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“Are you sure about this?”
“You’ve asked me that at least 50 times already. Just do it, before I take that razor and do you instead.”
With a sigh, Yasuhiro looked between the electric razor in his hand, guard set to the longest length, and the back of Haruchiyo’s head. Haruchiyo sat cross legged on the floor between Yasuhiro’s knees, fists clasped tightly on his thighs. Not trusting that Haruchiyo was really ready for this, but also not trusting that Haruchiyo wouldn’t turn around and snatch the razor from his hands to buzz off Yasuhiro’s own dark hair, he finally pushed the button with his thumb,the device buzzing to life in his hands.
Running his fingers through the dry, pink strands, Yasuhiro placed the plastic guard at the back of Haruchiyo’s neck, just below his hairline. Yasuhiro could tell they were both holding their breath, an inhale that wasn’t released until Yasuhiro dragged the razor up, cutting the first chunk of hair from Haruchiyo’s head.
Letting the strands fall from his fingers to the ground between them, Yasuhiro observed the missing patch of pink, replaced with a soft, fuzzy blonde.
“Is that short enough?”
Haruchiyo’s fingers reached around to the back of his head, rubbing at the shortened hair. Yasuhiro couldn’t see his face, but he could only imagine that his friend was scowling as he quickly withdrew his hand, clasping his hands in his lap to stop them from shaking.
“If the color is gone, then it's fine.”
Though Haruchiyo couldn’t see him, Yasuhiro nodded and clenched his jaw as he grabbed another section of Haruchiyo’s hair, shearing it away to reveal another patch of blonde. Then another, and another until the entire back and top of his head was cropped short, shorter than Yasuhiro had ever seen it, and not a single strand betrayed that his hair was once long. Beautiful. Yasuhiro didn’t know how he felt about the pink, but even if it wasn’t his favorite, it suited Haruchiyo in a weird way.
Yasuhiro was surprised when Haruchiyo asked him to cut it. It had been growing out for weeks, his roots fully on display and the style it had once been a shaggy image of its past self. Yasuhiro had decided to not say anything, because there are simply bigger things about Haruchiyo to worry about than the state of his hair. Besides, Haruchiyo had no problems asking for the things he wanted, so he would ask for a trip to the salon when he was ready. And simply, Yasuhiro decided that he must not be ready yet.
But still, Yasuhiro was surprised when he was asked to help cut it, rather than trim or dye it. Haruchiyo said he was tired of the pink, and he felt Yasuhiro was too dumb to figure out how hair bleach worked. Yasuhiro rolled his eyes, and yet, he agreed to the haircut because it was what Haruchiyo wanted.
It was time for a change, Haruchiyo said.
A change was exactly what he needed.
Maybe, change was what they needed.
Turning off the razor, Mucho tapped it against his thigh, shaking loose the clippings from the blade.
“All that's left is the front.” An unspoken request for Haruchiyo to turn around, but, noticing no movement from him, Yasuhiro sighed, and pushed himself off of his bed. Moving around him, Yasuhiro sat in front of Haruchiyo on the floor in a similar cross legged position, their knees and legs bumping against each other as he moved closer.
Grabbing him by the chin, Yasuhiro gently lifted Haruchiyo’s face, mumbling for the man to keep his eyes closed as he turned the razor back on. Haruchiyo sat still as stone as the guard of the razor kissed his cheeks, clipping away the hair around his ears,before moving towards his bangs. Haruchiyo remained so quiet through the whole process that Yasuhiro pretended not to notice the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes. Haruchiyo would just lie about the meaning anyway, saying that a stray hair had found its way into his eyes or was tickling his nose.
With a final click, Yasuhiro turned off the razor, setting it to his side. With one large hand, he rubbed over Haruchiyo’s head, dusting away the loose strands and clippings onto the floor. Haruchiyo straightened his back, plucking at his shirt to remove the loose hair from his shoulders, before finally opening his green eyes, examining Yasuhiro’s stoic face for his judgment.
“Well?”
“It’s different. You look younger.”
With a snort, Haruchiyo lifted himself from the floor, dusting off his shorts before stepping away from the fluffy pink carnage.
“Maybe because it hasn’t been this short since I was ten. Probably looks so fucking stupid.”
Leaning back on his hands, Yasuhiro looked up at him, admiring his handiwork and Haruchiyo’s profile. “It’s not that bad.Just, really different.”
Haruchiyo rolled his eyes, scratching his now exposed neck while looking out of the balcony window at their darkening street. “I’m itchy. I’m going to go shower.”
“Don’t waste all of the water again.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
Yasuhiro watched him go, his shoulders hunched as he walked away. He’d never admit he regretted the choice, but at least it was just hair, and Haruchiyo’s always grew fast. But, Yasuhiro couldn’t help but wonder what the real reason behind the change was. What was Haruchiyo trying to let go of, that he decided cutting the pink out of his hair was the best way to do it?
Yasuhiro had a few guesses. In the two months that they lived together, Haruchiyo had only tried to distance himself from the life that he had developed while they were apart.
Some things were easier to let go of than others.
His pin-striped suit, that Yasuhiro had laundered and ironed and folded so neatly, had been found in the trash one day, and Yasuhiro hadn’t questioned it.
His unloaded pistol that Yasuhiro was sure would be a fixture in their bathroom until Haruchiyo finally got over the skin crawling need to seek out more narcotics was tucked into an old pillowcase and chucked into the ocean one late night when Haruchiyo asked if they could go for a midnight walk. Yasuhiro had been so shocked that he had grabbed Haruchiyo by the back of the shirt, pulling him back away from the water, worried that he would throw himself off the side of the pier with it.
“What was that?” Yasuhiro had asked, having not seen Haruchiyo smuggle the pistol out of the house.
“Just another burden.” Haruchiyo had shrugged off his hands, and walked away from him into the night, hands tucked deep in his pockets as his ponytail blew in the salty breeze.
Haruchiyo didn’t have much that Yasuhiro hadn’t given him. By now, all he had left was a knife, and the tattoo that Yasuhiro found him mindlessly rubbing at with his thumb most nights. Sometimes Yasuhiro worried that the reason the knife stayed longer than the gun was because the knife could be used to carve away at his skin, tearing away chunks of the tattoo, as the only other thing that Haruchiyo had to his name dripped onto the floor.
Shaking the thought from his head, Yasuhrio swept together a pile of hair with his hands, depositing it in the trashcan before grabbing the small hand broom from the kitchen. He swept the last remnants of Haruchiyo’s pink style into the dustpan, and briefly considered saving a lock of it like new parents did after their baby’s first haircut before dumping the pile into the trash and squishing it down with his hand.
After some time, Haruchiyo exited the bathroom, skin flushed red from the heat of the shower. He rubbed at his hair with his towel before letting the towel settle in a cape around his shoulders. His hair was puffed up like a dandelion, and a pitiful pout settled on his face as he tried to run his fingers through it, barely long enough to grab.
“At least we’ll save some money on shampoo while it grows back…” Yasuhiro said as he tried to console him, but also resisting reaching out and giving his head a ruffle. Yasuhiro was sure it would be soft… all clean and conditioned. But that theory was one he would have to test another day, when Haruchiyo was less likely to bite off his fingers.
Haruchiyo flopped onto Yasuhiro’s bed, flat on his stomach before rolling to sit in a much less obnoxious way against the wall, with enough room for Yaushiro to sit at the head of the bed beside him. Haruchiyo pulled at the strands of hair by his ear, seeming to will the hair longer, to grow faster, to get him out of this uncomfortable stage between where he was, and where he wants to be.
“Have you ever thought about moving out of here, Haruchiyo?”
If Haruchiyo was a dog, Yasuhiro would’ve expected his ears to perk up at the question. That always managed to catch his attention, Haruchiyo knowing the conversation was serious when Yasuhiro used his name.
Haruchiyo’s fingers paused in pulling his hair, and his gaze flickered towards him out of the corner of his eye. “Kicking me out? That’s not really exactly what a good senpai does, Mucho-san.”
Ignoring the taunt, because defending himself would only lead to further ribbing comments and self-deprecating statements from Haruchiyo about how he was so much of a burden to everyone, how Yasuhiro should’ve just left him on the streets to die…
“I talked to my landlord last week. He has two apartments available next month… in September. A one bedroom and a two bedroom.” Yasuhiro paused as Haruchiyo turned his head towards him, expression unreadable, but immediate dislike of the idea not apparent on his face. “The two bedroom is a bit closer to where I work, and I can afford the change in rent…”
Yasuhiro trailed off as Haruchiyo’s eyes bore into him. Yasuhiro wished he would say something, anything, so he didn’t feel the need to keep talking to fill the heavy silence.
“If you’re planning on staying for much longer, it might be a good idea. At least, we will be more comfortable with you off of the floor, and having our own spaces…”
Dropping his gaze down to his hands, Yasuhiro broke the uncomfortable hold Haruchiyo had on him. He could still feel the other man staring, and yet, Yasuhiro had nowhere to escape to. Haruchiyo said nothing. Not a word on his preference, a thought on the change of arrangements.
“I need to tell the landlord a decision by next week. So just think about it.”
Yasuhiro turned his head slightly, observing Haruchiyo out of the corner of his eye. His legs had been drawn up to his chest, and his arms wrapped around his knees. Haruchiyo hid his face, tucked into his arms, and Yasuhiro marveled at how young he really looked like this.
Lost. Alone. Even with every support Yasuhiro gave, he couldn’t fix these things for him.
Maybe Yasuhiro should retract his offer, tell his landlord he wasn’t ready to move quite yet. Maybe they would be ready in another couple months, when change wasn’t so terrifying for Haruchiyo.
Yasuhiro couldn’t help but feel like shit, as he attempted to push Haruchiyo into another major life change, when he had finally started to find a place in Yasuhiro’s current home. He felt as if he was ripping Haruchiyo’s much needed stability away from him, just to satisfy his own needs.
Yasuhiro didn’t want to be the next thing that yanked Haruchiyo’s world from beneath his feet.
- - - - -
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Sanzu didn’t hate the idea of moving.
Maybe that would mean that he could sleep on a bed again, rather than forcing himself onto a pallet on the floor as “payment” for Mucho allowing him to stay with him.
Maybe he would feel less restless, less trapped inside a larger space.
Maybe he was selfish, having grown used to a life of luxury with Bonten. Mucho’s entire studio could have fit inside of his bedroom with room to spare.
But Sanzu didn’t even think about that. He was selfish. Selfish for invading Mucho’s home. Selfish for staying past his welcome, when Mucho had tried many times to set up limits and boundaries for him.
Despite this awareness of ruining Mucho’s life, the thought of leaving… The thought of leaving made his chest feel heavy and his throat close and his skin itch in a way that had him reaching for the bottle of pills that Mucho let him keep for those moments that Haruchiyo truly couldn’t resist… For when he really needed to escape.
And escape was all he wanted when Mucho began telling him of his plans to move. He didn’t want to be a part of this conversation. He didn’t want to further disrupt Mucho’s life.
He also felt a small panic at the thought of a wall…of a locked door… separating them.
Perhaps he had grown used to the way Mucho snored at night, or maybe he just enjoyed the sensation of not going to sleep in a room alone.
It’s why he struggled during the day, when Mucho was gone. When there was nothing except the daily game shows and soap operas to distract him from the thoughts ping ponging around in his head, and he flirted with the idea that maybe, it would be better to go back to Bonten to let them deal with him in the same way Sanzu used to enjoy dealing with traitors.
The Haitanis would enjoy that at least.
But if this… if moving would be what kept Mucho satisfied, Sanzu would agree to it. He didn’t really have a choice.
He just felt like shit for ripping Mucho away from the home he had developed for himself. Where he had lived for years, in comfort and solitude. Sanzu felt like he was forcing Mucho into an unwanted situation, where he had no choice but to make Sanzu comfortable over himself.
Sanzu also knew he’d never be able to repay Mucho for the change in rent, because he would never be able to hold a legal or illegal job again. Not unless the world collectively forgot his face, and the crimes associated with it.
But even so, he agreed, because Mucho offered, and he knew Mucho wouldn’t make a commitment such as this without feeling confident he would be able to see it through.
He agreed and Mucho’s eyes lit up, almost like he was happy, and that Sanzu didn’t understand. Sanzu was destroying his life for a second time, and yet Mucho was happy about it.
Mucho said he would talk to the landlord the next day, and then the next days came, and Mucho was handing Sanzu his own keychain, with a door key and a mailbox key attached to a silly pink teddy bear.
“My name isn’t on the lease, is it?” Sanzu questioned, wary about why he would be entrusted with keys like this.
“No, don’t worry. It’s standard for a two bedroom to come with two sets of keys.” Mucho fiddled with the teddy bear dangling from Sanzu’s grasp. “I wouldn’t put you at risk like that.”
Sanzu simply nodded, and followed Mucho inside as he unlocked the door. The place was already furnished with basic necessities…and Sanzu sat himself on the couch, body angled towards the front door as Mucho retreated back into the warm, September sun. Mucho didn’t ask him for help as he carried box after box inside, their meager possessions making for a short moving period. Sanzu watched him all the while, separating their possessions between the two rooms, doors placed side by side.
Soon enough, Mucho closed the front door behind himself, kicking it shut with his foot. Sanzu turned to watch him heave the last box onto the counter in the kitchen. A definite, dull smack of cardboard on linoleum finalized their move.
Mucho looked at him peering over the back of the couch, and smiled, face tired and flushed from the exertion of single handedly moving them up four flights of stairs.
“Well, that’s all for now.” Mucho turned around and opened the fridge. Retrieving two glass bottles of soda, which Sanzu assumed was Mucho’s lame idea of a celebratory drink, Mucho returned to his side, sitting beside him on the couch.
Popping the cap off of one bottle with the edge of his shirt, Mucho handed it to Sanzu. Mucho tipped the neck of his own unopened bottle to clink against the one in Sanzu’s hands in cheers, before leaning back against the arm of the couch.
“We can finish unpacking later. I know where my work things are for tomorrow, so taking my time with the rest should be fine.”
As he pressed the cold glass of the bottle mouth against his lips, Sanzu felt an uncomfortable sensation of bile gather in the back of his throat. “You’re going to work tomorrow?”
Mucho paused in opening his own drink, the edge of his shirt fisted over the cap. Mucho watched his face, too closely for Sanzu’s liking, before he turned his head away, pretending to observe the limited decor in the room.
“Is that okay, Haruchiyo?”
Sanzu felt his eyes roll out of instinct more than malice, and he was quick to snap back “It’s fine.” He hoped to end the conversation right there, willing Mucho to stop.
Don’t say it.
“I can call in…”
Don’t.
Stop.
Please…
“If you need me to stay for a day or two… I can.”
Sanzu shook his head, faking a sip of his bottle as he pushed down the feelings that were threatening to spill out of his throat with a thick swallow.
“It’s fine…Just thought we’d - you’d need an extra day to rest.”
Mucho’s next words hung between them, unspoken, but heard nonetheless.
I can stay if you need me .
But Sanzu didn’t need him. Didn’t want to need him, as he relied on him to survive.
“I’ll see how I feel in the morning. Okay?”
“I don’t care.” Sanzu crossed his arms across his body, the cold of the glass bottle biting into his arm as it tucked against his elbow. Mucho simply sighed in response, finally cracking open his bottle and taking a deep sip, and Sanzu knew he probably wished it was something stronger. Something that actually dulled the bite of Sanzu’s nonsense and moodiness and difficulties.
But Mucho refused to keep anything stronger than mouthwash in the house. Because of him. Because Mucho had so little faith or trust in him that he wouldn’t go off the rails and lose his mind.
As if it wasn’t already lost.
Their night was spent in silence. An awkward tension hung between them as Mucho got up, unpacking the boxes in the kitchen, again not asking for help. Sanzu couldn’t relate to the sensation of needing to move to relieve the strain in the air, much preferring to act like a bump on a log, unmoving, trying to make himself as small of a nuisance as possible.
Mucho didn’t try to push him. Sanzu isn’t sure if he appreciated that, or if he wished Mucho would say something to him about how he was acting. Mucho used to never have trouble telling Sanzu when he did wrong, or when he needed to get his attitude in check.
He guessed there was too much space between them still for Mucho to speak to him like that again.
Just like there was too much space in this apartment. Too much room to breathe.
It was more than twice the size of Mucho’s old studio, and still smaller than his own former residence. Sanzu never thought that he would be suffocated by space, but here he was. Still so unsure of what life even meant anymore, and now even more space between him and the one person he thought he could rely on.
He hated it.
He hated the space and hated the walls. He hated the doors that locked shut with the push of a button, and hated the beds that were two times as big as Mucho’s old one.
It was too big, and the silence too loud, and when Mucho finally called out to him, asking if he would like anything to eat before Mucho put their dinner away for the night, Sanzu felt his heart pounding against his ribs, startled once more out of his internal reverie.
“I’m fine.”
Mucho hummed, and set about putting away their takeout.
“Don’t stop eating again.”
Sanzu didn’t respond. He was in no place to make promises.
After cleaning the kitchen, Mucho was at his side again, sitting closer than before. He held his hand out, and Sanzu handed him his empty drink.
“You know that’s not what I’m asking for.”
Sanzu groaned, and reached into his pocket, not willing to put up with another disagreement. He handed Mucho the little orange bottle, grimacing as his remaining pills clattered around in the handoff.
“Is that all of them?”
“I sure fucking wished it wasn’t.”
Mucho, who Sanzu was sure was so fucking satisfied with himself, stood and walked to deposit the empty drink in the kitchen. He then retreated to his room, pausing in the doorway as he felt Haruchiyo’s eyes follow him.
“Good night, Haruchiyo.”
Sanzu shifted his gaze towards the ceiling, breathing out through his nose as he tried to remain in some semblance of composure.
“Good fucking night, sleeping beauty.”
If Mucho reacted to Sanzu’s words, Sanzu will never know.
His bedroom door clicked behind him with a finality more deafening than his harshest reality check.
Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, Sanzu slid onto his back, his head pillowed against the arm of the couch. Taking a deep inhale through his mouth, he tried to calm his shaking breath, and ease the pounding of his heart.
These thoughts were irrational.
He wasn’t being shut out.
This was supposed to be a good thing.
That’s what had allowed him to agree to this in the first place.
This was a good thing.
The distance was good.
Because he could rely on no one.
He could trust no one.
Because they would all leave him on his own in the end.
He couldn’t believe Mucho when he promised that he wouldn’t.
Sanzu was sure that he wouldn’t survive another disappointment.
When he finally pulled himself off of the couch, Sanzu realized that time was creeping closer and closer to 3 am. Mucho would be up in a couple of hours… always enjoying a leisurely shower in the morning before he made his daily trek to work.
Sanzu creeped his way into his own bedroom, turning the knob so that the door wouldn’t click as he eased it shut. Opting to not turn on the lights, Sanzu observed his small space. A double bed, with neutral sheets pulled tight around the mattress, his only worldly possessions placed in boxes atop it. Opening the first box, Sanzu found the few books he had accrued over his now three months with Mucho, laid atop the few games and puzzles Mucho had purchased for them to share. He closed the box, folding the tabs back in on themselves, before dropping the box on the floor, pushing it up against the wall with his foot.
The next two boxes contained his clothes, folded so neatly that Sanzu almost wondered if Mucho had done any work in retail prior to his job in construction, or if he really was just that meticulous and boring that he would take the time to perfectly fold t-shirts that Sanzu barely wore outside of the house.
Sanzu found much less care in dumping the clothes into the drawers of his new dresser, not really caring where the clothes fell as long as the drawers slid shut.
Sanzu crushed the cardboard boxes beneath his feet, stomping them down until they could no longer be reformed into boxes. He kicked them to the door, telling himself he would deal with it when Mucho left for work, before throwing himself face down on the bed. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, willing his body to relax enough to sleep, but the minutes dragged by without the loss of consciousness that he so desired.
Sanzu’s eyes shot open as he heard the door next to his open, knowing Mucho was finally awake. He wondered if Mucho slept as soundly as he normally did, or if his behavior had troubled him enough to keep him awake.
Sanzu sniffed, closing his eyes again. His stomach felt tight, as if he might throw up, and he tried to convince himself that he was fine.
Mucho was leaving him.
This was true.
But it was only for a few hours. Only for the day.
Then Mucho would be back, and Sanzu could resume ignoring him as a way to torture himself for making selfish choices that hurt them both.
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Haruchiyo’s door was closed when Yasuhiro woke the next morning, and he supposed it was a good sign. Maybe that meant that Haruchiyo was finally settling in after the initial shock of moving began to wear off. Haruchiyo had been even more distant than usual the night before, and Yasuhiro figured it would be good to give him space, and go to work as planned, so that Haruchiyo could explore their shared space without worrying about stepping on Yasuhiro’s toes.
That’s what he did the first time Yasuhiro left him alone, after all. Picked through every drawer and cabinet, getting familiar with his surroundings like a skittish cat might when it was sure it wasn’t being watched.
Yasuhiro was in the kitchen when Haruchiyo emerged, making a beeline for the bathroom. Yasuhiro didn’t even have the chance to greet him before the door locked behind him, the shower turning on full blast to hide the sound of his friend being sick.
Knocking on the bathroom door, Yasuhiro received no response. Not like he expected one.
“I’ll be home around 6,” Yasuhiro called out to the sound of the running shower. Haruchiyo already knew that, but there was comfort in knowing exactly what to expect.
Yasuhiro waited outside the door anyway, hoping to hear something other than running water, knowing that Haruchiyo was probably sitting on the floor of the shower, letting the water flow through his short hair and down his back. Yasuhiro wouldn’t disturb him further.
Before leaving for the day, Yasuhiro stopped in his bedroom, grabbing the bottle of Haruchiyo’s pills and stuffing it in his work bag alongside his lunch. He knew he would get in severe trouble if it was found on his person at work, but better than to risk Haruchiyo hurting himself while he was gone.
Work was only so much of a distraction for the thoughts troubling Yasuhiro’s mind. He found himself returning to the first weeks of Haruchiyo living in his home, and he realized, not much had really changed between now and then. Yasuhiro was still cautious, still worried to upset his old friend, but with a renewed desperation to keep him safe and whole. Haruchiyo was still troubled, and Yasuhiro wanted so desperately to solve that, but he still doubted his importance to Haruchiyo.
Haruchiyo still didn’t trust him.
He saw that on his face every time Yasuhiro looked at him.
Yasuhiro found that funny, because by all rights, he should be the one in Haruchiyo’s position. Eyes constantly wary, body on edge. But Yasuhiro found that it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Haruchiyo. He simply didn’t trust that Haruchiyo would stay.
So the walls between them stayed. And Yasuhiro would continue to have to pick away at them with a hammer and chisel, while Haruchiyo leaned against them, trying to forcefully keep them in place.
One of them would have to give in one day.
For now, Yasuhiro focused on the positives, for that was all he could do.
Things were changing, by chance or by force. For reasons that Yasuhiro understood and those that he did not.
When he returned home, he called out to a quiet apartment. All of the interior doors were open, though Yasuhiro swore he closed his bedroom when he left that morning.
Peeking into Haruchiyo’s room, he saw nothing but neat sheets and stamped down boxes. Knowing Haruchiyo was not one to make his bed, Yasuhiro knew he had slept atop them the night prior, or simply did not sleep at all.
His wonderings of where his little puffball of a friend had wandered off to ended as he eased his bedroom door further open. Biting his lips, Yasuhiro tried to force a fond smile from his lips as he approached his own bed, Haruchiyo’s smaller frame fully occupying the middle of the bed.
Haruchiyo was curled up on top of his sheets, one pillow cradling his head, the other squeezed tightly against Haruchiyo’s chest, the bottom of his face covered by the fabric. His breath came at steady, deep inhales and exhales, and Yasuhiro knew he wasn’t faking being asleep. Yasuhiro wondered how long he had been there, if he had just laid down for a quick nap, or if he had been there all day, before he noticed Haruchiyo’s used towel draped over the end of the bed, discarded there after Haruchiyo had exited the shower sometime that morning.
Yasuhiro lightly ran his fingers over Haruchiyo’s head, the soft fuzz of his hair tickling his fingers, as he pushed away the urge to join Haruchiyo in the bed. He had worked hard that day…he needed to take his evening shower and get dinner started.
Yasuhiro knew that by the time he had emerged from the bathroom, Haruchiyo would be out of his bed, sitting on the couch watching TV as if nothing was amiss. Yasuhiro would ask how his day had been, and Haruchiyo would mumble “fine”, neither of them acknowledging the red lines of sleep etched into the side of Haruchiyo’s face where Yasuhiro’s pillows had made an impression.
Neither of them would say much more, and they would join each other for dinner on the couch, no longer having a kitchen table to share their meals at. It was a small change, but one Yasuhiro hoped to fix soon, because he enjoyed eating meals across from Haruchiyo, as opposed to side by side. It was easier to see the small changes in his expressions, harder for Haruchiyo to hide behind his lies.
But some changes were for the better, and some were always for the worse.
Yasuhiro knew that there were only more coming, and he hoped that they would both be able to tackle them together.
Things only had to get better from here. Surely, things would look up, as time and distance from what made them like this increased.
Yasuhiro just hoped that the change he was most prepared for, Haruchiyo would be ready for as well. Eventually.