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Mafuyu thought it'd be different.
He thought it'd be different after Yuki died—his relationship with music. And, in some way, it was. He met Uenoyama; he thinks that's pretty amazing. To be fair, a lot of things have changed since then. He's learned guitar, he's written his own lyrics, he's performed in front of an audience. He made a few friends, too, not to mention getting a boyfriend—a new love. Mafuyu knew Yuki would be proud of him, branching off into his own world, exploring his own interests and desires and dreams because of music. It felt as if the music that once ruined Mafuyu was building him up again, one string at a time.
But it's not perfect. It's never been perfect, and only God knows if it ever will be.
A clock could be all it takes to shatter the progress made; one glance, and it would be all over, like it never changed, like it's never gotten better.
Really, has it?
Nightmares aren't a common occurrence anymore. They're replaced with warm hugs from Uenoyama, his chest slowly rising beside Mafuyu as they hold each other close, feeling their breath intertwine. The new warmth has filled the empty and cold bed he once would lay in—that is, on the nights Uenoyama can stay over, of course.
And it's not like they fight often, if their arguments and misunderstandings can count as such. But when they do, they can go days without talking. Mafuyu doesn't think anyone understands the importance of not talking for just one day. To him, it can be all the difference, but, if it were necessary, he would lay low and wait for Uenoyama to pull him back into his arms, whispering a soft, 'I'm sorry' as he hushes Mafuyu's cries.
It was immature.
It seemed like there was no fixing it, either. The grief and guilt was engraved in Mafuyu's heart, no matter how hard he tried to etch it away. It was unbearable at times. Those nights he would go home after school, only to be met with an empty house, hurt the most. Uenoyama had practice with SYH more often as time went on, and Mafuyu knew that those practices would lead to a performance with Shizu and Hiiragi. It felt as if Mafuyu was locked out of his life.
Just like before.
And just like before, Mafuyu was beginning to resent music. It was tearing them apart. It was a barrier. And before he knew it, Uenoyama would be gone, too. Just like before. Mafuyu would sit in his bed, hoping his phone was just simply left on silent, attempting to explain the lack of texts from his boyfriend, deluding himself to believe they were merely hard at work all night. Working hard to deliver the best performance they can as a band. Just like Yuki had.
Was it selfish? Was it selfish to want to convince Uenoyama to quit? That was certainly selfish. His own selfish thoughts, blaming his brain on everyone else. Mafuyu knows only he can control it.
Maybe he wouldn't go to the performance.
After all, action means irreversible change. Delusion, on the other hand, prevents action.
To Mafuyu, it was foolproof. But Uenoyama wasn't a fool. Mafuyu's plan would protect himself and himself only. The show would mean a lot to Uenoyama, he was the one working for it. He was the one who spent hours each day, pushing himself to be the best he can possibly be. And what had Mafuyu done? Try to convince himself he wasn't a horrible person for hating seeing his boyfriend practicing what he loved?
He was so conflicted. Part of him wanted to prove himself wrong, that he can get past his past. But another part wanted to curl into a ball on the floor, waiting for the inevitable day to come and be over with.
Mafuyu ignored Uenoyama on Monday, and on Tuesday, too. He caught a glimpse of him walking to lunch on Wednesday, but Mafuyu felt his heart stop and quickly averted to the nurse instead. It made his stomach sick to look at him.
Why was he so awful?
How could his boyfriend, with his warm embrace and thoughtful affirmations, with his soft kisses and gentle touches, with his stubbly undercut and blistered fingertips that made Mafuyu swoon, suddenly become such a stiff conduit to evoke the worst emotions out of him? What had happened? What happened to him? What happened to them?
It's just like before.
He hates music.