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His head was pounding. He grumbled and tried to turn on his side but to no avail. The cause of his headache was still very much present next to him. Like someone was banging on his eardrums.
“Fedya~ Switch it off, no?”
Immediately, the sound stopped. Grateful, he groped around blindly for his blanket and pulled it over his face, not yet ready to open his eyes to the excruciating sunlight. He was about to dive back into the remnants of his sleep when the insufferable sound started again.
Cursing loudly, Chuuya pushed away the blanket and opened his eyes just in time to locate the source of his irritation. His treacherous phone was lying on the pillow next to him. It kept ringing and ringing but he was too groggy to do anything. Soon, the screen dipped to darkness. The call went into voicemail.
Slowly, he sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. What? Where? Where is Fedya? His side of the bed was cold. Not to mention, Chuuya didn’t change out of his clothes last night? How surprising. He even slept with his shoes on? He must have been quite tired, huh?
For one long minute, he sat blinking and disoriented. Trying to remember what the hell happened yesterday. More importantly, why is the house so quiet? Where is Fedya? Did he leave for work so early in the morning? No way! He is the laziest clingiest rat in the world. He won’t get up unless Chuuya kicks him out of the bed every morning. Even then, he will cling onto his waist and try to drag him back into the bed with him.
“Fedya!” His voice was groggy—his mouth felt like sandpaper, like he had been screaming all day. “Fedya, where are you?”
As if in answer, his stupid phone started ringing for the hundredth time. He squinted at the screen. Blue mackerel. What the fuck? Why is the shitty mackerel calling him? His morning is ruined. Tch.
Nevertheless, he swiped left the phone icon. Before he could say anything, the mackerel barged in, “Oi, Chuuya! Where are you?!”
Chuuya? The mackerel is calling him by his name?! It’s gonna rain crows and cows today!
“Chuuya, are you there? Are you listening?”
In a flash, everything came back to him. The ocean, the beach, the screaming, the... the...
“Yeah,” he answered in a daze, breathless and fully awake now. “Yeah, I am not ready.”
“Not ready?! We are gonna start anytime—”
“You guys go ahead. I am going to the beach today.”
A long pregnant pause.
Dazai hummed and hung up with a ‘okay, then—take care, chibi’.
Chuuya fell back on his bed, his phone skittering across to the other edge. Unbothered, he pulled the other pillow into his arms. Shit. All of that, all of this, everything is real, isn’t it? This isn’t a dream. No, this is fucking real. Fedya, he,...
He smothered the pillow over his face, trying to catch a whiff of his lingering scent.
Stop clinging onto me, you stupid rat!
Nngh~ I am a cuddle baby, Chuuya! Do you know I used to sleep with three pillows before moving in with you? Now, you have to be my pillow, choo~!
Not a cuddle baby... more like a cuddle monster!
Haha, come here into my monster arms~!
Jeez, are you drunk or what?!
Shaking his head, he got to his feet. He had to move on, move forward—if he dwelt in these memories, he'd be left drowning forever.
Of course, easier said than done.
As if the Fates weren’t done torturing him, as if the abyss of memories was calling out to him, he spotted a small diary tucked underneath the headboard. He wouldn't have noticed had he not misplaced the pillow. He scrambled to toss the pillow aside and grab at the diary, all but tearing it to see what’s inside.
Fedya’s diary—written in the form of little polaroids tucked into neat slits accompanied by tiny notes written underneath each in his slanting cyrillic.
Taking a shaky breath, he kicked off his shoes and sat down cross–legged on the bed. The photos had slipped out of the slits and spread before him like in a session of tarot card reading. He might as well be in one—trying to read what message Fedya wanted to leave for him.
He picked up the first one.
It was the first ever photo Fyodor had taken of him. Chuuya hadn’t been ready at the moment. That’s why he’s looking into the camera, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted—
I wasn’t ready, camera–san!
Ah, I am sorry, the man didn’t sound so sorry. I assumed you were. You are naturally photogenic, aren’t you?
Chuuya blushed. The man hadn’t formed his statement as a compliment, rather as an observation yet Chuuya was blushing. In fact, the man wasn’t even paying attention to him—he was busy tinkering with his equipment, adjusting for light and such— See, even this one came out well. Guess you are gonna make my work very easy!
He chuckled, a soft chuckle like wind chimes. Chuuya’s heart skipped a beat and his lips lifted in a smile in spite of himself.
And then, it started—a partnership between the reporter and the photographer—one that was to last for eight years and a half, one that had so many exclusives under their belts. The Meursault Prison Gate, where Fyodor had managed to sneak a picture of a supposed prisoner meeting up with an informant and Chuuya posted a corresponding writeup on their editorial page. Fuelling a thorough investigation into the activities in the world’s high security prison. The Yokohama City Fog Incident, where hundreds of people could be rescued in time only because of their timely shot of the gas swirling out of the nozzle. The Sky Casino Scandal, where a major cash laundering racket was busted involving politicians of no less than five countries.
Of course, it was no cakewalk for them. It was a constant risk on their lives, what with corrupt politicians, dishonest officials, criminal masterminds and all those with closets swollen with skeletons on their tails—yet... the thrill and the adventure and the feeling that they were doing something good for the people had kept them going on.
Chuuya had nothing to lose.
Even if he died, if it was for something worthwhile, he knew he’d be content in his afterlife. He didn’t have a family, he didn’t have anyone to care for him—heck, he didn’t even know who his parents were.
It had always been Chuuya and Fedya against the corrupt world they lived in.
Until he too started to have something to protect.
Until his anchor, his pillar, his strength, his weakness all rolled into one, started to become something akin to his impulse control.
Until he fell in love with his partner...
He picked another random photo. He knew this one too.
It was the day he had gone out with Fedya on an almost–date. It was the day he first realized he might be in love with his partner.
Till that day, he always assumed the two of them would have nothing common outside of work. The more he found Fyodor had the same taste in music, food, drinks and clothes as him (he even thought his hat was cool!), the faster he found himself falling for him. Even his partner seemed stunned they had so much in common.
Chuuya stroked his thumb across the photo. He might be looking for a way to return to that day, who knows. He was hanging onto Fyodor’s shoulder, trying to pull him down to his height while the man was grinning into the camera like he had scored a point over him.
He really loved to take pics of his annoyed faces, didn’t he?
You look so cute when you are annoyed. Your face goes all red and your cheeks puff out like—
I fucking don’t—
The redhead had stepped on his tiptoes to pop his inflated cheek—the Russian kissed his cheek, instead. On cue, Chuuya had blushed, then tried to cover his blush by rattling out a train of curses. But Fyodor merely giggled and danced out of his reach. Insufferable bastard.
Chuuya had picked up enough cyrillic now to be able to read the note below this one: the day I fell in love with him ❤
Fuck, I can’t go on. He shut the book with a resounding slam yet one escaped the pages and fluttered onto the bedcover as if begging him to spare a glance at it.
And so, he gingerly turned it over.
Immediately, he was hit by the fresh memories he had been trying so hard to keep buried in his heart.
The last photo they ever took together. Watching the beautiful sky from their balcony. Or rather, Chuuya was watching the beautiful sky from their balcony while Fedya was perched on the stool beside him, looking groggily disgruntled as though he couldn’t remember his own name and he hated being in the dark over this. Only the red tip of a nose was visible from the blanket burrito that had rolled out at Chuuya’s request.
Fedya, let’s go to the beach! It’s such a glorious day... see, we have the right amount of sun!
Nooo~ he wailed, pulling his blanket closer. Don’t wanna~ It’s too cold~!
You are so fucking whiny, god! Finally, Chuuya had used his ultimate tactic on him. He patted his head with the most pleading expression he could muster. Just like a small mouse, he burrowed further into his blanket till only a wary pair of pretty purple eyes were blinking up at him. For me~ please~?
Ugh! You and your pretty coaxing ways! Fine, let’s go.
Yaaaay!
How he wished Fyodor had remained firm in his refusal.
Maybe, instinctively, he knew something was gonna go wrong? That’s why he initially refused to go to the beach?
His predictions never went wrong. Either by instinct or by reasoning, he could predict the minute things that might take place in a case they were investigating— that’s how they were able to obtain tons of scoops... and that’s how he knew where the bullet was gonna land before Chuuya even heard the trigger being pulled.
One moment, Fyodor was crouched in front of him to take his pic with the sea as the backdrop, the other Chuuya found himself engulfed in a hug and pushed down to the sand. He remembered Fyodor slumping into his arms, the screeches of tires as a black car tore away in the distance, people gathering around them, voices asking him if he was okay.
He didn’t notice anything amiss at first. Why were people suddenly asking him if he was okay? He was completely fine. He didn’t understand why Fyodor decided to tackle him to the ground but his boyfriend was weird at times and it’s okay.
But then, he spotted the dark red liquid seeping into his bare chest and the next thing he knew, he was pushing his partner away, pulling him into his arms, screaming at him to open his eyes, laughing because this had to be some practical joke and he had to wake up already otherwise Chuuya’s little heart would break—everything all at once.
In the background, a lady screamed at a blonde haired man to call for the emergency services. He took a direct bullet to the heart, she was saying. Unless we get him to the EMR in time...
Bullet? Somebody shot at them? No, at Chuuya? Somehow, Fedya came to the realization just a moment before the shooting and covered Chuuya. He took the bullet meant for him.
The rest of the night—he hardly knew what was going on around him. He was sitting outside the EMR, mute with the news he was not at all prepared to handle. A blanket had been wrapped around him, questions were being asked, empty words of encouragement mumbled to him...
We will find out the instigators as soon as we can, chibi. Ranpo and me are assigned to this case; it’s gonna be a cakewalk to sniff out the murderers, right?
Whatever. No amount of investigation can give him back his Fedya, right?
Before the night was over, he was driven back to their shared apartment. Shared, now empty.
This was two days ago. It’s been two days and Chuuya hasn't done much except waking up and crying himself back to sleep. Pulling the blanket over him, he was about to curl up into a fetal position again when he spotted another photo sticking out of his diary. Too tired to get up, he reached for it with his fingers.
It was a snap of him in an apron with the words: CUTE CHEF, a ladle in one hand, a knife in the other and a ferocious expression on his face as if he was ready to skin a lion alive. He cracked a smile at his expression. This was the day they first moved into this apartment. In spite of knowing they would be constantly on the move anyway, they had decided to get a place they’d call their own, a place they’d call home.
Neither of them knew how to cook but that didn’t prevent him from trying and burning the steak and running the risk of being kicked out of the apartment the very first day.
No problem, Fyodor had wheezed after finally subduing his cackles to catch a breath. We can try again, solnyshko. No matter how many times you need, I am here for you.
Hmm, that’s nice and cheesy but do you even know how expensive steak is?
In answer, he had wrapped his arms around his waist. Then, let’s start with something light and simple? Hmm? How about pasta? I’ve heard it’s simple to make?
Well, his first attempt in making pasta was a success. Fyodor had absolutely loved it. Looking at the content on his face, Chuuya decided to learn some basic Russian recipes so he could make his boyfriend feel at home in a foreign country.
In the present, Chuuya pushed away the blanket and got to his feet. He had no idea what he was going to do with his life now that his one constant pillar of support had crumbled but he wasn’t gonna get anywhere by wasting away in tears, cigarettes and alcohol.
At the least, he could start somewhere simple.
Prepare a light breakfast, shower and dress. Maybe, take more pictures with his camera. Fyodor would be disappointed if he let his most prized possession (second only to Chuuya) gather dust.
Chuuya had to make him proud—the one soul who treasured his smiles so much that he constantly clicked candids of him and loved him to the point of taking a bullet for him. Fyodor would be so disappointed if he joined him so soon in the afterlife. That’s why he was gonna try even though his one reason to live had been ruthlessly snatched from him.