Work Text:
The letter isn’t addressed to anyone in particular.
It’s been a reoccuring problem. He’s written a couple before, though he’s always taken care to shred or burn them when they went unused. And each time, he never knew who to direct it to. His parents? His friends? The world at large?
It’s just some platitudes, a few reassurances, and a goodbye.
It’s not your fault, I’m sorry, goodbye…
He doesn’t like to go into details, and he hates the thought of writing down his full thoughts. Most people already see him as a crybaby and a coward, if they knew the way he thinks, too… Just imagining it makes him break into a cold sweat.
He genuinely considered it this time, though.
Just a few lines to explain. To make them understand.
I ruined my parents’ lives just by existing. I’m scared of ruining yours, too.
I waste their time and money. I can never do anything properly.
Just getting out of bed is hard. I’m exhausted even when I do nothing.
I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. When I’m happy, it’s still not enough.
I can’t do it anymore. I’m too weak.
I’m sorry.
But when he thinks about it, it all sounds like excuses. All he can picture is his parents’ and friends’ disgusted faces: oh, so he was like that, wondering why they ever bothered to spend time and effort on someone like him, finally realizing he’s not worth it.
Sometimes, he has dreams of himself as an adult. Over a decade older, still laying around in bed in his parents’ house, in a bedroom filled with trash and rotting leftovers. A dead man walking, draining his parents’ bank account.
So in the end, he says nothing.
It’s not your fault, I’m sorry, goodbye, that’s all. Drawing the curtains close and putting an end to this ridiculous act.
But even in the end, he’s still a coward.
Today is not the day either.
He’d done everything right, too, for once. Finished his letter in passable handwriting, made sure to check all the faucets and turn off the heater, cleaned up the apartment — he’s even timed things perfectly so there’s no more perishable food.
But.
He took his phone up to the rooftop.
He’s not sure why. He doesn’t need it. His name and address are already written on the goodbye letter, so it wouldn’t be useful to the authorities either.
He just took it.
And then, as he was about to sling a first leg over the railing, shoes already taken off and neatly placed on top of his letter, his phone pinged.
New email!
From: Chifuyu-kun
Subject: let’s hang out tomorrow! :D
let’s go to the arcade together tomorrow!
hakkai already agreed. mitsuya-kun might come too. baji-san is busy tho :(
this time I’ll definitely beat you at street fighter >:)
Takemichi stared at that message long enough for his fingers to go numb from the cold.
In the end, here he is.
Shoes haphazardly put back on, clenching his letter and phone in a tight grip, and legs shaking from adrenaline.
No longer on the rooftop.
He can’t tell where he is, exactly. Somewhere in between that apartment rooftop and the nearest convenience store, sitting down on a bench under a street light, a melon soda can freezing the side of his thigh.
The store clerk asked him if anything was wrong. Still shaking, Takemichi could only stutter out a simple hello and goodbye. That guy must have thought he was insane.
He must be.
Insane.
Takemichi holds his flip phone open, staring at Chifuyu’s email.
Let’s hang out tomorrow!
He can hear it in Chifuyu’s voice. Happy and smiling, excited and confident.
Takemichi’s thumb hovers over the reply button, but he doesn’t know what he would even say.
Right now, if he doesn’t answer, he could pretend he never saw that email.
Go back up, remove his shoes, straighten the wrinkled letter.
How long would it take for Chifuyu to learn about his death? Would he ever realize what happened?
That Takemichi’s last thoughts were of him. Of their friends. One last joyful day together.
In Takemichi’s mind, two paths open up:
In one future, he climbs back up that apartment building and commits suicide. Some unfortunate person discovers his corpse. His parents are called. Eventually the funeral is held, his friends say goodbye. The world moves on and Takemichi no longer has to suffer.
Chifuyu never gets the chance to beat him at Street Fighter.
In another future, Takemichi burns his suicide letter and goes back home. He goes to the arcade tomorrow with his friends. He smiles. Until the next attempt. He never commits suicide, just tethers on the edge for the rest of his life — or until all his friends realize what kind of person he is.
Eventually, everyone leaves him.
Takemichi blinks slowly, eyes dry.
For some reason…
Why…
Why are both futures unbearable to him?
Takemichi drinks the last of his melon soda. It tastes awfully sweet, somewhat bitter. He doesn’t like it.
It’s actually Mikey’s usual choice.
He just… bought it out of habit.
He picks up his phone and dials Chifuyu’s number. The call is quickly picked up.
“Yo, partner! What’s up? Baji-san, pause the game! It’s Takemitchy.”
There’s the faint sound of Baji’s voice in the background.
Takemichi’s mind runs blank.
“Hello? Takemitchy? Did you accidentally call me or something?”
“Chi… fuyu-kun…”
There’s a pause, then Chifuyu’s voice changes.
“Takemitchy? Did you get jumped again? Where are you?”
“No… I’m fine…”
“Yeah? You don’t sound fine though. You know I’m used to cleaning things up for you, so just tell me already if something happened! Ah, Baji-san— don’t! He called me, not you!”
There’s the familiar sound of teenage boys roughhousing. Takemichi listens, still blinking dry eyes.
He opens his mouth slowly.
“Chifuyu-kun… can we… are you… available…? Right now…”
“Huh? Sure? Is someone using you as a hostage for an ambush or something?”
“No, I just…”
Takemichi looks down at his empty soda can. He thinks about the convenience store employee who asked him if he was alright.
“I just…”
He thinks about the people who will discover his corpse.
“I…”
He thinks about his suicide letter.
About the faces his friends will make when they read it.
It’s not your fault, I’m sorry, goodbye.
He thinks about Chifuyu not having anyone to play Street Fighter with.
He thinks about ten years later, being nothing but a faint memory.
His voice shakes. “Chifuyu-kun…”
“Takemitchy? Wait—”
“I think… I need help…?”
“You… you think? Takemitchy, where are you? Are you hurt? Baji-san, it’s serious, lemme go—”
Takemichi tries to breathe through the tightening of his chest. Cold sweat goes down his spine, even his scalp has gone numb. Through the darkness of the night, dark shadows take forms and swirl together. The soda can crinkles by itself, last bubbles popping inside.
“Chifuyu-kun…”
“Takemitchy, Baji-san and I are coming, alright? Where are you? Do we need to take a first aid kit?”
His head swirls uneasily. He imagines Chifuyu and Baji seeing him like this, just sitting in the dark with a suicide letter and an empty soda can.
“It’s okay, you don’t need to come… I’m… I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Hah!? You hit your head or what!? If you need help, then you need help! D’you need the first aid kit?”
“…No.”
“Okay. Baji-san and I are coming to help you. Where are you?”
In a daze, Takemichi looks around. “Ah, I… I don’t know… The convenience store near my home… somewhere around that.”
“Alright! We’re coming over!” There’s the familiar sound of a motorcycle motor being turned on, followed by Chifuyu giving directions to Baji.
Takemichi listens in silence, heart beating in his ears.
There’s still enough time. Right now, he could get up and walk back to his apartment building. Even if Baji and Chifuyu speed over, in the time it would take to give up on finding him and go to his home instead, he would already be long dead.
Takemichi shivers with the weight of that decision.
Just getting up. A few minutes of walking. Jumping.
It would be all over.
Just get up.
Get up. Get up. Get up.
Instead, Takemichi brings his feet up on the bench and hugs his knees.
If he gets rid of the suicide letter, he could pretend it’s just him wanting to hang out, or being a weirdo, or— whatever. He could brush it all off. Chifuyu’s concern, his own behavior. Everything would go back to normal, nothing would have to change.
His flip phone falls out of his slackened grip, hitting the pavement with a crash that resonates in his head.
Takemichi stares down at it. All four of his limbs shake harder now than they do in gang fights. He can hear the faint sound of Chifuyu’s voice coming from the receiver.
If he… walks away now. Or if he hides that letter.
If he gains back that facade…
…They’ll all be able to pretend nothing happened. The world will continue on turning, no one will ever know.
Move.
You have to move.
He can’t move.
A dark weight has settled in his chest; just breathing is difficult. How can he bear the gravity of that choice? It’s too much. To change his world forever, or to continue down that dark path to the point of no return.
Takemichi closes his eyes and hides his face in his knees.
It’s no use. He can’t think right now.
No matter what happens, he’ll just accept it.
If they hate him. If they accept him. If they abandon him.
If he’s alone…
Then…
If he’s alone from now on, it’s fine. Then, he’ll have nothing holding him back. He’ll be able to leave with no regrets. Everything will be fine.
By the time the sound of a motorcycle draws close, Takemichi has finished crying. Hugging his knees loosely, he stares into the darkness of the night listlessly. Even as the bike comes to a stop and someone throws themself off of it, he just stares at the ground, silent.
“Takemitchy!”
Chifuyu’s familiar voice, accompanied by running footsteps. From his peripheral vision, he sees a blur of movement, then something warm hits Takemichi’s side.
The empty melon soda can is knocked off the bench, rolling away. Takemichi watches it listlessly.
An arm is slung over his back, bringing him closer to Chifuyu’s chest. In an instant, maybe due to the lack of answer, Chifuyu has become somber. He just holds Takemichi by the shoulder, other hand hovering uncertainly.
“Hey man,” Chifuyu says. “Takemitchy, you hurt anywhere? What happened?”
Another set of footsteps comes closer.
Baji.
Takemichi feels his gaze on them, studious and silent the way he seldom is.
Now that they’re here, Takemichi’s heart fills with regret.
A tight noose has formed over his throat, but if only he could hang himself with it. He tries to repeat to himself: whatever happens, happens. If they hate him, it’s fine.
It’s fine.
It’s fine…
Takemichi hides his face in his knees, dry-eyed.
Chifuyu takes his reaction badly, swearing. “Fuck, the hell happened?”
“Hey,” Baji suddenly calls out, “I can take that paper, right?”
“Paper?”
Chifuyu moves against him. Takemichi stays motionless, letting them do as they wish. The letter is slowly removed from his tight grip, careful not to let the paper rip.
His hand goes slack.
There’s the sound of paper being unfolded.
Then, silence.
He can’t move, can’t think. He feels thrown under the current, pressure crushing his skull, brain turned into mush. Frozen in time, a warm hand suddenly feeling cold as ice on a body he’s no longer inhabiting. He wants to disappear.
He wants everything to stop.
Is he making the right choice? He doesn’t know.
He never knows anymore.
It’s all become too much. He can never do anything right.
Even simple things have become nightmares. Getting out of bed, making the right expressions, answering phone messages.
It’s too much. He’s turned useless.
“Oh.”
Chifuyu’s shaky exhale breaks through the frozen clock.
Takemichi closes his eyes.
“Partner… that… that’s a suicide letter…?”
The silence stretches on.
“Yeah, it is,” Baji says in his place. “He even put his full name and address.”
Unable to answer, Takemichi keeps his head against his knees.
Chifuyu shifts against him. He wraps both arms around him, one against his back and the other around his legs. Hair tickles his nape as Chifuyu leans his head close.
Being held so tightly… Takemichi inhales slowly, and shakes on the exhale.
“Takemitchy,” Chifuyu calls, sounding wretched. “Man, just tell me, is it true? You really… Since when? Were you… Tonight? Fuck.”
“Calm down,” Baji says. His voice sounds closer.
From the corner of his eye, Takemichi sees Baji crouch down in front of him.
“What was it? Drugs?” Baji asks.
After a moment of silence, he gently shakes Takemichi’s ankle.
“C’mon, just answer me that. Did you take anything? Drugs, alcohol, that kinda thing?”
Takemichi slowly shakes his head.
“Okay, good.”
“Baji-san…” Chifuyu says weakly.
“Chifuyu, call an ambulance.”
Takemichi doesn’t even have the energy to be surprised at the turn of events. All of his frenzied worry has turned into the usual apathy.
He hears Chifuyu take his phone out and input two numbers, hovering over the last.
“Chifuyu?”
“What about his parents?” Chifuyu asks. “Won’t the hospital call them?”
Baji stays silent for a moment. The tension drags on. Chifuyu is stiff against his side.
“You ever meet his parents?” Baji asks.
“No… There’s no picture of them at home. Just a shrine for his grandparents…”
“Fuck’s sake,” Baji curses. “Okay, never mind. We’ll see for the hospital once he’s calmed down a bit.”
“What should we do then…? Takemitchy? Partner?” Chifuyu shakes him gently. “Why isn’t he saying anything? He was talking on the phone…”
“You know where he lives right?” Baji says instead of answering. “Let’s get him home.”
Chifuyu makes a frustrated noise but complies. He squeezes Takemichi’s shoulder, jostling him. “Partner, c’mon. Let’s go home, okay?”
He puts his hands on Takemichi’s arms, gently coaxing him into uncurling. The gesture is so gentle that Takemichi doesn’t even try to put up a fight, letting his knees fall back to the ground. The cold night air attacks his exposed, wet face. His eyes sting.
At the sight of his face, Chifuyu inhales sharply, but his voice stays calm and gentle. “C’mon. I’ll carry you back home. Just like usual, right?”
With movements that speak of years of friendship and some help from Baji, Chifuyu maneuvers Takemichi onto his back, arms around his neck and legs supported by Chifuyu’s deceptively strong arms.
“Baji-san, I’ll carry Takemitchy back home.”
“Alright. I need to get the bike over to his house. Call me if something happens. Don’t let him run off.”
“Right. Baji-san, you take his keys.”
Baji searches through Takemichi’s pockets and fishes out his house keys. He turns and begins his way towards the motorcycle, while Chifuyu starts walking.
Takemichi’s mouth opens on its own.
“Litter…”
Both Baji and Chifuyu snap to attention.
“What’s up?”
“Litter…” Takemichi repeats slowly, voice rough with unshed tears. “The soda can…”
“Oh, right. Baji-san, there was a soda can that fell…”
After some searching, Baji picks up the soda can and crushes it one-handed. He puts it in his pocket to throw away later. “Damn, so conscious about the environment? You sure are a good boy, Takemitchy.”
“It’s just…” Takemichi starts to explain himself without thinking. He trails off.
Chifuyu shrugs his shoulders to jostle him. “Just what?”
“…Naoto scolded me about it.”
“Naoto? Who’s that? Classmate?”
Takemichi blinks slowly, then closes his eyes. “…Hina’s little brother.”
“Ah right, I remember now,” Chifuyu says. “Met him a few times. The kid who wants to be a detective, right?”
This time, Takemichi doesn’t answer. His mind latches onto the thought of Hina.
Hina, Hina, Hina…
Takemichi inhales, and just like that, the tears are back. Silent and cold, rolling down his cheeks and dripping into Chifuyu’s collar. He tucks his head against his friend’s neck, hugging him tightly across his chest.
Hina.
All he’s ever wanted to say.
I’m sorry. I love you. It’s not your fault. Thank you so much.
Goodbye.
Chifuyu’s back trembles under him. He feels Chifuyu turn towards Baji, voice coming out a bit wobbly.
“Baji-san, we’ll be going.”
Even Baji sounds rattled. “Alright.”
Chifuyu begins to walk again. The feeling is so familiar and nostalgic, what feels like a thousand gang wars settling on their shoulders, fighting and laughing together. Growing up together. Becoming stronger together.
But why does it feel like Takemichi only ever grows weaker?
Weaker and more pathetic, needy, immature in front of all his friends.
Why are they able to stand so effortlessly against everything, while Takemichi struggles to put one foot in front of the other? Always crying, always stumbling, constantly needing someone to have his back. Looking at their backs as they manage to live on, leaving him behind.
He wishes he were more like them.
He wishes he were someone else.
He wishes someone else could take his place.
If someone else had all the chances he’s had, all the friends and support he’s had, they would be thriving. But because it’s someone as weak and pathetic as him… it’s all wasted.
Takemichi inhales shakily, blinking wet eyelashes against Chifuyu’s nape.
Chifuyu shivers. “Hey partner,” he says softly. “You’re so cold. How long have you been out there, eh? Feels like I’ve got a freezing blanket over my back.”
Takemichi scrambles to get his words back in order.
“…Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for that. S’not your fault. Baji-san and I should have found you earlier, or at least lent our jackets. You’re not too cold, right?”
Takemichi’s melted brain struggles to keep up. “…Since your e-mail. A bit before that.”
“Huh?” Chifuyu goes silent for a moment, then clarifies: “You mean, when I asked you to hang out at the arcade tomorrow?”
“Yeah…”
Chifuyu laughs, then curses. “Fuck. Seriously? That was hours ago.” His hands clench onto Takemichi’s legs.
For some reason, Takemichi continues talking: “I was… on that building. With the letter… and I… I just thought…”
He trails off.
“You thought?”
“I just thought…” Takemichi’s eyes grow wet again. Now that he says it aloud, it sounds so stupid. “…You would never be able to beat me at Street Fighter. That’s all…”
Chifuyu’s chest startles with a repressed sob, but he tries to play it cool. He swallows. “Yeah? That’s… So it… came this close… Fuck. Fuck. I’ll… I’ll let you win all the Street Fighter matches, okay? We’ll go to the arcade every day if we need to. Just don’t—”
Takemichi instinctually squeezes his arms around his friend’s chest, but inside, his heart and mind are a mess.
“Sorry,” he says, not knowing what else to say.
How can he properly explain what’s in his heart?
All the anguish he feels at hurting his friends, at knowing that he doesn’t deserve their companionship?
How long will it take before they realize? Before he stops needlessly hurting them? He wants them to hate him, but he doesn’t want them to hate him. He wants to stop everything — everything but them.
He tilts his head away from Chifuyu’s nape, letting the cold air touch him, and looks up at the sky, dark, no stars visible from the pollution.
“Wish I could stop time,” he says.
“Yeah? Why?”
Takemichi sniffles. “Dunno.”
Chifuyu laughs breathlessly.
Now that Takemichi’s vision is freed, he can see Chifuyu’s face. The street lamps and neon lights from the 24-hour stores reflect on his cheeks — wet. He’s been crying, too.
“Sorry,” Takemichi says again.
Chifuyu tilts his head to the side and meets his gaze.
He looks… shattered into pieces, eyes wavy and unfocused. Panicked in a way he rarely is — not even in a losing fight. “Don’t apologize, man. It’s not your fault.”
He faces forward again. Takemichi hides his face against his neck and feels Chifuyu’s chest move with shaky exhales.
“Look. We’re home.”
Takemichi peeks and sees his home in the distance, glowing with solitude. Every other house is dark and quiet, asleep. Baji’s motorcycle is parked near the door.
As they’re nearing the front steps, Chifuyu begins speaking again, voice low and resolute.
“Don’t worry, partner. It’s all gonna be okay. Baji-san and I, all our friends, we’re always gonna be here for you, you know? You don’t have to be afraid. Even if time doesn’t stop, we’re not… we’re never gonna leave you. Not for this, and not for anything. Got it?”
Takemichi slowly lifts his head from Chifuyu’s shoulder.
“Chifuyu… I…”
How did Chifuyu read his mind so effortlessly?
Chifuyu tilts his head and meets his gaze. “Got it?”
Caught in that familiar dark gaze, Takemichi can only duck his head back down and hide. Chifuyu laughs again — that weird laugh that sounds more panicked than amused, like he doesn’t know what else he can do.
Face hidden, Takemichi only hears the sound of a door opening, then Baji’s voice.
“Hey.”
“Hey Baji-san.”
They both sound disheartened.
This is all his fault.
The door closes behind them. Chifuyu walks them over to the living room, Baji following close behind.
“How is he?” Baji asks. “Didn’t try to run off?”
“No. We talked a little.” Chifuyu suddenly stops and turns around. He crouches down. “C’mon, hop off.”
Takemichi listlessly lets himself fall backward and onto the couch, feeling lethargic enough to fall asleep. Having to so suddenly take his face away from the comfort of Chifuyu’s nape, the bright light makes his eyes sting. He folds his knees and hides his face again.
Baji and Chifuyu stand in front of him, unnervingly silent.
Then, Baji sighs and crouches down in front of him, catching his gaze. “Hey, Takemitchy. How you doing?”
“Baji-san…”
“Chifuyu, go get some water.”
Chifuyu leaves the room and heads to the kitchen. Takemichi hears the tap open and a glass being filled.
“Takemitchy,” Baji calls, deathly serious. “I know this must be scary as hell right now, that you must be all confused and stuff. I mean…”
His seriousness breaks as he ruffles the hair on the back of his hair, looking frustrated.
Chifuyu comes back carrying a glass of water.
He sits down next to him and the couch sinks a little, making Takemichi slightly slide towards him. Chifuyu takes the opportunity to put an arm over his shoulder, hugging him gently.
“Hey partner. Drink a little?”
Takemichi looks at the glass of water silently. He doesn’t move.
Chifuyu purses his lips but doesn’t insist.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Baji says, catching both their attention. “Takemichi’s going to try and sleep a little, and then in the morning we’ll talk and figure out what to do. Okay?”
“Baji-san, we’re really not doing anything?”
“We really should call an ambulance or something,” Baji says, sighing. “Damn it, we’re not… We can’t do shit about any of this. Fuck.”
Takemichi blinks slowly, lowering his eyes. Chifuyu is tense against him.
Baji’s right.
He shouldn’t have called them. He should have just jumped.
“It’s, like, brain chemistry and stuff. We don’t even know what it is,” Baji says, frustrated. “Just… Just… Damn it. And don’t start blaming yourself, Takemitchy. It’s good that you called Chifuyu. We want you alive, okay?”
Chifuyu nods. “Yeah! Baji-san’s right! Thank you for calling me.”
Takemichi lifts his head slightly to glance in between the two, but quickly hides his face again. They’re looking at him so seriously that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He hears silence, followed by Baji standing up.
“You look exhausted. Drink some water and then go to sleep. Chifuyu, you stay with him.”
“Got it.”
Baji leaves the room, heading towards the bathroom. Takemichi barely has the time to wonder what he’s doing, when Chifuyu catches his attention by squeezing his shoulder.
“Hey partner. Drink some?”
Takemichi just hugs his knees tighter.
Chifuyu waits for a beat longer, then leans away. There’s the sound of glass on wood, then Chifuyu returns, this time using both hands. He gently pushes Takemichi’s knees away from his face. Takemichi lets him, drained and eyes lowered.
“Takemitchy,” Chifuyu calls again.
Takemichi finally dares to lift his eyes. “Sorry…”
“Like I said, don’t be sorry.”
He still looks sad, eyes red and puffy. When was the last time Takemichi saw him cry? When they watched that sad movie, a few days ago? Or was it years ago, when the whole thing with Kazutora and Baji was happening? And now, Takemichi is making him sad once again.
At the thought, tears fill up his eyes.
“Sorry,” Takemichi says again, voice wobbly. “Sorry. Chifuyu, I’m sorry, I… I… I shouldn’t…”
Chifuyu draws him closer into a hug, arms closing around his back and squeezing tight.
“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Takemichi continues, muffled by Chifuyu’s collar. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault… I don’t know why… I just…”
So close to his friend’s chest, he hears Chifuyu’s heartbeat, loud and fast-paced. Chifuyu rubs gentle circles into his back, sending shivers down his spine. He still feels so cold.
“You just?” Chifuyu prompts.
“I just… shouldn’t… I should… be able to handle this on my own… I don’t know why…” Takemichi babbles into his friend’s neck, trembling hands gripping his shirt. “I don’t know what to do… I don’t know why… why am I like this… I don’t want to…” He takes a shuddering breath and stops.
He shouldn’t talk. He already knows it’s all nonsense.
Here’s the truth: Takemichi is weak. Everyone knows that.
Yet, they don’t seem to realize how weak he is. They think it’s physical — always getting beaten, never really winning — but it’s not just that. He’s weak in everything that matters. Can’t do anything right, constantly struggling to put on a brave face; when was the last time his body wasn’t filled with dread?
This constant internal fight, the perpetual feeling of disquiet weighing on everything he does. Smiling and laughing while half of his mind is still underwater. A thrice-faced heart, of fake normalcy, ceaseless anxiety, and gnawing emptiness.
And all he has to show are discarded letters and a messy room.
But what’s the use of explaining that?
Making excuses, that’s all it is.
Isn’t he pathetic enough?
So Takemichi shuts his mouth and just grips Chifuyu’s shirt in trembling fists.
Chifuyu sighs softly, then stops patting his back, leaning away to take the glass of water again. “C’mon, just drink a little. Then we can go to sleep.”
Takemichi finally accepts the glass of water. He drinks slowly, taking long breaks in between each sip. His throat hurts, tight like a noose, making each swallow painful. He stops once the glass is half empty.
Before he can realize what’s happening, Chifuyu has pushed him onto his feet and is helping him to his bedroom. Takemichi stumbles and falls onto his mattress.
Curling upon himself, he watches Chifuyu finally take off his jacket and shoes, looking around the room as he does.
“It’s really clean,” he says.
Takemichi blinks slowly, lethargic. “…Yeah. Didn’t want to… leave a mess behind…”
Chifuyu’s jaw clenches as he swallows. “Right.”
He walks closer, then climbs upon the bed. He hesitates, then lays down close to Takemichi, facing him. Even though they’ve already been this close before, the sudden proximity still feels strange, like Takemichi’s heart has suddenly been stripped naked.
He closes his eyes.
It’s too much. It’s all too much.
Just being close to someone is enough to bring him down.
Pathetic.
He feels the mattress move under him, then Chifuyu’s arms wrap around him. Chifuyu moves him around, until Takemichi finds himself secure in his friend’s embrace. Tight and warm enough to sweat, a loud heartbeat against his ear, steady breathing above his head…
The bedroom door has been left open. Takemichi can still hear Baji moving about.
Paired with the warmth of someone’s arms around him, the sound of someone other than him living in this empty house…
Tears fall from Takemichi’s closed eyelids.
How nostalgic.
If only time could stop…
If only this nostalgic dream could last forever, and he would never have to face tomorrow…
If only…