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There were bad days. That seemed inevitable. No matter how many years passed, no matter how much they healed, there would still be bad days.
They had been through too much. Even if the wounds did not bleed anymore, they left scars.
Sometimes, they happened without a reason. When they couldn’t attribute it to fatigue from too much work, or to some difficult case that brought back bad memories. Sometimes they just happened. And they woke up one day with a too vivid memory in their minds, with melancholy in their hearts.
And they would help each other, and they would take care of each other. And they would survive. But the bad days would still be there.
That could happen to any of them. When it happened to Ryunosuke, he was even more tactile than usual. As if he didn't dare to let his boyfriends go. As if he feared that if he freed them, he would lose them forever.
When it happened to Barok, they were bitter days. His boyfriends would do anything to keep him company, and to keep him away from the bottle.
About Kazuma… he was good at hiding it. He knew how to conceal it, and he spent time with his boyfriends as if it was any other day. And the love and care they always shared with him used to help, made it all a little easier.
But that day, however, each kiss made a cold fear grow inside him.
He had woken up with the bitter memory of his amnesia. Of his days without a name, without memories, without being able to show his face. Like an empty shell of a human.
During breakfast he looked at Ryunosuke. His smile, the sparkle in his eyes. His kisses, the caresses of his hands. And a part of Kazuma's heart wondered how he could have forgotten all of that. How could he have forgotten him.
It hurt, like a heaviness on his chest.
Barok walked him to his apartment when they got off work. He asked if he could stay for dinner, then for the night, and he did.
The prosecutor had bought some good beef. Ryunosuke helped Kazuma cook it, the way he liked it. They shared a nice dinner, with Ryunosuke telling them the details of the new case he was working on.
“Only you could work on a case where the murderer is a horse” Barok had commented, followed by a small laugh. And Kazuma had laughed too, despite everything.
Dinner was delicious. The moments before going to sleep were also pleasant. Sitting in the living room, Ryunosuke allowed Kazuma to lean on his shoulder while Barok looked for something to read in the bookshelf. It was a little routine they sometimes followed, when the three of them slept together on a quiet day. Barok took some book and read aloud. A little tradition from his house when he was a child, which had been abandoned for a long time.
Sometimes the story didn't matter too much. The key was in the affection with which he read, in the little comments they made, in his deep, calm voice that relaxed them, lulled them to sleep.
Kazuma was the first one to yawn, and they decided to go to bed. Ryunosuke gave him his nightgown, just clean from earlier that day, scented with lavender. Kazuma wrapped himself in it, and then got into the sheets of the bed that wasn't wide enough for the three of them. But still, they made it work.
Perhaps they could feel that his day was being hard, and that he needed this. Because very soon Kazuma found himself being the centre of their affection. Barok drew him close to him, let him rest his head on his chest. And Ryunosuke held him in his arms, hugging him from the back. That was how the night found them.
Ryunosuke and Barok fell asleep. Kazuma couldn't. That affection that comforted him and brought him happiness was the same that kept him awake, scared, on guard.
In what little light the moon allowed to see, he searched for Ryunosuke's face. His cheek resting on his shoulder. And he tried to feel his touch, his warmth, to hold him and never let go.
He looked for Barok, too. He gazed down at his pale face, admiring every feature, every scar, as if he was trying to memorize the details of his face.
In the warmth of his arms, the cold fear kept growing. Like a frost that entered his heart, all over his chest.
The happiness he felt when he was with them, and the deep, terrifying fear of losing it. Because he had lost it all once.
I don’t want to forget this.
I can’t forget this.
Please, don’t let me forget this.