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It was one of those things Nijimura would realize only in retrospect, something that would simply become startlingly clear once it no longer mattered. In more than one way, that was an awful way of looking at it, because somewhere and somehow, Nijimura knew it mattered. It mattered the first day he walked into the classroom, and it mattered the day he walked out for graduation.

He only wished it mattered sooner.

*

Nijimura swore they told him the tryouts were right after school. He’d asked around, but nobody really knew, and the only person who did was not around. He was half-convinced everyone actually did know, but decided against telling him for God knew what reason. Rakuzan was like the other schools, except worse: everyone had egos thicker than their wallets, and Nijimura knew that was saying something. They, he thought bitterly, did not have time in their busy schedules for a bum who’d only gotten in on a basketball scholarship. Getting in on a basketball scholarship was supposed to be a one-way ticket to a spot on the team, but the coach had told him he still needed to attend the informational meeting. Formalities, or something like that. Nijimura didn’t care.

Between the walls and lines of it all, there was something about Rakuzan that was uncomfortable. He did not remember it when they were still deciding whether he was eligible for the scholarship or not, and he did not feel it the last time he’d been there, but it was almost tangible. Nobody would directly look at him, especially at the mention of basketball. They kept their heads down in the collars of their starchy jackets and held their tongue with their silk ties, but Nijimura knew the moment he left, they were whispering up a storm. He thought at once of how his siblings acted when they’d eaten the last slice of cake. Rakuzan was hiding something, and Nijimura wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was.

(Again, in retrospect, Nijimura would come to realize he did not have much of a choice.)

For such a large school, it was empty: nearly all the classes he’d walked by hardly had half the chairs and desks filled up, and even on the sunniest or darkest days, the blinds or curtains were pulled over the glass. He was certain everyone in Rakuzan was cold-blooded, or something along those lines, because the air conditioning was always on. It was nice on hot days, but it was inconvenient on cold days: the last thing Nijimura needed was to make himself look even more like a fool with his arms halfway up his sleeves. Even the dorms were quiet and empty. Between the roommate that never came home and the friends he didn’t have, nothing but the air conditioner would listen to him speak. From somewhere deep within its plastic heart, the air conditioner hummed.

It was suspicious. It was more than suspicious. When Nijimura had asked one of the women at the front desk about the basketball tryouts, the small smile on the corners of her mouth wavered. “It’s in the third room down from the gym.”

Nijimura wished she’d just given him the room number, but she was back to scribbling things down. The only sound was that of a pen against paper, and her fingers on computer keys.  If Nijimura stopped for a moment, there was another sound, somewhere, but he did not. The hand writing trembled.

The bathrooms were empty when Nijimura stopped by them after his lunch period. They were clean, as everything in Rakuzan was, but there was water dripping into a small pool that would not drain in one of the sinks. Nijimura turned the knob.

Drip. Drip. Drop.

As all the other rooms in the school, it was cold. Nijimura found it odd that the bathroom had no windows, and the only light in the entire room was a tired yellow. It was quiet enough that he could hear his breathing.

Drip. Drip. Drop.

He swore he felt fingers along the back of his neck.

“I’m insane,” Nijimura whispered to the mirror, and the mirror whispered back.

*

Nijimura showed up to the room three doors down from the gym right after class ended. He hadn’t seen anyone on his way there, and the hallways were even worse without the streamlines of students going one way or the other. He couldn’t say they felt any lonelier. Nijimura brushed his fingers against the doorknob and felt a jolt that ran from the tips of his fingertips, and up the entire length of his arm. When it left, a heavy numbness made him draw his hand away from the door.

Did he want to do this? Did he really? Nijimura swallowed. Of course he did - they’d probably boot him out of Rakuzan’s gilded doors if he didn’t play basketball - but something he could not name was off. Different. Cold sweat slipped down his neck and into the collar of his shirt, and it only made him shiver more. Nijimura swallowed again, feeling the ache of a dry throat. What was the big deal? All he had to do was open a door. Yes, Nijimura thought. That was all it was.

(He knew, as much as he’d known anything, that it wasn’t.)

He put his hands back to the doorknob. If there was another rush of electricity, he did not feel it, and Nijimura opened the door.

It swung open without a sound. Nijimura stared into the room beyond. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, if anything at all - the room was surprisingly large, and the floor was carpeted. There were two large windows at the back of it, and a round table in the middle surrounded by a crown of chairs. The working air conditioner rattled with the effort of cooling the room. The single light was on.

(On? Nijimura thought, ignoring the sense of urgency pooling in his stomach. On? On?)

Even more noteworthy than the light or air conditioner was the boy sitting on the edge of the table: Nijimura was not alone.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Nijimura took a step inside and shut the door behind him. His skin and hands felt clammy and cold, but he felt better about knowing there was someone else. It meant he’d showed up to the tryouts on time, and had successfully managed not to embarrass himself in front of the basketball team on his first day.

(It meant more than that, Nijimura knew - knew what the more was, too, but did not say.)

His initial feeling of relief faded when the boy paid him no attention, only carried on swinging his legs. From where Nijimura stood, he could not see the expression on his face. Nijimura was quick to remind himself that he simply hadn’t noticed him. That was all.

Approaching the boy, Nijimura sat down in one of the pulled-out chairs. A detached weight began to spread itself throughout his limbs.

“Are you here for basketball?” Nijimura said, clearing his throat. His voice sounded low and dark, and the rattling of the air conditioner stopped and did not continue. The boy went on swinging his legs. At once, Nijimura saw the Rakuzan jersey he wore, the basketball shoes tied and knotted neatly, and the 4 he bore on his back.

Still, the boy would not look at him. Nijimura had no idea if he’d even heard him in the first place. Despite already knowing the answer to his question, Nijimura said again, “Are youherefor basketball?” His voice ached with the strain it took to almost yell.

This time, the boy turned, and they met eyes. It was only when the boy faced him that Nijimura saw how young he was, and thought again of the 4 on the back of his jersey. He was younger than Nijimura was by a year or so. He had sharp, slanting cheekbones, and the red hair that fell over his forehead and brought colour to his face matched the red in his eyes.

Nijimura felt his heart drop in his chest. Jumping up from the chair, he said, “Are you even listening to me?”

From the same place where his heart had landed, the feelings rose in his throat where they threatened to overflow. The loneliness, the hostility between Rakuzan walls, the secrets between Rakuzan walls, the cold and the quiet, the people who would not look at him or talk to him, the people who would look at him but would not talk to him--

Nijimura stormed to the air conditioner in the back of the room and slammed his fist into the button. The air conditioner let out a last, long beep, and shut off. “And it’s too damn cold in here.”

If anything, it only made him feel worse. Stupider. When the boy sitting at the table looked at him, Nijimura clenched his hands into fists and let them relax.

“I didn’t--”

The boy leapt off the table and walked towards Nijimura, staring up at him. His gaze was all jagged edges and Nijimura swallowed for a third time that day.

“Yes,” the boy said, eyes wide. “I’m here for basketball.” He smiled, and Nijimura shuddered. “My name is Akashi Seijuurou. I’m the captain.”

“Great,” Nijimura said after he’d found his voice.

Akashi sized him up as if he were a piece of meat, as if he wanted to tear apart every square inch and curve of fear pulsing in his throat and paint his teeth with it.

“You’ll do,” Akashi said, more to himself than anything else. The smile grew wider as he pressed a cold hand to Nijimura’s shoulder. “You’ll do just fine.”

He wasn’t aware he was holding his breath until that cold hand practically forced it out of him.

*

“Really?” he said, fingers playing with the front of his basketball jacket. It had a #4 on the back. Nijimura furrowed his brow. “I was sure we told you.”

“Well, you didn’t,” Nijimura said. He was certain he’d have more snap in his voice if he actually had energy. They were out of the cold room - he’d asked Akashi why he hadn’t gone with him and Akashi had only smiled, and something in that was so rightly wrong - and away from cold hands, but still he felt alive as skeleton trees in the dead of autumn. For now, he was glad it was over with. “You didn’t.”

“I’m glad we found you, then. I’m Mibuchi Reo.” The ‘basketball team’ was a group of four boys, and Mibuchi extended a pale arm. “The captain.”

Nijimura looked down at his hand, at the boys behind him, and back at Mibuchi’s face. “The captain?”

Presently he felt as if something important was missing.

One of the other boys stood beside Mibuchi, snapping the book in his hands shut. He wasn’t even wearing Rakuzan gear, but the corners of his lips pushed themselves into a smile and Nijimura felt an itch; an urge. “That’s what he said.”

“I know what he said,” Nijimura said.

“The captain,” Mibuchi agreed. He gestured to the book-holding boy beside him, the muscular one in the back of the room, and the one who was now eyeing Nijimura up as if he was a slice of steak. It was, he decided, a Rakuzan thing. “These are Mayuzumi, Nebuya, and Hayama.” Mayuzumi remained silent and iffy. Nebuya did not hear him, and Hayama sidled right up to Nijimura, eyes still wide and glassy. He was lithe and quick, but the movements of his limbs reminded Nijimura at once of a snake. Still predatorial.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Nijimura said. He vowed not to back away. “I met the captain earlier.”

“That’s impossible,” Mayuzumi told him, cutting the last part of his sentence off. He put the book down. Nijimura swept his gaze over him, the cut of his bangs, the crisp of his shirt. “Mibuchi is the captain.”

Somewhere, his temper was stretching, and he was not sure when it would snap. “I’m dead serious. I met the captain a few minutes ago. He was in that room over there.”

They shared a look Nijimura did not understand. “Well, in any case,” Mibuchi said, with all the true qualities of a leader, “it would be best to clear this up. I’m the captain, and I’m more than happy to welcome you to the team.” His hand was still stretched out, and awkwardly, Nijimura took it.

Mayuzumi picked his book up again, heading for the door. Nijimura watched the lines of his back and how he did not look back, not even once. “I’m gonna go if all we’re doing is greeting the newbie.”

“Don’t be arrogant,” Mibuchi said, but only watched him leave. “How are you supposed to show your support for your team if you’re just going to leave like that?”

He still did not look back, but Nijimura was eerily certain he had smiled. “I don’t have any obligations to this team anymore.”

“Why haven’t you quit, then?” Mibuchi said, but Mayuzumi was already gone.

*

Nijimura looked down the expanse of the empty hallway, turning only when Mibuchi called out to him.

“I’m sorry,” Mibuchi said, jogging to catch up with Nijimura. “For Mayuzumi, I mean. He’s always like this.”

Nijimura was even more thrilled to be on the team. “It’s fine,” he told Mibuchi, and meant it. “You don’t have to apologize for someone else.”

“That’s true.” Mibuchi offered him a smile before it darkened into something else. Nijimura felt the familiar race of his pulse. “That isn’t really why I wanted to speak with you, though.”

“Really?” Nijimura looked ahead again at the closed doors lining the empty hallway, the lights hanging overhead. The possibility that he could be murdered, right then and there, made itself known. Was it an unlikely one? He didn’t know, anymore. “Shoot, then.”

“You said you met the captain earlier.” He spoke as if it was an accusation, a threat. Nijimura was sure it was only a mistake.

(But it was real - the boy with the cold hands on the edge of the table, sharp as a knife in the middle of an empty room. He shuddered away.)

Mibuchi continued. “Do you mind… describing this captain?”

Nijimura thought: the name and the uniform, every curve and line of his bones and every secret they held.

“Akashi,” he said, throat and lips dry. A throbbing, dull rhythm began to beat against his skull where it stayed. “Akashi Seijuurou.” He felt the fingers skimming across the back of his neck again and waited for them curl. In front of him, Mibuchi’s figure and the hallway began to blur and darken until they became nothing but a shadowy mass.

(You’ll do. You’ll do just fine.)

Mibuchi’s face and eyes went blank and the step he took forward was guarded. Nijimura realized that even if he wanted to move, he could not, and closed his eyes. But it was only for a moment if it ever really happened at all. When he opened them, Mibuchi was smiling.

“That’s strange,” Mibuchi said. Nijimura could tell he was struggling to keep his voice level. “Sei--Akashi--isn’t here anymore.”

I saw him, Nijimura wanted to say. He saw me. I saw him. I saw him.

“Are you sure?” he said instead. The rhythm quickened, loudened.

This time, the smile Mibuchi gave him was somehow sad. “Akashi died last year.”

The rhythm in his head continued its beat until it was all Nijimura could see and all Nijimura could feel, and then it burst.

*

He lay awake in his room, privy to the shadows alive in his walls. His roommate was out again--Nijimura was damn sure that was against the rules--and had left him alone. He hadn’t slept since his arrival after the meeting, and even in the dark he could see the patterns on the ceiling above his head. Nijimura traced them with his eyes until his head hurt. The rhythm was still there, somewhere, and he vowed to one day rip it out.

(Akashi died last year.)

It didn’t make sense. That was the only thing Nijimura knew, the only sliver of clarity he held on to alone and awake in his room. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

(The more he thought about it, the more it did. The more he thought about it, the more he remembered the coldcold hands, the coldcold school, the Rakuzan secret in Rakuzan halls, the unease that swept right through everyone at the mention of basketball and kept their eyes wide. He wanted to laugh. He didn’t like it when things made sense--it made them real.)

Mibuchi’s odd reaction, the hostility at the mention of another “captain”, and the “other captain” himself--Nijimura knew he’d seen them. There was no way he hadn’t.

And if he had? It changed nothing. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that it did. The rhythm returned, and he could not find it in himself to scream.

(You’ll do just fine.)

Nijimura wrenched up in bed and flicked the lamp on, feeling his heart flit-fluttering in his throat as it threatened to push its way past his lips. A drop of cold sweat slid down the back of his neck and he shivered again and again.

“You don’t look very well,” Akashi said, watching him from Nijimura’s desk. He was still in the basketball uniform, hands clasped together in his lap. The proud Rakuzan on the front of his jersey was grinning.

(It came back. The rhythm.)

“Get out,” Nijimura said, voice and throat cracked and gone. “Get out.”

Akashi smiled and it was all-teeth. Nijimura shook and felt his lunch churning in his stomach. “I don’t think you understand.”

“I don’t care. Get out.”

(The rhythm. It stayed.)

Akashi stood up and walked towards him, stopping in front of the lamp. The light halted where he stood.

“You’re mistaken. You don’t have a choice.” His eyes were wild and bright as night. The dark stole half of his face and returned it as shadows.

He grabbed his sheets so tightly he feared they would rip, and presently the headache became so pronounced he could almost feel it tearing right beneath the surface of his skin. “I mean it. Get away from me.”

Akashi’s smile only grew wider. “Or else what?”

Nijimura swallowed, eyes so dry they began to hurt. “I don’t know. I’ll do something.”

The smile he gave was pitiful, this time. Nijimura gripped the sheets again. “And what would you do? I’m already dead, aren’t I?”

He was right; of course he was. Nijimura knew and had known all along. Slowly, he loosened his grip on the sheets until they slipped out of his hands, and asked only the first question of more that were sure to come: “Why are you here?”

Akashi’s shoulders relaxed. “I merely require your assistance.”

Nijimura let out a breath. “With what?”

This time, Akashi did not smile. “I need you to investigate my death.”

Nijimura stilled, heart pounding shallowly in the cavity of his chest. “What?”

“I need you to investigate my death,” Akashi said again. “Some trust others with their lives. I’m trusting you with my death. Simple enough, is it not?”

“I’m guessing I don’t have a choice.”

Akashi’s smile came so easy Nijimura was certain he’d practiced it plenty when he was still alive. “You would be correct.”

*

The first practice was almost embarrassingly uneventful. He’d assumed Akashi would be hanging around the gym, watching him with that strange, wide smile that had yet to reach his eyes, but there was no sign of him there. It would have been easy to pretend he’d never met (was that even the right word? Nijimura didn’t know) Akashi in the first place. Only five people showed up to practice, including Nijimura. Mayuzumi was one of them. Nijimura wrinkled his nose.

“Where’s everyone else?” Nijimura said. Again, he felt a shiver of unrest as he could only think that something- what? - was missing. Hayama dribbled a ball without answering, and for a while it was the only sound in the gym.

Mayuzumi took it from him. “Why would they show up?” he said. When Nijimura opened his mouth to answer, Mayuzumi cut him off. “They don’t have to. It’s not like we can cut them from the team.”

Nijimura shifted against his gaze, feeling annoyance creep onto him like a blanket. “Why not? People like that have no reason being on the team.”

Shooting the ball, Mayuzumi shrugged. He’d stopped looking at Nijimura, making it clear he was no longer interested in what Nijimura had to say. The annoyance began to feel like an itch. “A team of slackers,” he said, “is better than no team at all.”

Nijimura gave him a pointed look, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “I can see that."

The inside of his mouth tasted bitter. He’d gone to Rakuzan because he wanted to play, and perhaps more than that: he wanted to be a part of a powerhouse team, wanted to contribute to it. The idea that Rakuzan had only taken him on a “scholarship” because they were desperate was an unnerving one.

“It wasn’t always like this,” Mibuchi chimed in, gesturing them to the side of the court. He started jogging and the rest of them followed. Just like that, the warm up began.

No, Nijimura thought. It wasn’t. When he’d gone to Rakuzan for the interview, it hadn’t been anything like it was now. Then, he’d been able to feel the dribbling from inside the gym and the sensation it sent shooting up his fingertips.

(Perhaps then, Akashi had been alive.)

“Really?” Nijimura asked, already fully aware of the answer. He pulled the bottom of his sleeves over his fingertips and shivered. “Why? What happened?”

“Stop asking questions,” Mayuzumi snapped immediately from the front of the line. The look he gave Nijimura was almost poisonous. “It doesn’t concern you, anyway, so keep your head out of it.”

Mibuchi, ever the responsible captain, intervened. “Mayu--”

“I’m part of the team now,” Nijimura snapped back, “whether you like it or not. I have every damn right to know.”

Mayuzumi did not bother looking back, and again Nijimura was stuck with the view of his back. “Who said it has to do with the team?”

For once, Nijimura was glad they were running laps. He wasn’t certain he would have been able to contain his temper otherwise.

“Mayuzumi, lay off,” another voice said. Nijimura turned around to see Nebuya directly behind him. “There’s nothing wrong with letting him know.”

Hayama agreed. “He’s right.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying it’s none of his fucking business, and he shouldn’t be sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The gym fell quiet. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of sneakers and breathing. How long had they even been running? Had they completed a lap yet at all? Nijimura felt a sudden rush of embarrassment.

“Since Akashi died,” Mibuchi said from the very front of the line. He looked back at Mayuzumi, challenging him. Again, Nijimura did not understand the look they shared. “It’s been like this since Akashi died.”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about it.” That was Mayuzumi’s voice. He wasn’t surprised. “Look, it’s nobody’s business--”

“It was on the news,” Hayama said mildly. “That kind of makes it everyone’s business.”

Mayuzumi’s tone was biting. “Thanks. That’s not the point.”

“Stop arguing,” Mibuchi said, finally sounding exhausted. It wasn’t, Nijimura knew, from the running. “Talking about this is making things worse. So stop.”

At once accusatory, Mayuzumi said, “You’re the one who told him in the first place.”

“You’re right,” Mibuchi said. Nijimura looked down at the floor, the lines of colour criss-crossing all over it. “The case was resolved, anyway.”

(I need you to investigate my death.)

“It was?” Nijimura said, marvelling at how his voice did not shake.

Nebuya answered him. Sometimes, Nijimura forgot he even existed. “It was an accident.”

(I’m trusting you with my death.)

“But what if it wasn’t?” Hayama chimed in. “What if--”

“Were you the one who did the investigations? It was an accident. That’s all there is to it.” Mayuzumi’s voice told him otherwise.

They ran the rest of the laps in awful silence.

*

Akashi was in his dorm when Nijimura got home, as he knew he would be. He sat on Nijimura's bed, making himself comfortable. Nijimura wanted to laugh. Instead, he dropped his basketball bag onto the floor and strode over, stopping right in front of the bed. Akashi looked at him with plain disinterest.

"They said your death was an accident," said Nijimura, and returned the stare. The feeling of unrest came and went, although he was certain it never really went.

"Would I ask you to investigate an accident?" Akashi said, voicing the same thoughts Nijimura had back at practice. He'd stopped looking at Nijimura, more interested in the lines on his palm. Akashi wasn't anything like he'd expected... well, dead people to be like, but what had he expected in the first place? He'd always pictured a ghost as a living memory of regret. If some terrible mistake was eating Akashi up, he did not show it, and as far as Nijimura saw, he was every bit alive as his former teammates.

Nijimura swallowed and took a seat on the bed. It'd been too cold in the gym for him to sweat, but he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on one end. Akashi was good at getting them to do that, he'd noticed.

"There's gotta be something else you know if you can tell it wasn't an accident," Nijimura told him, doing his best to speak rationally. It was harder than it seemed.

"It was a hunch," said Akashi, and fell quiet again. What had he been like when he was alive? What had made him laugh and smile, and set him aflame? Nijimura was quick to remind himself that the Akashi he knew now - if that was the right word at all - was nothing but a ghost - again, he wanted to laugh - of the one Mibuchi and Mayuzumi and Nebuya and Hayama had known.

Feeling irritation bubble in his throat, Nijimura said, "You're making me investigate your death based on a hunch? Look, what if it was just an accident? A freak accident. Alright."

"I'm not making you do anything."

This time, Nijimura did laugh. He threw himself backwards, letting his back hit the mattress as he stared up at the ceiling once more.

"You're kidding me, right?" he said, staring Akashi down as he sat up. Akashi returned the look with the same disinterest as before. It drove him mad. "You showed up in my room, scared and confused the shit out of me, and practically blackmailed me into doing this for you." There was too much he wanted to say and too little words and he was afraid they would all simply burst out of him. "In case you forgot, I'm not doing this of my own free will."

"I did not blackmail you," Akashi said, whipping around to face him. It seemed like it was the first time he'd looked at him with something other than disinterest. Nijimura felt the corner of his lips curl.

"You still forced me into doing this."

"In case you forgot," he snapped back, "you were the one who agreed."

(He was right. He was disgustingly obviously right, and Nijimura hated it, and Nijimura hated him.)

Nijimura rolled over and looked at the wall instead of Akashi's face.

"Still, what if it was an accident? A hunch is just a hunch. You can't do much about that."

Akashi picked threads off of Nijimura's comforter. The bed creaked as he shifted position. "Do you think I'd be here if it was just an accident?" he said, voice low.

"You're the ghost here, not me." The irritation came back and he sat back up again, glaring. "Shouldn't I be the one asking questions? Why are you here? How come only I can see you?"

"Perhaps you're the only one who wants to see me."

"Bullshit." Nijimura eyed him for a moment. His eyes were drawn again to Akashi's uniform. "A stranger wants to see you more than your teammates?"

Akashi shrugged. "You wanted an answer, did you not? I never guaranteed it was the right one."

"You know, this would be a lot easier on me if your personality was anywhere near tolerable."

"I can't say you're exactly sugar, spice, and everything nice, either."

Nijimura growled, but did not disagree.

"Look on the bright side," Akashi said, ever so helpful. "The sooner you solve this, the sooner you can get rid of me."

"Trust me, that's all the motivation I need."

(He took a moment to think of the pieces and all the ways they didn't add up. In the short time he'd known Akashi, he could tell he wasn't the type to base major decisions on just hunches.)

"There's something you're not telling me," Nijimura said at last.

(What was he hiding, and why?)

Akashi had gone back to plucking the threads as if they were flowers. "There are a lot of things I'm not telling you."

*

An accident. All he knew was that most (?) people thought it was an accident, and Akashi thought otherwise because of reasons that either did not exist or were not voiced. He wasn't yet sure which of the two it was, and it only made him angrier.

What kind of accident had it been? Despite being the ones to explain it, no one in Rakuzan had bothered to elaborate, though he reasoned it was probably unrealistic to expect anyone to elaborate on the circumstances of a loved one's death. Sub-consciously, Nijimura put the end of his pencil to his lips. He'd fallen back into the nothingness, the dark, the mess that simply did not make sense no matter how he tried to think of it.

He let out a breath and rested his head on his desk. For once, his roommate was home, and for once, Akashi wasn't. The clock said 2:00 A.M. Vaguely, Nijimura recalled that he had class tomorrow. He couldn't bring himself to care.

What kind of accident? Akashi had made it clear that he didn't want to tell Nijimura anything else, and Rakuzan (or, at least, Mayuzumi, and Nijimura nearly grumbled at the thought of him) had done the same. Akashi's death and Akashi himself was a taboo and Nijimura was sucked right into the middle of it. He wasn't a detective, wasn't really anything, and yet there he was with the burden of someone's death hanging over his shoulders.

He thought of Akashi and his odd smile, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to go to bed. What kind of accident? What kind? What kind? No matter how much he wanted to sleep, it wouldn't come easy if it did at all. If the questions didn't keep him up, the answers would.

Nobody was going to spoon feed him. Nijimura cracked his knuckles and pulled his laptop open. The screen came alight and it made his eyes hurt. He glanced over at his still-sleeping roommate.

("It was on the news.")

It was on the news, and he'd conveniently never seen anything about it. Well, he would soon enough.

Nijimura put his fingers to the keys and began to type. When the articles came up, as he knew they would, his heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. He tried to swallow, and found that he could not.

When he finally crawled into bed, the clock said 3:00 A.M. Nijimura had to get up in three hours. There was no point in going to bed when he couldn't sleep. He'd thought it would wipe the sick feeling out and keep it away, though he now knew that wouldn't happen, either.

It was only with the blanket yanked over his head and a burning in his eyes and throat that Nijimura was able to identify what he'd been certain was missing.

Rakuzan's coach had been nowhere in sight.

*

Nijimura's question of the whereabouts - or rather, existence - of a coach were answered at practice. When he walked into the gym, shoes laced all up and t-shirt tucked into the rim of his jersey shorts, a man stood in the center. Mayuzumi, Mibuchi, and the others were doing warm ups. Nijimura's gaze was drawn to the ball that left Mibuchi's fingertips and swung into the net above him. He felt his lip curling again, and this time it was not a pleasant sensation. Mibuchi was, after all, on the team for a reason.

As if he had read his thoughts, Mibuchi called to him from where he stood. "Hey, Nijimura!" He  jogged over and offered the ball to him.

Another voice made them both turn. The man in the middle of the gym was making his way towards them.

"Nijimura... I remember you! How do you like the school so far?" He thought of liking the school at all and tried not to laugh. Looking at the man brought forth only a flicker of familiarity. Nijimura bit his lip.

Miraculously, the man recognized his expression and said, "It's understandable if you don't remember me. I'm Shirogane. I met you at the orientation."

His memories of the orientation were hazy, but he looked to the suit, the head of white hair, and remembered. Had he been different, too?

"Oh. Right." Nijimura cleared his throat. "I think I remember." It wasn't exactly a lie.

He noticed then the other five members of Rakuzan's team scattered around the gym.

"I'm the coach," said Shirogane. The smile he gave Nijimura reminded him at once of Akashi in some small way and he shivered. "I would have been here earlier, but something came up."

Mibuchi, who had been silent for majority of the exchange, spoke up. "Please don't worry about it. Things happen, yeah?"

Shirogane smiled again and this time, a sudden, brief rush of comfort came to Nijimura that he did not recall ever feeling in Rakuzan before. "Don't they?" He turned away from them to tend to the other players - Hayama was sitting atop Nebuya's shoulders for God knew what reason - and Nijimura only shook his head. "Should we get started?"

Hayama glanced over at them and leapt off, racing towards them. "Coach! Now that's a face I haven't seen around!" He grabbed Nijimura by the shoulders and shoved him at Shirogane, grinning from ear-to-ear. Whether it was pleasant or not, Nijimura could not tell. "Have you met the newbie yet?"

Shirogane's smile was patient. "Yes."

That day, practice was almost pleasant. If he questioned the capabilities of Rakuzan's coach before, he did not any longer; in the two-hours Nijimura had seen him, he'd more than "proven" himself. Mibuchi was a good captain, but he was no coach.

Mibuchi seemed to notice it, too. At the end of practice, he patted Nijimura on the shoulder. "He's great, isn't he?"

Nijimura pulled his sweater over his head and let out a breath as it stuck to his sweat-slick skin. "There was a pretty big difference." Glancing at Mibuchi, he added, "I mean, no offense."

Mibuchi nodded. "He's a wonderful coach. We all loved him. At least, most of us did."

Nijimura followed his line of sight to a figure in the back of the gym who grabbed a bag and left without another word. He understood: Mayuzumi.

Oddly, Nijimura did not remember noting his presence during practice.

*

He made sure he was alone before heading for the stairs by the side of the gym. They were the only stairs that led to the roof. He'd almost never seen students using them since he'd arrived at Rakuzan. He knew why.

Nijimura pushed open the door that led to them and stopped for a moment, staring at the floor between stairs and door. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, and a buzzing in his head threatened to cover that, too.

He looked up. The stairs were steep. He looked back to the floor, closed his eyes, and tried to imagine the yellow tape, the -

No. He would not think of that. An ugly feeling lurched in his stomach along with the remnants of his lunch. He took a step towards the stairs and kneeled. A shaky hand brushed against the surface of one of the steps.

There was no need to, Nijimura knew. The police had investigated the death themselves months before, and deemed it an accident. Did he believe time would show him something new that the police had not seen at the scene? Had he been expecting answers?

His fingers rubbed the edge. The stairs were hard, were concrete. He climbed a few of them and stopped to look up. The stairs continued up and up and up. They stopped at a door leading to the second floor, and moved on. He wasn't sure how or when he'd reached the top, or what had moved his legs. Reaching the top, he only looked down. The stairs seemed to continue as far as he could see. (Concrete, he remembered. Steep. The aftertaste of his lunch was sour.)

Where had they found him? At the bottom, broken beyond repair? Eyes open?

Nijimura sat down, steadying himself with shaking arms. Before he could register what was happening, the door from the roof opened and shut with a resounding call.

"What are you doing here?" Mayuzumi said, at once accusatory. He took a step forward, and Nijimura stood up.

"I could be asking you the same thing."

"The stairs are off limits for students." Mayuzumi stopped holding back his glare, shoulders tense. "As far as I'm concerned, you shouldn't even know these exist."

I didn't, Nijimura wanted to say. Instead: "If they're off limits, why are you here?"

"I asked first."

They both glared at each other for a long moment. Nijimura watched as the fists at Mayuzumi's side uncurled and he pointed to the stairs leading upwards.

"I hang out on the roof," Mayuzumi said, crossing his arms. "I was getting something I left there. What about you?"

Nijimura searched his mind for a believable excuse, found none, and settled on the truth. "I was curious." He trusted Mayuzumi to understand what he meant.

He did. "Playing detective? Give me a break." On his way down, Mayuzumi brushed Nijimura's shoulder. The impact had him reeling. Again, he did not look back. "I told you it was none of your business. The case was already solved, and it had nothing to do with you." Mayuzumi stopped in front of the door. "And you can't do anything about it." His hands had made their way back into fists.

If there was anything he could have said to Mayuzumi in that place, in that moment, he would have done it already.

"One more piece of advice, just 'cause we're teammates." Again, Mayuzumi did not look at him. His fingers played with the doorknob. "These stairs are a pretty dangerous place to be when you're alone."

After he was gone, Nijimura could only stare at the door that swung shut in his absence.

*

"I saw it," Nijimura blurted once he was back at his dorm. The running water he heard from the bathroom told him his roommate was busy. "The stairs."

"Seems like you did your research." Akashi sat cross-legged on his bed and stared. His gaze, usually sharp to the point of pain, was unfocused.

"I felt them," Nijimura said before he could stop himself. He dropped his bag and looked at Akashi. It was, he thought, the first time he was ever actually seeing him. "Concrete. Steep."

"Do you want to know more about them?" Akashi hopped off the bed and for a moment he was overwhelmed by all the grace he'd seen in such a small movement. His stare made Nijimura freeze. "Do you want to know what it was like? Will it help you with your investigations?"

"I didn't--"

"I'll tell you, then." Akashi put a hand to Nijimura's neck, fingers curling where Nijimura's pulse leapt and wavered at the brink of vulnerability. "It hurt the first time I hit the steps, but at least then, it was only my body."

"Sto--"

"I could probably show you the step that broke my neck the minute I hit its edge. Do you want to know what it sounded like? Alright, I'll tell you. Kind of like--" His finger were curling and Nijimura felt nails.

"Stop it! Just stop it!"

Akashi did, but it wasn't for long. "It's a lie, you know. Your life doesn't flash before your eyes. There isn't enough time."

"Stop," Nijimura said again. Every breath felt like a knife in his throat, forcing its way up. "I mean it. Stop." He shook for a moment, and then stilled.

Again, Akashi did.

This time, there was only a snapshot of dull anger. "Do you think I did it to mock you?" Nijimura bit his lip until it bled. "You didn't tell me anything about your death. Hell, nobody told me anything."

"I wasn't--"

It was his turn to cut Akashi off. The sound of running water stopped. "You're the one who asked me to do this."

"Are you pitying me?" Akashi said. Neither of them had moved. It felt like time hadn't, either. He knew better.

"What?"

"Are you pitying me?" Akashi said again.

"I thought--"

"Don't."

Nijimura turned as if it would keep him away from Akashi's gaze. It would have been easier if he looked angry, but he did not. Again, the aftertaste. His heartbeat cried out.

"Don't pity me. I'm already dead. I don't have to feel anything, anymore." He stretched out a pale arm and looked at it. Once, only once, Nijimura wanted to take his hand, wanted to feel how small and cold it would be in his own.

But perhaps that was only a lie.

Another moment showed him Akashi had disappeared once more.

The room was cold again.

*

Winter came and stayed, bringing with it the cold and dark. With the cold was snow, and soon there would be ice. Nijimura put his hands in the pockets of his coat and said nothing. Nothing. It'd been months, and he'd discovered nothing at all. Akashi was as he usually was. Nijimura thought of the stairs. He pitied him; how could he not? He gritted his teeth. The sooner he solved the case, the sooner he would be free of Akashi. But how? And if he did somehow solve the case, what would actually happen?

(He did not know, and was half-certain Akashi didn't, either. Or he did, but wouldn't say. In the end, he wasn't sure which of the two it was.)

Months, and nothing still. He was becoming increasingly aware of the tandem, the circle he lived in, the beginning and overbearing lack of an end. The tick of the clock was suffocating.  It wasn't his fault, Nijimura knew - he'd checked for security camera records, and there were none. If there were, it all would have been solved - actually solved - and not left in the hands of a high-school student. For a quick moment he felt only resentment towards Akashi and what he'd been dragged into. In the same moment, he wondered what would happen if he just stopped. He knew; it was impossible that he could not. Nothing. He would let it go, and the world would continue on its axis, and Akashi would...

Again, he thought of the stairs. As long as time didn't stop, neither could he.

Practice was cancelled, and he sat in the room where he'd first met Akashi. Akashi was with him, standing at the window with his hands on the blinds. He wondered what it was like, to be neither dead nor living but something worse and infinite - alone. Did Akashi ever tire of just watching? This time, he thought of the first meeting: how long had he spent, in that room, on the edge of nonexistence?  When he got a closer look, he saw a game board on the table in front of him that wasn't there before.

"What is that?"

Akashi turned and padded towards him, looking at it with his wide, bright eyes. "It's mine."

Nijimura growled. "I know that much. What's it for?"

To his surprise, Akashi laughed, settling in front of it. He put a finger to one of the pieces. "Shogi. My favourite game."

"You mean besides basketball?"

"No. I mean my favourite game." He picked up a piece, rolling it over in his fingers before putting it back down. He wasn't aware he'd been staring at Akashi's fingers until he cleared his throat.

Nijimura sat beside him and looked the board over without seeing it.

"I used to play it," Akashi said. His fingers had gone back to the board, running their way over every edge and curve of it in a ghost of the time when he'd been alive. "With Reo." Caught in his memories, he frowned.  "He wasn't very good at it. Or maybe I was just too good."

(It was the first time he'd ever heard Akashi speak of his teammates.)

"And now?"

"That should be obvious. I play by myself." He moved a few of the pieces before returning them to where they once were. "It's not as fun."

(Was it lonely? It must have been.)

"I can do it," Nijimura said, surprising both himself and Akashi. "I can play with you."

(Had he been frightened?  Did he cry?)

Akashi only stared before giving in at last. "I suppose. I'll have to teach you, though."

(He must have.)

*

After they were cleaning up, after Nijimura lost every game he played, he asked,  "You can interact with the external world, can't you?"

Akashi looked back at the shogi pieces, as if remembering another game. "Yes."

"Can you speak with them?" He stood beside Akashi; Akashi, in his Rakuzan uniform; Akashi, with the eyes looking straight ahead; Akashi, last seen in the captain's uniform he so loved. "Your teammates?"

"I'm afraid you're the only one who can see me."

"How do you know?" The shogi board was temptation between them. "Couldn't you interact with them using a... I don't know. Write notes?"

Akashi laughed. "You don't think I tried?"

*

It hit him, then, in painful clarity. Akashi had died in his uniform.

*

"You don't remember anything?" Nijiimura asked when they were alone. "At all?"

Akashi, for once, was more interested in picking at his own uniform than Nijimura's comforter. He swung his legs. "Not much."

"So you do remember a little." He watched Akashi from the corner of his eye.

(I'll tell you, then.)

"Not enough to be important." He stretched out on Nijimura's bed and grabbed his pillow, pulling it to his chest. He was staring at something in the far distance.

Nijimura sat down beside him and the bed fell a little. They sat like that, the two of them, in a world where there was only the sound of Nijimura breathing and Akashi with his hand on the pillow. "You never know. I'm the one investigating, yeah?"

"Yeah." When he looked at him again, Akashi's eyes were closed. Silence, and then:  "Do you want to know?" His words hung there, daring him to agree.

"This has never been about what I want."

Akashi opened one eye and looked at him. "I suppose. Yes, I suppose." He had moments like that, Nijimura would come to notice, where he was more ghost than boy, where he gave what parts of him he had left away in words.

"It was after a game," Akashi said. He'd closed his eyes again. He said the rest of his sentence without words: the last game I ever played. "I asked a question. I saw something. I suppose." Nijimura would never be able to see the disconnect between Akashi and the outside world as clearly as he did then.

Nijimura pressed, " Do you remember what?"

Akashi only continued to play with the threads of his uniform.

*

They received their uniforms at the next practice. Hayama complained about how they were getting them so late, especially with the first game of the season around the corner, but stopped the minute Shirogane opened the box.

"Aren't they lovely?"

Nijimura looked into the box and was inclined to disagree. The uniform he saw Akashi in every day was sleek, but the one before him was almost a joke. He reached in to pull a jersey top out. Feels like a joke, too.

"You're kidding," Mayuzumi said in a voice that told them he was already aware of the answer. He was behind the rest of them, watching Shirogane with plain dislike.

If Nijimura squinted, the look was returned. "Uniforms are uniforms," Shirogane said, and shrugged. "Next year, we'll get nicer ones."

"Bullshit."

"Are these really the uniforms?" said Nijimura, looking the uniform over. He glanced at Mibuchi. "What about you? I saw you wearing one earlier, and it didn't look like this."

Mibuchi looked pitiful. "It was from last year."

"Why don't you use those ones? You don't need new uniforms every year."

"Maybe not," Mayuzumi answered, showing his talent of interrupting when Nijimura really, really did not care. "But we all have to match. It's a rule. Only me, Mibuchi, Hayama, and Nebuya have the old ones. That leaves you six."

The other newbies looked at their feet. He was unsure if they even knew how to dribble a ball.  Again, he felt a surge of a feeling he had trouble naming: everyone had told him Rakuzan was a power house, but what he saw told him otherwise. Had Akashi's death really changed so much?

(Not if it was only a freak accident, a voice answered, somewhere.)

Nijimura threw his hands up in the air. "Sorry, then."

"Cut the crap." Mayuzumi leaned over and pulled his uniform out, smoothing it down.

(Then what was it?)

"Well," Mibuchi said loudly, "should we get practicing? The game will be here before you know it." He dropped his own uniform on the bench, and Hayama and Nebuya did the same.

"That's right." Shirogane followed them to the center of the gym. Nijimura's eyes were focused on someone else.

(Murder.)

Mayuzumi hadn't taken his eyes off Shirogane since he'd started speaking.

*

In Shirogane's absence, "practices" were spent in the small room with the shogi board on its table. Only Mayuzumi, Nebuya, Hayama, and Mibuchi had attended. Mayuzumi was reading in the corner by the window. Mibuchi was sitting at the table.

"Are we just going to sit around?" Nijimura joined Mibuchi by the table and looked around. Akashi was nowhere in sight. "For the whole two hours? I'd rather not spend my break doing this." The winter break practices bored him.

Mibuchi sighed. "We could discuss plays, I guess."

"You know we won't do that," Mayuzumi told them from his spot in the corner. Nijimura took a moment to glare, but Mayuzumi was no longer looking at them.

"Well, you're not wrong." Mibuchi looked down again. Outside, it was starting to snow. The winter so far had been dry and mercilessly cold. He leaned forward, touching the shogi board. "Sei and I used to play this."

Of all the Rakuzan members, Mibuchi spoke of Akashi the most. "You must miss him," Nijimura said. "Were you close?"

"I do," Mibuchi said. He moved some of the pieces, staring at the ones across from him that Akashi himself would never move again. "I think we were. I was the vice captain, before."

Nijimura only stared at the other pieces, and for a moment he wanted to play with Mibuchi, to touch the pieces himself, to tell him Akashi was...

The question kept coming back. Would he tell him Akashi was okay? That didn't make sense; it wasn't Nijimura's place as the outsider, the newbie.

(And it wasn't true.)

From what he knew, Akashi had been popular - the student council president, the freshman captain of a powerhouse team, the star student. But that only made it more likely that people were jealous. (To the point of murder?)

Nijimura stood up. The people who did speak of Akashi (which, granted, weren't many) always seemed fond of him. Perhaps it was only the shock.

Akashi died after that game. The last people to ever see him alive had been at that game. His murderer had been at that game. He was going in circles again. It was hard not to.

By the window, Mayuzumi had put his book down. He was looking out the window, pale hands drawn into fists. Akashi stood in front of him, reaching an arm out before he pulled it back. His mouth moved, and Nijimura heard nothing.

("You don't think I tried?")

Mayuzumi picked the book up. Nijimura couldn't see the expression on Akashi's face.

Nijimura looked away, chest tight.

*

By the time they left, the pieces across from Mibuchi's had been moved.

*

Nijimura stayed in the room and walked to the window. Akashi hadn't moved, and was caught by the blinds again. Again, Nijimura couldn't see his face. The light took parts of him away, made him look smaller.

If Akashi had been flesh and bone, he would have taken his hand, but what comfort could he give a ghost? Akashi was all there and all not there. The pity came, but it wasn't the worst of the feelings that flooded him all at once: there was guilt.

Before, he'd hardly seen Akashi talk of his teammates, much less be in the same room as them. But now it was different. He was certain there were things Akashi wanted to tell them, to comfort them, to make the tiniest part of it okay. The feeling of not being able to speak (not being heard?) must have been suffocating. The Akashi he saw now was composed and calm, at terms and perhaps peace with his circumstances, but before?

(Akashi was composed and calm and at "peace" because he had to be.)

He'd seen it at the window: Akashi was longing, and slowly but surely he would long himself away.

"You miss them," Nijimura said, voice shaking.

Akashi rested his head against the glass, and for a moment, said nothing. Then: "Yes."

(He hadn't said goodbye; he had no time. Oh, he had only been sixteen!)

There was a reason why Akashi wanted him to investigate his death so badly, a reason why he watched his teammates. He doubted it was for justice or anything like that (Akashi, most likely, cared little for justice). Solving Akashi's death would do nothing for Akashi aside from setting him free. Akashi would never admit it, but through the investigations, he was sending his team a message through Nijimura. He was trying to right a wrong that he couldn't when he'd been alive.

(He must have tried.)

"Give me notes. Give me something to tell them in your place. Just don't..." He trailed off. Don't look at them like that, anymore. Don't look at me like that, anymore.

Akashi shook his head fervently, pulling himself away from the glass. When he looked at Nijimura, his chest tightened again as if collapsing in on itself. "You don't understand." He looked at Nijimura again, and he'd recomposed himself. "It wouldn't be fair to them."

"And it's fair to you?"

Akashi only shook his head, taking a deep breath.

"This isn't about me."

(Had it killed him?)

*

They won their first game. Shirogane treated them to dinner, and it mingled with the bitter taste of victory.

He made sure Mayuzumi was gone before asking, "From what I've heard, Akashi was a great captain. You all must have loved him." Akashi was a sensitive topic for Mayuzumi, more than the rest of the team, and the only thing worse to talk about in front of him was Akashi's death. He wondered.

Shirogane poured himself a cup of water and stared at it before answering. "He was a good kid."

Mibuchi gave Nijimura a sharp look for but a moment. "We did," he said.

Hayama agreed. "No one was better at keeping us all in line. Even Mayuzumi listened to him." Quickly, they all fell quiet.

"What do you mean 'even Mayuzumi'?" Nijimura twisted his water bottle open and took a sip, glancing behind him. Mayuzumi was still nowhere in sight.

"You know how Mayuzumi is," Mibuchi said, sighing. "I mean, they were at odds with each other at times but..." He shrugged, as if losing his train of thought.

"He joined the team because of Akashi." Nebuya, for once, was not eating.

Shirogane stood up, said, "Excuse me," and left. The rest of the team sat in the silence.

"Nijimura," Mibuchi said, grabbing him by the wrist, "do you mind if I speak with you in private?"

Nijimura hesitated. "Sure."

Once they were alone, at the back of the restaurant, Mibuchi crossed his arms and said: "Is there a reason why you keep asking about Sei? I understand curiosity, but after a certain point, I don't think it has anything to do with you anymore."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Mayuzumi at the opposite side of the restaurant, leaving through the back door. Shirogane followed.

Mibuchi continued: "We'd all just rather not talk about it, you know? Unless you give us a reason. It was all pretty recent, and--"

He'd drowned out the sound of Mibuchi's voice with the door swinging shut as Shirogane and Mayuzumi left the restaurant.

Heart pounding, he wrenched away from Mibuchi. "I can't tell you," Nijimura said, helpless, "but I just want you to trust me right now. Just right now."

Mibuchi's eyes had gone wide. "Nijimura--"

Bolting away, he stopped in front of the door. His heart had gone beyond the point of being calmed down. He pressed his ear to the door and opened it just a little. Outside, Mayuzumi and Shirogane stood in front of each other.

"You're not going to get away with this."

"I already have. There's a reason you haven't told, isn't there?"

"Shut up--"

"You helped me. I'll have to thank you for that. It wouldn't have happened if you weren't so afraid."

Nijimura's heartbeat was so loud he feared it would give him away. Mayuzumi, for a split second, glanced right at Nijimura. They met eyes, and his heart skidded to a sudden stop.

Letting the door go, Nijimura raced away. His breathing and heart wouldn't and couldn't stop. Cold sweat slipped down his shirt and face. He pressed his face into the palm of his hands.

Mibuchi stared at him, but said nothing.

It was unspoken between them: just this once.

*

He stopped Mayuzumi at the stairs once they were back at Rakuzan. His heart had begun to pound again and he doubted it would ever go away, but he stood his ground.

"I know you saw me," Nijimura said. "What were you talking about with Shirogane?"

Mayuzumi didn't look back. "Didn't I tell you to stop getting involved in business that wasn't yours?"

"Akashi's death. You were talking about Akashi's death. What are you hiding?"

"Don't be stupid. It's not that easy." He kept staring ahead, doing everything he could to avoid looking into Nijimura's eyes.

"What are you hiding?" Nijimura repeated loudly. His fists shook. His heart shook in his chest. Anger began to well where guilt once lived. "Did you kill him?"

Before he understood, Mayuzumi grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved, holding him over the edge of the stairs. Nijimura searched for his voice and found nothing.

The look Mayuzumi gave him took him aback. "Yeah? And if I did? What would you do about it?" He leaned forward and Nijimura shook again. Concrete, concrete, concrete. He had a promise to keep. "No one will believe you. There's no proof."

Nijimura grabbed Mayuzumi's wrists so hard his own hands began to redden. "Mayuzu--"

He pulled Nijimura back up and they both stared at each other. Never before had he seen Mayuzumi so bare. It was like he could look right through him and map the jolt and twist from his heart up.

"There are some questions that are better off being unanswered." He dusted off his shirt and headed for the exit, leaving Nijimura behind. "I told you. These stairs are a dangerous place to be alone."

This time, it wasn't a threat: it was a warning.

*

"You're back late," Akashi said. He sat awake on Nijimura's bed. Oh, how long had he waited?

He grinned weakly. "Coach took us out to eat."

Akashi stood up and walked to him, looking Nijimura over. He hummed. "How did the game go?"

For a moment, Nijimura allowed himself to pretend: that it wasn't what it was, that Akashi was alive, that it would last.

(He wouldn't tell Akashi. He couldn't. He'd do it on his own.)

"We won."

Akashi hummed again, putting his hands on Nijimura's shoulders, rubbing the uniform he would never be able to feel. "The uniform suits you."

Nijimura laughed. "It's not as nice as the one you have."

"It's because I'm the captain," Akashi said immediately. As if catching himself in the middle of a lie, he turned away. "It's late. You should get some rest."

Nijimura dropped his bag. After brushing his teeth, he  went to his bed and sat down. There was too much to think about. "Akashi?" he said, feeling nothing but the dark.

He heard Akashi's voice: "I'm here."

"You'll 'move on' once I solve the case, right? You won't be... a ghost, anymore?" You'll be gone?

He surprised himself by being afraid of the answer Akashi would give him.

"Yes."

And if I don't?

Again, he allowed himself to pretend, to be selfish, to avoid the truth and future that hung over him.

"Goodnight," he said before he could stop himself.

Akashi was quiet for a moment. "Goodnight, Nijimura."

*

Winter bled into spring, and he made no real progress. He felt the urgency of time. Even if he heard the conversation, it led to nothing. There was no proof. There were no leads.

That was before he saw the man in the lobby. The man had stopped for a minute at the cabinet with basketball trophies, looked into the glass, and moved on.

Nijimura approached him on his way to practice. "Can I help you?" The hallways were empty as usual. He'd grown used to it.

The man turned and Nijimura found himself freezing. "Oh, no thank you. I'm just looking." He went back to the cabinet as if drawn to the trophies inside them.

"Are you sure?" Nijimura said. His hair was streaked with grey and his eyes tired, but it was undeniable: red hair, red eyes. His chest ached.

"I made a donation," said the man. "For the basketball team. I should be going, but..." He glanced at Nijimura. "You're on the team, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"This school has the best team. They only want the best of the best. Ah, at least they used to. They used to." The man's eyes were fixated on the trophy. "My son," he said, and stopped. "My son used to be on the team."

"What happened to him?" Nijimura said, already aware.

The man didn't answer.

*

"I saw this guy," Nijimura said while they were jogging around at practice. "In the hallway. He said he made a donation to the basketball team."

"Who?" Hayama said from behind him. His face lit up. "Old guy, red hair, long face, suit?"

Nijimura considered this. "Yeah." Mayuzumi was in the back of the line. Neither of them had done so much as look at each other. He was almost glad.

Hayama sucked in a breath. "Akashi's dad. He's loaded."

"Really?" Nijimura said, raising a brow. "How much does he donate, then?"

This time, Hayama shrugged. "I don't have access to those records. Probably a lot. He's the head of the Akashi corporation, didn't you know? A shit ton of cash is probably nothing to him."

He frowned. It didn't add up. Rakuzan - a powerhouse school, receiving donations from one of the richest men in the country, and the team had a budget that was too low to afford decent uniforms.

It didn't add up.

Rather, something was missing.

His head began to pound.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Shirogane watching him.

"Hayama," he said, "who does have access to those records?"

"Hm? Oh, the coach."

*

Shirogane's office was between the gym and the staircase. The door to it was open. Looking around, Nijimura stepped inside, doing his best not to make a single sound. Inside, it was dead silent. The desk was covered with a mess of papers. Only from the open space he left between door and wall was light able to seep into the room, and even then it was slight. Nijimura rubbed his hands together and found them sweaty.

He would have thought nothing of the weird budget if he hadn't overheard the conversation between Shirogane and Mayuzumi. He hadn't thought Shirogane was capable of that, but maybe that was what made him dangerous. Nijimura shook his head. Jumping to conclusions now would be fatal. The rest of the team loved Shirogane for a reason.

(Except Mayuzumi.)

Again, he tried to think his way out of it. What reason would Shirogane have to kill Akashi? None, he thought. None. Theft was one thing. Murder was another. And besides, there was no proof! The budget cut could have been caused by a number of things other than theft. Slipping a few bucks out here and there was nothing. And surely, if Shirogane was responsible for the drop, someone would have known. Someone would have noticed.

(Right?)

He shook his head wildly. There was no correlation. There was no proof. He had to do more digging.

(But it was impossible to deny the conversation, the--)

Nijimura rummaged through the papers on the desk. Most of them were schedules or things pertaining to basketball. A note from one of the teachers. A basketball catalogue. There were no signs of the budget records. Shirogane was clean.

(If he had nothing to hide, it would have been in the room.)

The desk had drawers. Nijimura put his hand to the knob. Did he want to pull it open? Why was he afraid of what he would see? He had to - there was no choice - but for a little he just stood there and let his heartbeat speak for him.

(Akashi had left it to him. He couldn't let him down, not now, not ever.)

Nijimura looked behind him. It was empty. The coast was clear. He pulled the drawer open.

(Couldn't let Akashi down? What a joke! He was already dead!)

What he saw inside made his breath catch in his throat. The budget record sheet was on top,  but that wasn't what made him freeze. Below it was a knife. It didn't mean anything, Nijimura told himself, it didn't, it didn't, it didn't.

(It did. His mind was telling him to run, to get away, but his legs disagreed.)

With trembling hands, he pulled the sheet from its tomb.

The door opened and Nijimura shoved the sheet back inside and scrambled away from the desk, leaning against the drawer until it shut.

"Nijimura?" Shirogane said, walking towards him. The shadows fell upon him. "What are you doing here?"

(He thought of the knife.)

"I wanted to ask you a question after practice," Njimura said, marveling at how his voice did not break. "I couldn't find you, but I thought you'd be in here."

"That's alright," Shirogane said in a way that told him it wasn't. "What's your question?"

(He thought of the knife.)

"When's our next game?"

"Two weeks." Shirogane moved towards his desk and began packing his things. "It's a home game."

"Thanks, coach." The words felt hollow.

"Don't mention it." Shirogane took his bag and walked towards the door with Nijimura behind him. He smiled, and what had once been comforting was now unsettling. "I'll see you at practice. Take care."

Once they were both out of the office, Shirogane locked the door behind him.

He surprised himself by not passing out.

*

Two weeks. He had two weeks.

Was it enough?

*

The shogi board was between them. Akashi picked up a piece, moved it forward, and said, "Your move."

One look told him Akashi would checkmate him in a few moves. "I already lost. Let's just start it over."

Akashi shook his head. "You never know. Don't give up so quickly."

Nijimura scowled. "You just want to win."

Akashi laughed and didn't disagree. Nijimura stared at him - the uniform, the hair, the ease he played with. He could have - should have - been alive.

"Hold on." Nijimura stood up and walked towards him. In the same moment. Akashi shot up and backed away. Nijimura stilled, said: "What are you doing?"

"I'm asking--"

He took a step forward, and Akashi took a step back. Another, and another, and another. He'd backed Akashi against the wall. He searched Akashi's face for an expression that would give it away, but Akashi tore away from his gaze.

That alone told him everything. "What are you hiding?" Nijimura said. It was the only question he could ask, anymore.

Still refusing to meet his gaze, Akashi crossed his arms, made himself smaller.

If he could have reached out and been met with skin and bone instead of nothing, he would have.

Before, Akashi had been more solid. The difference between him and the actual living was something Nijimura had to constantly remind himself of. That was before. Now, Akashi was paler. The colours of his hair and uniform had faded  and his body had taken on a transparency it once lacked. He could see right through Akashi if he wanted to.

(Quite simply, he thought, Akashi was longing himself away.)

"Are you fading?" Nijimura said, just to see what Akashi would say. He wanted to kick himself. How could he have not noticed sooner? He'd known it wouldn't last, and had still--

Had still--

Akashi stared and said nothing.

And oh, he knew why. He'd dealt with it before. "You knew," Nijimura said, incredulous. "You knew this would happen." You knew you'd be gone either way.

Finally, Akashi met his eyes. "Yes."

"And you didn't tell me." He couldn't think. What was he supposed to think? "It doesn't matter if I solve the case or not."

Akashi shut his eyes and opened them again. "No, it doesn't."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He was angry, but something was stopping himself from feeling it completely. It was the timeframe hanging in his mind and the outcome that stood before him. Akashi would be gone.

"You don't understand," Akashi said. His voice cracked. "I needed you to have a reason to solve this. I needed you to solve it."

"Yeah? And now?" Nijimura snapped. "What about now? I can just drop it now, right? Just gotta wait for you to leave me alone?"

He regretted it immediately. Akashi recoiled for a sudden moment, and the hurt on his face had been so raw Nijimura wanted to comfort him. (Comfort? A joke!) It was gone just as quickly.

"Why? Because you don't think you can save me, anymore?" Akashi laughed.

The words felt like a slap to the face. He lied through his teeth, speaking past the sting Akashi’s words had left behind: "I never thought that." Akashi knew it, too.

"Good, because that's not what this is about." The tension in Akashi's shoulders released and he sagged down, sitting with his back to the wall.

Nijimura took a step back, and yet it felt like the distance had grown to several hundred miles. "You made one mistake, though."

"Oh? What is it?" Akashi looked up at him.

He smiled, all teeth: "You thought I'd actually care if you disappeared."

(A lie, oh, it was a lie!)

He didn't wait to see Akashi's reaction. He couldn't. When he stopped at the door to look back, the shogi board stared at him, an unfinished game still between them.

He saw: Akashi sitting against the wall, curled in on himself.

Nijimura left.

*

It had to be enough.

*

The next time he visited Shirogane’s office - this time, Shirogane wasn’t in school - the doorknob only rattled as he shook it. Once, twice. It didn’t matter. He stopped counting. Nijimura wanted to kick himself. The clock on the wall ticked, as if in warning. Stupid! Shirogane’s door had been open once, and it was only by mistake. Shirogane knew Nijimura was after something and he was doing his best to make sure it stayed hidden. Again, he saw the knife. That hadn’t been a mistake. Whatever was hidden in that drawer, on the budget sheet, had all the secrets he’d felt since his arrival. Of course Shirogane would protect it with a knife.

(Or his life.)

He shook the doorknob again and again until it made his hand hurt. His heart sank and Nijimura trembled for a moment as a chill washed over him. The door would never be open again. Luck had given him a chance, and he’d blown it. The record sheet had been in his hands. He could almost remember how it had felt.

(Or someone else’s life.)

He had to open the door, no matter what it took. If it was about solving his death, Akashi probably would have given up months ago, would have let himself fade without a word or look to anyone else. But it wasn’t. Akashi was… He stood there, trying to think. The only images that came to mind were of Akashi watching his team, Akashi reaching out to Mayuzumi and stopping himself, Akashi sitting on the desk that first day, swinging his legs. What was Akashi trying to do? Why was he still in the school? What was left there for him?

(His killer. His killer was out there, and so was his team, and Akashi was--)

“Nijimura?” Mayuzumi stood in front of him, hands in his pockets. The look he gave Nijimura still held bite, but the fangs had dulled.

“Mayuzumi.” Nijimura pulled his arm away from the door. How much had Mayuzumi seen? How long had he even been there? Reusing his previous excuse, he said, “I left something in coach’s room the other day. You’re always hanging around the school, aren’t you?”

(Maybe, just maybe, Akashi wasn’t the only ghost on his team.)

The pointed look returned. Mayuzumi tilted his chin up. “Says you.” As if in disbelief, he shook his head. “I can’t even tell you the number of times I’ve seen you lurking around here.”

“Just exploring.”

“Huh,” Mayuzumi said, and nothing more. He looked from Nijimura to the door.

“I was just thinking,” Nijimura said. “Shouldn’t there be a treasurer who keeps track of the funds? Why is Shirogane the only one with access to it?”

This time, the look was different. Mayuzumi let out a breath, and said: “There was. She kinda quit. The school let each club or sport or whatever handle their own junk, now. It’s not like anyone gives a shit about basketball anymore.”

The door. The door was his only chance. His last chance. Two weeks.

Shaking his head, Nijimura said, “Ridiculous. That leaves it all open to corruption.”

Mayuzumi shrugged. Nijimura knew he cared. “Tell it to them, not me.”

In front of him, Mayuzumi was blurring into colour and lines. He blinked, and it stopped. He swallowed.

“Why do you hate the coach?” Nijimura said slowly.

Mayuzumi stared at him, and said again: “There are some questions that are better off being unanswered.”

“No.” Nijimura shook his head. “There are some questions that need answers.”

*

“It’s not your fault.”

*

The next week came and went like a tide, slowly, and then all at once. If he had opened his mouth to breathe when the water was all there, he was certain he would have swallowed only salt and no air. (But there wasn’t enough time; there couldn’t have been!)

The game was in three days. Nijimura stood in front of the mirror, spotting Akashi in the corner of his eye. They looked at each other and said nothing. He knew Akashi understood.

“Hey,” he said, more to the mirror than to the boy trapped in its glass. All the colour was almost gone from him; he lived only in black and white. Shadows had lived in him once and now he lived in shadows. For a moment there was blissful delirium - was he real? Was it his imagination? Nothing had changed, and yet it all had.

Akashi only stared at him. They met eyes in the glass.

Nijimura had taken the shogi board out of the room earlier, and now it was on his bed, mocking him. Many of the pieces were missing. He knew it wouldn’t see another game.

He buttoned his shirt up with numb fingers. Akashi was gone when he looked back to the mirror.

*

Practice was the same as it always was. Shirogane did his job. The team ran its laps. A few times, he tried to catch Mayuzumi’s gaze, but it wasn’t returned. He bit his lip. Three days. He still hadn’t figured out how to get into the office.

“Are you ready for the game in three days?” Mibuchi nudged his arm when they were done. He didn’t ask questions. Nijimura was grateful for that much. “Last game of the season, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nijimura agreed, wiping his face with the front of his shirt. “It’s my last game.”

“Oh, right.” Mibuchi stopped and stared at him. “I forgot you’re graduating this year.”

He smiled. “Did you?”

“Hopefully,” Mibuchi was saying as he cracked his knuckles, “you’ll keep playing after high school. You’re a good player.” He looked at Nijimura expectantly.

Nijimura thought of the door. “Yeah,” he said again, “that’d be nice.” He found himself staring at the gym floor.

When he looked up again, Mibuchi was on his way to the exit of the gym. His towel hung over the front of his shoulders.

“Don’t be late,” Mibuchi called. “We’re definitely going to need you to win.”

Nijimura grinned. This time, he meant it. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He stood up from the bench, suddenly alone in the gym. A shiver ran down his body, and he shook it aside. There was no time to worry. He had to think. The door.

He wanted to scream. Three days wasn’t a long time, wasn’t a long time at all. It felt like he could blink and it would be done. His heart began to beat to the rhythm of the clock.

(A little too fast.)

Three days. He couldn’t afford to stand around in the gym. Picking up his bag, Nijimura left for his locker.

In his locker was a set of keys.

He understood.

Three days.

*

He got home late and Akashi said nothing. Every day, Nijimura felt as if he was drifting farther and farther. Soon, he would be able to brush his fingers against the brink of nonexistence, and soon it would take his hand and lead him away. He found it odd that for as long as they’d known each other, Akashi hadn’t once asked of his progress. Was it trust? Nijimura didn’t know anymore.

Finally, Akashi spoke. “You’re home late,” he said, watching Nijimura. He’d lost the ability to read his gaze. Even the dark outside had more colour than did he. “Busy practice?”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, feeling the keys in his pocket. “Yeah.”

Akashi narrowed his eyes. He understood the look now; it was accusatory. “Liar.”

“If you already know the answer, don’t ask.” Nijimura felt the keys again, tried to memorize the teeth marks they left in the palm of his hand.

“Liar,” Akashi said again.

The unease tasted like poison. “What do you want me to say?” Nijimura snapped, turning to face him.

“The truth.”

He let out a breath that felt like a defeat and pulled his hands out of his pockets. “Three days from now, I’ll solve your case.”

Akashi was quiet, and then: “You swear it?”

At this point, he knew Akashi was just looking for answers. He didn’t know why he complied.

Nijimura bowed, keeping eye contact all the while. “On my life.”

Akashi swallowed and let his arms hang limp at his side. “I see.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Nijimura said. He shook his head in disbelief. “You want this solved, don’t you? It’s too late to back out for either of us.” He pulled the keys out of his pocket and held them there, letting its weight speak for itself. “Three days.”

The lines he’d known where always on Akashi’s skin were just beginning to break into cracks. “You don’t have to.”

“Bullshit. I started this. I’m going to finish it, too.” If he looked closely, the details on the Rakuzan jersey were almost gone. “You know I have to do this.”

“You have to promise me you’ll be careful.” Akashi moved, and now he stood in front of Nijimura. His eyes didn’t move from the keys. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

He stilled. When movement returned, it was to his hands, and he clenched the keys so tightly they almost made him bleed. “You knew? You knew this, too?”

Akashi was caught between the truth and a lie, but this time he didn’t look away. Nijimura almost wished he did. “Yes.”

(Rakuzan. All the same.)

“How long?” Nijimura said. “How long have you known it was him?”

“A few months. The memories were a little hazy at first, but then--”

“Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Akashi glared. “I don’t have to tell you anything. Our arrangement was just that you investigate.”

It felt like a punch to the gut and he was drawn into vertigo for a moment too long. An arrangement. That was what it was.

(That was what it had to be.)

“Alright.” He put the keys back in his pocket. There wasn’t time to argue. There wasn’t time at all.

“It was dangerous,” Akashi said eventually. He’d looked away, then.

“You should have thought about that before you made our arrangement.” He was left with the aftertaste of his words.

Akashi’s hands went back to the uniform, as if it was the only tether he had left to the real world. “You’re right,” said Akashi, surprising them both. “You’re right.”

Nothing had changed. There were still only three days and a case waiting to be solved. Stopping wasn’t an option, had never been an option.

What a lie. There’d never been an option in the first place.

“Three days,” Akashi said.

They weren’t looking at each other, weren’t doing much of anything, and yet he knew without a doubt; they’d never understood each other as much as they did in that moment. If a time ever came where he closed his eyes and was met with the outlines of a second, it would be this moment that wrought itself into his mind.

(His hands on the keys, their eyes on anything and everything else. Heading right back to the starting line.)

“Three days,” Nijiimura agreed.

*

The gym was filled with people. Most of them sat on the bleachers waving great, big banners. Majority of them were cheering for the other team. There was so much noise that it seemed he could not hear a single thing, a single word. It lacked coherence and left him with noise, noise, noise. Nijimura wiped his sweaty palms on his basketball shorts. The keys were in his bag.

The other team was doing layups across from him, but Rakuzan only stood silently as Shirogane talked. He was mentioning a game plan. Nijimura wasn’t listening. His stomach began to churn in a way that was not unlike pre-game anxiety. He wasn’t dumb enough to think that it was. In the grand scheme of things, it was almost funny. Winning a basketball game was the last of his worries. After all, Nijimura thought as he joined the rest of them for stretches, this wasn’t the game that mattered. It wasn’t the game he’d come to win.

He thought of Akashi. It always came down to Akashi. How had he felt, the night of his last game? Had he made plans? Had he walked out of the gym doors without a thought to the possibility that it would be the last thing he ever did?

The rest of the team looked fine. Normal, even. He tried once more to meet eyes with Mayuzumi, but was only ignored.

Mibuchi, noticing how out of it he seemed, nudged his arm. “Ready?”

Nijimura nudged him back. “Sure.” His eyes were drawn to Shirogane, and he hesitated for a minute. “Hey, Mibuchi?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you do me another favour?”

Mibuchi looked around to make sure no one else was watching or listening. “What is it?”

“Keep the coach occupied after the game for as long as possible.”

He glanced at Nijimura’s face without sparing Shirogane so much as a glance. “Alright.”

(Just this once.)

Weird. He’d never considered how much he actually owed Mibuchi, never considered how much he could only hope to return in words.

“Thanks,” he said, but Mibuchi had already returned to the warm up.

The lights were bordering on blinding, and the clock overhead told him there were five minutes before the game started. Nijimura rubbed his eyes and joined the others.

When he looked up again, he saw Akashi’s father’s father sitting up in the bleachers - Akashi’s father, watching the team his son should have been on. For a moment, Nijmura felt indebted to him, too.

Barely, just barely, he could see someone sitting in the seat next to Akashi’s father.

*

The buzzer sounded a last time to signal the end of the game. They had won, but it was too early to celebrate.

The real game - the game that mattered - had only begun.

*

Mibuchi, as he had come to notice, kept all his promises. Nijimura snuck out of the gym after the game unnoticed, with the bag on his shoulders and the keys in his pocket. Once he’d made it into the hallway, there was nobody near the door to Shirogane’s office. He took the keys out. His palms had gone clammy again and, for fear that the keys would slip right out of his fingers, he tightened his grip.

It was frustrating not to know how much time he actually had. All he had to do - all he could do - was trust Mibuchi more than the pressure of his impending doom. Up and down, the hallway only offered dark. The remaining noise from inside the gym felt as if it was worlds away, as if he was somewhere else where all he could do was press his ear to the wall and listen. It sounded like a drumbeat. He was certain that if he were to take all that noise and hold it in his hand where it pulsed and writhed, it would feel like a thrumming heart.

Nijimura put the keys to the lock. The door clicked open, as he’d known it would. He took a step inside and closed the door slowly. He put the lock back into place.

Inside, the room was dark. His hand fumbled at the wall into light flooded from the switch he flipped on. It was considerably neater than he remembered. The desks were empty and bare without papers strewn over them. Nijimura swallowed.

Something was wrong. Why was he cleaning his office? It was close to the end of the year, he was sure - but was that reason enough?

No. He didn’t have time to think of that right now. His first priority was finding the record sheet. He forced the drawer open, heart skidding to a stop when he found it open. There was nothing inside it - no knife, no record sheet. He’d made another mistake. What were the chances that Shirogane had left the sheets in his office? If he knew there were enough to get him in legal trouble, he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave it.

He turned helplessly to the door as his breaths came and went shallower and shallower. He was still alone. Nijimura turned back to the desk.

There was something he’d missed at first. A sheet. A single sheet. Nijimura picked it up with shaking hands, eyes catching on Shirogane’s signature at the bottom. A letter of resignation. Nijimura shoved it into his pocket. Was he planning to run away, to leave? To escape without anyone ever knowing?

He wouldn’t allow it to happen. He couldn’t. Nijimura looked around the room frantically and was only met with empty shelves and the now empty desk. Where where where?

Maybe there was something he’d overlooked. It was possible, he was sure. Maybe there was--

The door opened and closed. Nijimura stopped dead in his tracks.

“Hey, Nijimura.”

Everything inside of him was telling him to run away, but his legs wouldn’t comply. Struggling, Nijimura answered, “Coach. Hey.”

“Are you looking for something?” Shirogane said. He cracked a smile. Nijimura wanted to hit him again and again until it was gone.

“Not really.”

The knife. The knife was gone. So where was it?

“Are you sure? It wasn’t this?” Nijimura glanced back and saw Shirogane holding the record sheet in his hands. The smile was making him sick. His head spun. Before he could do anything, before he could even understand what was happening, Shirogane ripped the sheet to shreds. “Not that it matters.”

He spun around to face Shirogane. “If you’re not hiding anything, why did you rip it up? Why did you lock the door?”

Shirogane only stood there before he began walking towards Nijimura. He backed away, curling his hands into fists. He said, “It doesn’t matter, anymore.”

“Yeah? Are you gonna kill me, too? Pass it off as another accident?”

Shirogane stopped and narrowed his eyes. “What--”

“You killed him,” Nijimura said, drawing his hands into fists. His last game. “You killed Akashi, didn’t you?”

Shirogane only continued walking towards him. The knife, Nijimura screamed to himself. The knife! Where is it?

“Alright,” Shirogane said conversationally, “I did it.”

Nijimura backed away again. “Why?”

He didn’t realize it was all wrong until it mattered. Why was Shirogane telling him everything he’d been trying to hide?

“Because he was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong,” Shirogane said. “You weren’t the first to notice the budget cuts.”

It was then that he noticed the knife.

What happened next felt like it hadn’t happened at all. He felt everything, but heard and saw nothing. It felt like he was falling. Like, Nijimura thought, passing between the highest point of the swing and the lowest. For a heartbeat or two, it was pleasant, the feeling of slipping into a nice, short nap.

And then there was only the utter black of a starless sky and blinding, white-hot pain.

*

He awoke in a room that smelled like clean sheets. Nijimura shot up in bed and looked around. There were white walls and white floors, and a white blanket pulled over his lap. He looked around some more. White. There was only white.

He wriggled his toes. Everything felt him. He was breathing. But where was he? Nijimura pulled himself out of bed, hobbling to the door. His legs struggled to adjust to the feeling of use. When he put his hand to the doorknob, he noticed the bandages wrapped tight around his upper arm.

What had happened, again?

He opened the door and nearly stumbled backwards when he saw Mibuchi standing there, who looked just as surprised as he did.

“Nijimura, you’re up?”

“Mibuchi?” Nijimura scratched his head. “Where am I? What happened?”

He looked sympathetic as he put the bag he was carrying down. “You were out for a day. You know.” Mibuchi gestured to the bandages around his upper arm.

If he tried, he felt a dull pain there. Nijimura waved his hand. “And…?”

“And?” Mibuchi prompted.

He bit his lip. What had happened, actually?

(A day. He was out for a day. Akashi.)

“Coa--Shirogane,” Nijimura said immediately. He raced to the door and Mibuchi held out a hand to stop him. “Where’s Shirogane?”

“He’s currently under investigations,” Mibuchi said. He hadn’t imagined the bitterness in Mibuchi’s tone, he knew.

His shoulders relaxed. “Good.”

“I don’t believe it,” Mibuchi said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I played under the instruction of someone like that.”

Nijimura stared. “Did you…?”

“Yeah.” Mibuchi let out a breath neither of them were aware he’d been holding. “Mayuzumi told me.”

*

Mayuzumi was on the roof.

Nijimura shivered in the hospital gown, bringing his chest. “It’s cold as hell up here,” he said, walking towards him.

Mayuzumi turned around. “If you’re wearing something like that, it is.”

“Because I had a choice, right?”

They both looked at each other, perhaps seeing each other for the first time.

For a little it was just the two of them, standing on the roof, looking at the world in front of them. Nothing was really solved, yet. Investigations didn’t mean a thing. (Yet.)

“How’s your arm?” said Mayuzumi without looking at him. “Think you can play on it?”

Nijimura laughed. “It’s a good thing basketball season is over. He hadn’t gone to the roof for small talk. “What happened?”

Mayuzumi continued to look off into the distance, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “You were stabbed in the arm. The police have Shirogane for now.”

Nijimura rubbed his upper arm subconsciously. “Did he miss, or what?”

“I guess. I was able to push him out of the way so the worst didn’t happen.”

“You…” He whirled around and stared at him. “Thank you.”

Mayuzumi only shrugged.

It was beginning to fall into place.

“The keys,” Nijimura said, breaking the silence. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

Mayuzumi exhaled, leaning against the railing. “Yeah. It was.”

Nijimura bit his lip. “How long did you know?”

“That it was Shirogane?” Mayuzumi laughed, and Nijimura realized it was the first time he’d ever heard him laugh. “Since it happened.”

“Oh,” Nijimura said. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing.” Mayuzumi drew his hands into fists and let them go. “I saw what happened, and I didn’t do anything. I played alongside his killer, and I didn’t do shit about it.” It was, Nijimura knew, the first and last time he’d ever talk about Akashi’s death. The first and last time he’d tell the truth of Akashi’s death.

“You were afraid. It’s alright.”

Mayuzumi shook his head. “I wasn’t just afraid. I was selfish. He threatened me, and I let him. I just didn’t want to die. That was all I thought about.”

Nijimura looked at him again. How much guilt had he carried? Nijimura had never really stopped to think. He wasn’t the only one with Akashi’s death on his back.

(“It s not your fault.”)

“He forgave you,” Nijimura said.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

They looked at each other again, and Mayuzumi pushed himself away from the railing. “I’m going to go inside. Are you gonna come with me?”

“Give me a minute,” Nijimura said. When Mayuzumi was gone, he said, hesitantly, “Akashi?”

He had to strain his eyes to see Akashi standing in front of him. All detail from his Rakuzan jersey was gone, but he was smiling. Was it happy? He couldn’t tell.

“Hey,” Nijimura said. There was too much and too little to say. He was afraid to close his eyes in case Akashi was gone when he opened them.

They stood like that for longer than they had time. This time, the regret hit him in full. He regretted everything he said that he hadn’t meant, but there was no time. There was just him, and Akashi, and the rooftop. He knew Akashi understood, knew Akashi always had.

“So it’s done.” They met eyes. “Time for you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

If things had been different, if Akashi had been alive…

Akashi shut his eyes, still smiling.“I suppose.”

What would Akashi’s hand have felt like in his own? A year wasn’t a long time at all. A year wasn’t enough.

“I don’t think,” Akashi said, opening his eyes again, “that I said thank you.” He was staring at Nijimura, as if trying to remember every detail and sound of the moment. Akashi had almost gone transparent.

“I don’t think I did, either,” Nijimura said. He scratched the back of his neck again. For a foolish moment he willed time to stop. “So. Thanks.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

Neither of them were ready, he knew. No one lived forever.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell anything to your teammates for you?”

Akashi hummed a tune Nijimura would never forget. “You’ve already told them everything I have to say.”

He wanted to say something - anything - to make it last, to preserve Akashi’s smiling face in amber and words.

What a joke. Nijimura closed his eyes for a long moment and opened them again. “I think that… I think I was meant to walk into that room.” To meet you.

Akashi laughed. Had it always sounded so soft? “Do you, now?”

It must have been an insult to Akashi, for him to play along with the idea of fate. Nijimura felt his face heating up. “I know it’s dumb.”

“It’s not.”

He knew without a doubt that he would do it again and again and again if he had to.

“Nijimura? Are you there?”

Nijimura shut his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Even with his eyes closed, he could imagine Akashi’s smile.

“Thank you. I mean it.”

He thought he felt a warm hand caressing the side of his face, but perhaps it was only the wind.

When he opened his eyes again, he was alone.