and rushes to the window, throwing it open to the cold London night. He hangs his head, breathing heavily. His skin feels sticky, and he knows it's just sweat, but it still feels like blood. He desperately wants a bath.
Kazuma lingers at the window until his lungs feel clean again. He can't keep going like this if this is how every night will go. He only feels more exhausted than before he went to bed, and that was already almost completely drained. He closes his eyes. It'll go away. Everything will be fixed by tomorrow.
As van Zieks is declared not guilty, Kazuma can’t take his eyes off of the corpse standing behind the defense’s bench. He wears the same clothes as every other time Kazuma has seen him since January tenth, dressed in funeral black. He smiles at Kazuma, and though he’s glad he knows the truth of his father’s death, he wishes his friend didn’t have to die to do it.
It’s stupid to even ask himself if it’s selfish. He knows it is. It had been his desire to change the world, afterall, and he hadn't been the one to carry it.
Kazuma’s breathing is erratic, uneven, and the inside of his mouth is coated with some sweet and sticky liquid. Ryunosuke’s lips brush against his, smearing more of it across his skin. When he pulls back Kazuma can see there is blood speckling visible edge of his undershirt. And, oh, his hand is wrapped around the hilt of Karuma, which is buried to the collar in Ryunosuke’s stomach.
He makes a strangled noise when he realizes, but he can't (won't) let go or move back. It's at an awkward angle due to how close they are, set at the curve of Kazuma's hip.
Ryunosuke gently shushes him at his panic, catching him in another kiss. The blood on his lips is nauseatingly saccharine.
"It's alright," Ryunosuke says. "You're here, aren't you?"
"Please," Kazuma whispers. "Fight back."
He laughs softly. "Oh, Kazuma. I could never fight you."
He wants the taste in his mouth to be like copper, to give the moment the horror and gravity it deserves. Why is it so sweet? Ryunosuke stiffens when he shifts, and when he relaxes again his smile is a little more pained than before.
"Whatever it is, it's not worth it." Words are failing him. Even Kazuma knows he doesn’t sound convincing.
Ryunosuke cups his face with ice cold hands, a balm to his feverish skin. He doesn't speak. Everything about him feels soft and gentle, but that just makes Kazuma's chest ache.
"Don't let me do this," Kazuma croaks.
His smile doesn't waver for a moment. "I'm not letting you do anything. It's all you."
This time Kazuma doesn't wake up in a panic. There is a heavy weight pressed over his whole body as he opens his eyes to meet the ceiling. He licks his dry lips. They still taste like sugar. The more time he spends with Ryunosuke the more frequent these dreams become.
He hates watching the one he loves die over and over again, in so many ways. He doesn’t have to be asleep to see a thousand tiny deaths, in the way Ryunosuke speaks or smiles. And yet Kazuma is the one they claim has changed. He hasn't changed at all, he’s only become more truthful.
All too late, it seems.
The door of 221b Baker Street may as well be that of a funeral parlor’s. Kazuma knocks on the door, and it’s only about five seconds before it is thrown open and Iris Wilson grins up at him.
“You came!” she exclaims.
“Were you concerned that I wouldn’t?”
“You didn’t come to dinner after the trial, so I didn’t know if you were shy or not. Come in!”
Iris doesn’t so much as let Kazuma in as run behind him and push him into the flat. She sets him down on the chaise lounge and holds up her hands.
“Stay right there! I’ll go get Runo!”
He sets his jaw. Right. Ryunosuke. Who will be leaving tomorrow. This is the last night he’ll spend in Britain, and Kazuma will be staying behind. For some fucking reason. He balls his hands into fists. He’s traded his prosecutor’s uniform for something more casual, so he doesn’t have gloves to shield his palms from his nails.
“Here you are, Runo. Hurley should be back soon for dinner.” Iris pulls Ryunosuke into the room. “I’ll leave you two to catch up while I make some preparations.”
Iris leaves the room in the same pink whirlwind she enters it, leaving them alone. Ryunosuke smiles weakly. He’s still in his student uniform. Kazuma seethes over the injustice.
“I haven’t been able to talk to you,” He sits down in the chair across from Kazuma.
“We’ve both been busy. I don’t blame you for it.” The smirk he returns tastes like ash. “Bringing down the justice system of the world’s most powerful empire is more time-consuming than one would think.”
Ryunosuke laughs, but it doesn’t have any energy. “I’ve gotten so little sleep the past few days. And just when I’d started to get used to a normal night’s sleep.”
He does have some heavy bags under his eyes. “Were you having difficulties before?”
“Oh, no, I used to pull a lot of late nights when I was studying over my temporary ban.”
A thorn sticks between Kazuma’s ribs. “It’s hard to imagine you staying up to study anything other than English after all the times you invaded my room.”
“Well, I wanted to do right by you.”
That thorn digs in deeper. He needs to change the subject. “Will Susato be joining us tonight?”
“No, unfortunately. She’s spending a night on the town with Gina and Maria tonight. I’m not really sure… how they got Maria roped into it, but those three will probably raze London to the ground.”
“Good thing you’re leaving tomorrow, then.”
“Good thing…”
The lights flicker, and for a moment the shadows at Ryunosuke’s neck look like bruises. Kazuma flinches. Ryunosuke looks like he’s about to comment, but it’s that moment that Sholmes throws open the door.
“Iris!” He shouts. “Is dinner ready? I’m starving!”
“Two minutes, Hurley!” Iris calls from the kitchen.
Sholmes catches sight of Kazuma and grins. “Mr. Asogi! You decided to join us tonight?”
He bristles. “Why would you assume that I wouldn’t.”
“You’ve always seemed to be a cagey fellow. Like Mr. Reaper!” Sholmes whisks away before he can respond to that. Kazuma gives Ryunosuke a look.
“I know.” Ryunosuke sighs. “He’s a lot. But hey, let’s go get food.”
He leans over and pats Kazuma’s knee before he stands up and follows Sholmes to the kitchen. Kazuma needs to eat something to settle his stomach and his nerves.
Iris, as it turns out, is a phenomenal chef. He would advise her to enter the restaurant business were she not already a successful and internationally acclaimed writer. Sholmes regales them with his recount of today’s case. Kazuma tries to focus on keeping his food down. He sends a sidelong glance to Ryunosuke. His profile is covered in blood, trickling down the left side of his face from an abrasion hidden under his hairline. Kazuma chokes and drops his silverware. Everyone turns to look at him.
“Sorry,” he coughs, pounding a fist to his chest. “That bite didn’t go down right.”
“You’re really okay?” Ryunosuke asks. Now that he’s head-on, the blood is gone. Kazuma bites down on his lip and nods.
“Fantastic.”
Sholmes doesn’t need more of an excuse to launch back into his story. Ryunosuke and Iris chime in to fact check him at various intervals, almost by routine.
“Mr. Sholmes, I don’t think I ever heard your reasoning for what you did on the Burya.” Kazuma says lightly when he finishes his tale.
“Ah! What a fantastic caper. At the time I was under the assumption that you were the target of assassination instead of vice versa. I’d boarded the ship in an attempt to find a way to save you, and it was only by miraculous happenstance that the incident that befell occurred!”
Well, it was nice to know that Sholmes hadn’t orchestrated his little “trip.” “Alright.”
“If you were proclaimed dead you’d be sent back home. But that was not the only hurdle! Once you were found to be alive they would no doubt put you back on the trip. Someone had to take your place.” Sholmes waves his arms in a dramatic fashion. “And wouldn’t you know it! There happened to be another Japanese student aboard the ship! And I oh-so subtly convinced him to take up the mantle of lawyer, thereby delaying your return.”
Ryunosuke rolls his eyes. “I don’t know if I’d call what you did ‘subtle.’ You just told me to become a lawyer.”
“Yes, but you didn’t notice my intentions. What a riveting tale, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Asogi?”
Kazuma doesn’t know exactly what expression is on his face, but it must be intense judging from the way Sholmes falters when he sees it. “You… did what?”
“Which part requires clarification?”
He sets his tea down. “You manipulated Ryunosuke into taking my place?”
“Ah, the last bit. Yes, and I must say that was some brilliant improv on my part. Flying by the seat of my pants, I was.”
Kazuma leans closer to Iris, smiling pleasantly. “Would you mind getting me some more tea? Make it obscenely sweet.”
She looks confused for a second, but grins and nods nonetheless. “You got it.”
Ryunosuke eyes him as she leaves. “You hate sweet tea.”
“I do.”
“Then why…?”
“I figure I’ll try it one more time. Just to see.”
Iris quickly returns with his tea, and Kazuma spends the remainder of dinner sipping a beverage so sweet it makes the rest of his meal bland or bitter from the aftertaste. His smile is just as sugary as his drink. It makes Sholmes’ conversation bearable.
The sun has set hours ago when Kazuma stands up. “I think it’s best I let you all get to bed. There’s an early morning in store tomorrow.”
“Aw, do you have to?” Iris pouts.
“I must concur with Iris,” Sholmes says. “London is crawling with undesirables at this hour. It wouldn’t do to have you get jumped on your way back from a great detective’s home.”
“Your concern is appreciated, but I’m not exactly defenseless.” Kazuma gestures to his swords.
Sholmes nods solemnly. “You’re right. Your night would really liven itself up with some murder.”
Ryunosuke sighs. “Just stay the night, Kazuma. I can give you space in my room.”
That sounds like a privilege he doesn’t deserve and something that the very thought of sickens him to his core. But Ryunosuke is leaving tomorrow. “Alright. If you insist.”
Ryunosuke’s room is a tragedy in three acts. It’s phenomenally messy, as any of his spaces tend to be. Kazuma would bet money that half of it is organized chaos, and the other is a void to which entire families could be lost. And then there is the fact that it looks so different from his room back home. No books of poetry or assigned reading from class with dog eared pages. Would the owner of this room rant to Kazuma about meter and rhyme? In the midst of his lament, Ryunosuke takes off his jacket and throws it onto the chair.
“Do you not have night clothes?” Kazuma asks.
“I’ve already packed. Besides, that means I don’t have to get dressed again in the morning.”
He crawls under the sheets and pats the spot on the spot next to him. Kazuma obeys the direction. Ryunosuke’s bed isn’t very large, so they’re practically pressed against each other.
“You’re freezing,” Kazuma says when Ryunosuke’s foot brushes against his. Ryunosuke doesn’t hear the sobriety in Kazuma’s voice and rolls his eyes.
“I’m sorry not all of us can be living heaters.”
Kazuma silently takes Ryunosuke’s hands into his. They’re cold too. He breathes onto them to try and coax some warmth back into them.
“You’re going back to Japan.” He murmurs.
“Yes.”
“To be a defense attorney.”
“Yes.”
"Do you ever regret it?"
Ryunosuke hums. "Sometimes, but not more than anything else. I didn't choose this path, but I did choose to keep walking."
Kazuma feels an incredible outrage towards Yujin Mikotoba. First he tricked Ryunosuke into representing himself without experience and now that he’s proven himself to be a prodigy he wants to place the burden of reforming Japan’s legal system on his shoulders? Kazuma loves Mikotoba like a second father, but for just this moment he hates him.
“It’s not so bad, Kazuma,” Ryunosuke says, misunderstanding his silence. “We can still write to each other.”
While you change even more without me? “You’re right.”
Ryunosuke closes his eyes and knocks his forehead against Kazuma’s. “I missed you so much. I’ll still miss you. But at least you’re still alive.” You're here, aren't you?
Kazuma can't help but wonder if Ryunosuke is still here. "I never thought we'd do this again."
"Do what?"
Kazuma vaguely gestures between them. "Feels kind of like our university days."
"Technically we're still students." They pause. "I know. I don't really believe that either. But hey, look how far we've come."
He says that, but Kazuma is in about the same position he was a year ago. Any movement he's made is due to Ryunosuke and that scares him. "Would you change it?"
"What?"
"If you were given the chance to go back, would you?"
Ryunosuke lets out a one note laugh, strained at the edges. "That would be kind of selfish, wouldn't it?"
Maybe you of all people deserve to be selfish a little more often. "Maybe." A warm, tacky substance is starting to seep into Kazuma's shirt from the space between him, and he knows what he'll find if he looks down so he squeezes Ryunosuke's hands a little harder and levels his gaze with his face. "I'm sorry, if it's caused you any strife."
"I… thank you." He takes a shaky breath. “I used to blame myself for you dying on the Burya.”
Kazuma almost barks out a laugh. “Did you now?”
“I thought if I’d just made sure you ate dinner, or if I hadn’t gone at all so there wouldn’t have been that misunderstanding with Nikolina…” Ryunosuke sighs. "I don't think I ever got over it until I finally saw you again."
Funny, Kazuma thinks. That's about the same time I started to think the same way about you.
Ryunosuke puts a hand to Kazuma's face, and he forces himself to not stiffen as his thumb streaks blood across his cheek. "Thank you, Kazuma."
"For what?" He chokes out.
"For believing in me."
Kazuma wants to scream. He wants to curl in on himself and shout, and for his partner to hold him to his chest so Kazuma could hear his heartbeat. Why is he being left behind?
If to change means to die then Kazuma wonders if he's immortal.
"Are you cold?" Ryunosuke's voice is gentle, concerned. Kazuma must be shaking
"Just a little," He lies.
Ryunosuke pulls the bloodsoaked sheets over their shoulders. "You should get to sleep. You aren't going to have the luxury of having nothing to do for two months like me."
"Okay." His voice sounds small. He feels small. His cheek is still sticky where Ryunosuke touched it when he pulls his hand away.
It's only a few minutes before he falls asleep, but Kazuma is wide awake, studying him. His face is gaunt in the moonlight, skin washed out to a pale grey. Is this real, or is his mind exaggerating the details?
The pool of liquid between them has begun to cool. It's been cold for almost a year, really.
Ryunosuke Naruhodo is dead, and Kazuma Asogi is the one who killed him.
When he wakes up in the morning, Ryunosuke is already gone. The trunk in the corner is gone, the university jacket disappeared from its place on the chair. 221b Baker Street is no longer haunted. Kazuma drags himself out of bed to get ready to head to Dover for the wake.