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i.
Yuuma doesn't know what makes him open up when Jin finds him on the roof of the Tamakoma branch building, but it's freeing to tell someone about his past before he leaves. The drink he's given is hot and sweet, and the Border agent isn't judgemental or pushy for more details.
The story falls from Yuuma like a confession; these people who knew his dad deserved to know how Kuga Yuugo had died saving his idiot son.
By the time his cup is empty, the stars are bright, and in the lull of the conversation Yuuma wonders what worlds exist on those small twinkling lights. For the first time in years, he's sharing this experience of insignificance with another person, close enough to hear breaths that are not his own, but taunting in the warmth that humans exude. It tugs at his chest so heavily that he almost changes his mind on leaving.
It would be comfortable to die here, but it's a waste. He has a black trigger, and he is not going to waste his dad's sacrifice; he will find another cause to fight for, and keep fighting until his time runs out, just like Yuugo had taught him.
ii.
After all that fuss, Yuuma decides to stay in Japan after all.
He doesn't sleep, so it doesn't really matter where he technically lives—it's easier to spend his free time at the Tamakoma branch, so he does, becoming a permanent fixture on the ledge of the rooftop on any given night.
It turns out that Jin is also something of an insomniac, joining Yuuma in the small hours of the morning. The first time this happens he's breathless like he's been running, brown hair sticking up haphazardly and blue eyes wide and haunted. He starts upon seeing he is not alone, but Yuuma only turns back to face the sky, wordlessly inviting the older boy to join him.
Returning the courtesy afforded to him on that first night, Yuuma doesn't push, only offering an ear and his presence. Sometimes they talk, but more often than not they don't; there is comfort in the silence of the stars, and in company that simply is. Yuuma isn't stupid, he knows what kind of burden a powerful side effect is, and he also knows the stress that comes with being the first line of defence; his abilities might not be as vast as future sight, but for Calvaria he was Yuugo's son and the Black Trigger, so he understands.
Tonight is no different with Jin sitting against the ledge which Yuuma lays on, their heads inches apart as they stare up at the same sea of lights. Yuuma stretches, jostling Replica who is resting on his chest as familiar and grounding weight, and when he turns to look at Jin, the boy is nodding off. His head keeps slipping and snapping up in intervals, and Yuuma watches with some amusement before turning to give his senior agent a poke.
"What?" Jin asks, jolting upright and sounding surprisingly awake for someone who is on the edge of drifting away.
"You should go back to bed if you're tired, Jin-san."
"I'm not tired," Jin says, blinking very slowly. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot and his gaze is unfocused, but he's stubbornly wearing the most petulant expression he can twist his face into while half asleep.
Yuuma can't help it; he laughs.
"What's so funny?" Jin narrows his eyes at him, looking like a cat squinting at the light, and Yuuma laughs harder.
"You'll hurt yourself sleeping like that, old man," Yuuma teases, nudging Replica off him and rolling off the ledge to stand in front of Jin.
"You'll hurt my feelings, calling me old when I'm not even twenty," Jin pouts, rubbing his eyes. He yawns and his jaw cracks loudly, making him scowl. "Don't say anything."
"I'm not," Yuuma bites his lip, turning to hide his amusement. A strong wind blows by, ruffling his hair as he looks out at the dark landscape, and when his gaze falls back on Jin, something has shifted on the older boy's face. Maybe his lines are softer, his hair falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, framing eyes that are wide with starlight. It takes Yuuma's breath from his nonexistent lungs, and he doesn't know what to make of this brand new feeling unfurling in his chest.
"I'll stay up a little longer, I think," Jin says quietly. "It's still early."
"It isn't," Yuuma protests, "you just dozed off for a bit so it doesn't feel like it's been that long."
This time, Jin is the one to laugh, tipping his head back against the wall to look at Yuuma with a rare, genuine smile. "Then, I'm rested and can definitely stay a little longer."
"Well, it's your choice," Yuuma shrugs, sitting back down next to Jin this time. There's a small distance between them that feels too large to breach, even though they're close enough for Yuuma to feel the warmth of Jin's body. "You're still on breakfast duty later, you know."
"Ahh, well," Jin grimaces. He tilts his head from side to side while debating before finally looking to Replica. "Replica-sensei, what time is it?"
"Twenty-one past three."
Jin's grimace grows wider.
"Why do you want to stay up so badly, anyway?" Yuuma asks.
"Well, you'll be alone then, won't you?" Jin says. The air is clear around him, and he's so shameless with this truth that Yuuma has no idea how to respond.
"Have you— have you been coming up just for...?" He stutters, then frowns because that doesn't feel right; he's only here because he has nowhere else to go, but Jin is painfully mortal and needs rest.
"No," a small lie which Jin catches himself with a lopsided smile, continuing, "well, not entirely. I have trouble sleeping anyway, and the roof was where I'd go even before you joined us."
"I figured as much."
"Don't worry about it, though; it's been nice having someone else here, too." Jin reassures before Yuuma even has time to feel guilty.
"You're avoiding the question."
"Is it so strange to not want you to be lonely?" Jin asks, giving Yuuma another crystal clear truth as he leans into the no man's land between them until their shoulders are almost touching. Yuuma's breath catches, and he wonders why he feels so strange about this—people touch him all the time, ruffling his hair, pinching his cheeks, but with Jin he feels exposed, and their proximity makes his heart race.
"I wouldn't be alone; I have Replica," he says after a long pause, knowing that the types of company are very different. Replica has been with him forever—he's like a part of his body—but Jin is different and keeps being different; keeps mattering in ways Yuuma didn't know existed before.
"Wouldn't you rather have both of us?"
"... I guess," he admits, and Jin rewards him with a grin, closing the rest of the gap to loop an arm around him. The older boy is solid and warm and soft in a way that trion bodies are not, and Yuuma finds himself relaxing into the hug instinctively, taking advantage of this comfort. "But you should still sleep."
"Yeah," Jin cedes, pulling away all too soon. It looks like he wants to say something else, but ends up deciding against it, standing with another yawn. "I guess I'll go back to bed."
"Goodnight, Jin-san," Yuuma says, already missing him.
"Goodnight, Yuuma."
iii.
It's been a while since Yuuma has been on the roof—it's actually been a while since Yuuma has even been back to the Tamakoma branch. He sits on the ledge, legs hanging off the side of the building in a familiar manner, but he still feels raw and hollow in the aftermath of the Aftokrator invasion and sitting for any length of time gives him too much time to dwell.
There's not much more he can do at this point, though.
Grief is a familiar bed now, and yet Yuuma has never been good at dealing with its sticky grasp on his being. Replica was always the one who distracted him, making sure he's always putting one foot in front of the other, marching onwards with what time he has left, but Replica isn't here anymore.
Fuck.
The thought still winds him, and Yuuma doubles over the ledge, trembling as if he's been physically struck. He misses Replica so viscerally that he doesn't feel anything at all, like his emotions have escaped him and all that is left is this shell in the shape of Kuga Yuugo's son because Kuga Yuuma died a long time ago.
Below him, the water is black. It's cloudy tonight, so not even moonlight reflects off the surface.
Someone else steps onto the roof behind him. Yuuma doesn't need to turn to deduce who it is.
"Yuuma," Jin's voice carries on the stiff breeze. His footsteps are loud as he makes his way to the edge where Yuuma is folded over, careful not to surprise him. He leans against the ledge, once again putting that too-close yet not-close-enough distance between them. "You're supposed to be resting."
"I don't need rest."
"That's what you said before you collapsed earlier today," Jin says, worry in his voice. His gaze is hot on Yuuma's skin, and guilt prickles Yuuma's conscience.
"I miscalculated how much trion I was using," Yuuma explains, still not looking up. "I've recovered it now."
"This is the first time you've stopped working since the invasion. It's been an entire week."
"I—"
"I hear Megane-kun woke up earlier today, too." Jin interrupts him, and Yuuma freezes. He's not visited Osamu yet, either, using the excuse of being busy whenever he's asked. The reminder makes his guilt bloom into nausea and the dizziness from earlier returns very suddenly.
Jin is already there to catch him as he tips forward.
"Shit, Yuuma, you said you were fine."
Hazily, Yuuma registers Jin shaking as the older boy holds him, pulling them off the ledge. He tries to stand, but Jin's arms are wrapped tightly around him and being in an embrace only makes him weaker. His body betrays him, sinking deeper into the comfort of another person, breathing in the familiar smell of Jin.
"I- I am," he says, and he feels Jin's scoff reverberate through him.
"You make up the most ridiculous lies."
"I will be," Yuuma insists, "I don't need rest, my trion replenishes on its own, I just need to spend less than I recover—"
"I'm not talking about your trion." Jin's grip tightens. "Yuuma, you're going to really hurt yourself if you keep pushing yourself so hard."
"I'm not."
"You're strong, Yuuma, but you need to be kinder to yourself. You've got a bright future ahead, you know."
He's not lying.
And yet, Yuuma is struggling to see just what in his future is bright. He sits in silence, listening to the heartbeat under his head and missing his own. The artificial heartbeat of his trion body is just not solid enough, not strong enough to really feel like it belongs to him, and is just another in a long list of things that make him feel like an imposter in this body.
Jin's fingers trace his cheeks under his eyes, wiping away tears that he did not realise had fallen.
"Oh," Yuuma breathes, surprised. "I-I didn't know I could still do this." He blinks rapidly, trying to push the tears back— he hasn't cried since before his own death, his eyes dry even when he watched his dad crumble to dust before him.
"It's okay," Jin says gently, catching his tears as they fall. "I'm sorry."
Yuuma sniffs, remembering the apology Jin had given only days previous when he realised that looking for Replica in the ruins of the city was a fool's errand. It's my fault, he had said, and Yuuma had shaken his head at the time; I told him to help Osamu and Chika. What he did was his own decision, and I'm proud of him. He tries to say the reassurance again, but all that comes out is a sob, and he curls into himself away from Jin's kind touches.
Replica was made to be his partner, accompanying him for as long as he could remember—Yuugo knew that the life he had chosen was dangerous, so Replica was supposed to act in his place should something happen. And something did happen. For those years after dad's death, it was Replica who supported and took care of him, who knew what he needed without being told, and who helped him survive to who he is today. Losing Replica means that he's lost them both all over again, ripping open the scar that had sealed his grief away and letting it flood out anew.
What he manages to say is; "I don't blame you," and then what falls out after that is a cry, so guttural it doesn't sound like it came out of his throat, and it doesn't stop. He's never cried this hard before; even as a child he was stubborn to a fault, something his dad had fondly told him he'd inherited from his mom.
He's worlds away from that spark of a memory now.
Yuuma scrunches himself into a tight ball and screams into his chest, fingers buried in his hair and twisting until his scalp burns, howling desperately to try and expel this terrible emotion from his body. He hopes that letting it all out would make it stop, but all it does is hurt.
He doesn't relax so much as he wears himself out, screaming until he is dizzy and breathless, and then some more. Jin is with him the entire time, gently rocking him and running his fingers through his hair, murmuring softly words that Yuuma is too distressed to catch. There's a comfort in simply being held through his tears as he's wailing, and later he will wonder if it's because of Jin that he's even able to let them out in the first place; the walls around his emotions are strong because they have to be, but they're softened by the older boy's presence, finally caving in after years of holding back the tide.
Yuuma gains consciousness with a weight over his torso and hair tickling his forehead. Waking is not something he's used to anymore, even if this is the second time in the last day alone, and though he finds himself disoriented he is comfortable.
He must have passed out again on the roof.
Pushing the shame aside, he opens his eyes to find Jin sleeping softly, looking more relaxed than Yuuma has ever seen him. This isn't the carefree Super-Elite Agent Jin, but it's not a nightmare and worry laden Jin either, sitting neutrally in the middle neither smiling or frowning. He's— he's got a really nice face, Yuuma thinks with a blush. His lashes flutter as he dreams, and his mouth is in a small pout as he snores lightly. It takes everything within Yuuma not to touch the rosy pink of Jin's cheeks.
Instead, he closes his eyes, letting himself luxuriate in this new experience where he is wrapped in warmth and the familiar scent of Jin. The blanket feels softer when there's two of them under it, and the older boy's arm makes a good pillow under his head.
It's not quite sleeping, but it's a lot nicer than the emptiness he found on the roof.
iv.
Tamakoma is in high spirits over their squad's win against Kakizaki Squad and Katori Squad, and the success with their new techniques; next, Hyuse will be joining them for his debut, and they'll be making another big splash in the Rank Wars. Yuuma is confident that they'll be able to pull off a few more wins, especially now that Osamu has gotten over his slump.
He can still hear the chatter from below, indistinct yelling and laughing that he doesn't quite feel a part of, even when he was in the midst of it.
Idly, he touches his side again, still half expecting there to be nothing but air. He hasn't had phantom pains this badly since the first year after dad's death, and there isn't a war for him to distract himself with here. He squeezes it as hard as he can, clawing at where it hurts in an attempt to match the injury and let his regeneration heal both. It doesn't work, but maybe he just isn't scraping hard enough—
The sound of the door opening again makes him jump, and he snatches his hand away from where he's been digging in his flesh like he's been burned.
"... Are you okay?" Jin asks instead of a greeting, worry slipping onto his face when he sees Yuuma.
"Yeah," Yuuma says, too quickly. "Thanks for dinner tonight."
"You guys deserve something special after all your hard work," Jin says, leaning over the edge next to where Yuuma is trying not to draw attention to his side. The darkness helps hide the trion leakage, at least.
"It was mostly Chika and Osamu's hard work paying off today."
Jin hums in reply, turning his gaze to Yuuma. His blue gaze is sharp as if he already knows what Yuuma is hiding, and he is simply waiting for the boy to bring it up himself. It's like he keeps finding these pieces of Yuuma's vulnerabilities only to acknowledge them as existent rather than exploiting them, forcing the ball into Yuuma's court to open up or not.
It's unfair to be read so easily, especially when Yuuma struggles to untangle the mess of emotions in his own chest. How is he supposed to put into words the acceptance of his own body's time limit slowly receding as he gains purpose in living? In discovering this new fear of leaving people behind instead of being the one who survives to remember?
It hurts, and Yuuma isn't even sure it's a physical pain despite how it manifests in the areas his natural body is missing in stasis.
"Jin-san," Yuuma says eventually, deliberately looking away from the older boy and tilting his head up to the stars. "Did you know that in the neighbourhood, the stars are other countries, drifting in their own orbits?"
"Yeah."
That's right, Jin's been to the neighbourhood before—at the very least for that war in Aristera where so many from the Old Border died. The reminder makes Yuuma's heart twinge, but he carries on.
"My dad took us, Replica and I, on great big adventures through the little worlds of each star. We would do our best to make as small an impact as possible to those we intruded on, so as not to disturb them when we departed." Yuuma can see the worlds he visited when he closes his eyes, though they are faded by the years. Replica's memory is more of a sure thing, full of records and snapshots of their travels, but Replica isn't here anymore.
"I... I think I've screwed up, here." He turns to face Jin, smiling through tears threatening to fall. "People are going to miss me when I go."
Jin makes a wounded sound.
"I'm going to hurt you," Yuuma continues as a sob escapes. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry for mattering," Jin leans over, cupping Yuuma's cheek with a hand. His eyes are glassy, too, and his lip trembles as he talks. "I'm never going to regret knowing you."
Regret. The word bounces in Yuuma's head, resonating with the premature grief flooding his thoughts. He's never been one to regret, either; something his dad and Replica have always stressed is how important it is that he makes his own decisions, so that even if the outcome isn't what he wants, the actions were his own and he could learn from them. The reminder gives him this new kind of clarity, like a break in the sky, and he rubs his face hastily, shaking out of Jin's hold.
"Jin-san, I..." He swallows, feeling uncharacteristically shy. Jin looks at him curiously, and Yuuma knows he doesn't have much time before the boy's side effect kicks in and ruins the surprise, so he closes his eyes and closes the distance between their lips.
It's a chaste thing, barely a peck.
"I like you," he says, rushing the confession out before Jin can reject him. "I'm sorry, because I like you, and I'm going to leave you anyway—"
"Yuuma," Jin breathes, barely above a whisper as he lunges towards Yuuma, bundling the boy into a tight hug. The force of it, especially around his waist, makes Yuuma hiss in pain and Jin relaxes just enough to examine where Yuuma is hurt.
No, Yuuma thinks, desperately trying to hold onto the moment but Jin's concern is stronger.
"What's—"
"It's..." Yuuma winces, unsure how to explain himself without worrying Jin further.
"This is... From the fight earlier?" Jin frowns, "no, you're not using your Border trigger are you?" He runs his fingers gently over the ragged gashes, and Yuuma knows that even in the dark it's obvious that these were not made by asteroid bullets.
"The wound Kakizaki-senpai gave me matches one on my original body," Yuuma explains. He doesn't want to go into the details, not when his confession is still hanging in the air unaddressed.
"Oh, Yuuma," Jin draws him back into a hug, pressing the boy's face into his chest with a firm hand. "It'll be okay."
There's a beat of silence, and then an incredulous bark of laughter from Yuuma; he's just given Jin his heart, and also admitted that real body has a cannon sized chunk missing from his side— a strange combination of things to reveal in sequence, sure, but saying things will be okay is just as strange. What about his confession? The mortal wounds on his natural body? "What?" He asks, trying to tilt his head up to see Jin's expression, but the elite agent holds him still.
"It'll be okay," Jin repeats, his voice rumbling through Yuuma. He's shaking, just a little. "We'll be okay," he says, and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "We'll be okay; my side effect tells me as much."
He tightens his embrace, holding the smaller boy close. It feels a little too deliberate to be accidental that Yuuma cannot see anything but the fabric of Jin's shirt. He could struggle a little harder to look, but he doesn't.
Instead, he closes his eyes, and chooses to believe Jin's words.
"... Okay."
v.
It's late by the time Yuuma makes it to the roof, carrying a cup of herbal tea for Jin. He had checked the older boy's room first, but upon finding that empty, there was only one more place to look. Just as well, because Yuuma is planning on spending the rest of the night under the Meeden stars before he leaves it.
He stops at the door, looking at Jin's silhouette, cast softly by the silver light of the moon. He looks smaller when leaning against the ledge in his pyjamas, without the uniform or the bravado, and it's times like these that remind Yuuma that Jin was not raised a soldier. He has had his life torn by war, and suffered more than anyone deserves to, but there remains a gentle optimism in his heart that Yuuma has never had. It's the same part of Jin that always pushes for the best possible outcome despite the odds, and it's the part that Yuuma wants to protect the most.
"Jin-san," he says as he approaches, holding out the hot cup.
"Yuuma," Jin is smiling when he turns to greet Yuuma, taking the drink and letting the steam warm his face. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"
"As I'll ever be." Yuuma hops onto the ledge. He doesn't want to talk about tomorrow. He opens his mouth to speak, but notices that Jin is already lost to him, gazing into a distance that Yuuma isn't privy to. The words escape into the night air unspoken, and Yuuma sighs quietly, drawing his knees up to his chest. He doesn't want to spend his last night here like this, contemplating the space between them; his feelings are known, and Yuuma has made his intentions clear, but Jin is firm in keeping things platonic.
Yuuma wonders if it's something he's seen in the future that's putting him off, or if it is Yuuma himself that is the problem. At any rate, it's a little too late to do anything about it, and Yuuma will depart leaving a piece of himself behind in the hands of someone who does not want to be responsible for it.
He tilts his head back; he's being unfair. Jin deserves someone more solid and real than Yuuma, who is already in the autumn of his life.
"Thank you," Yuuma says after a long silence.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Jin put down his drink and turn to face him. "Yuuma..." He whispers, but Yuuma doesn't stop.
"You were right about Border being fun— I'm happy I stayed." He takes a deep breath. "I'm going tomorrow, so I guess this is the last night we'll spend like this." The finality aches even though it isn't over yet, like the twisting of a knife in his flesh before it is ripped from the wound. "I'm really glad I met you."
"Don't..." Jin breathes, barely audible over the water running below them. "Don't talk like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're not coming back." His voice cracks when he speaks, and he buries his face into his hand with a sharp inhale. When he lifts his head to meet Yuuma's gaze, his eyes are shiny with unshed tears. "You have a bright future ahead of you, remember?"
Yuuma had thought Jin was talking more about the short term when he said that. The truth is that even though he's found enjoyment in his day-to-day life again, the looming threat of running out of time has never faded, and just because he wants to live does not mean he will. The best he can hope for is that he can do what he needs to.
He must take too long to reply, because Jin is suddenly standing straight and looking at him with a concerned expression. "Yuuma, I thought you-"
"Thank you for everything." Yuuma selfishly interrupts. He doesn't want to know what Jin might say to him, knowing that this might be the last time they talk—if he lies, just to try and soften the blow, Yuuma doesn't think he can take it. It would ruin him. "I don't want to talk about the future." He says quietly, averting his eyes. "I just want to spend time with you while I can."
"I don't want to argue either, Yuuma, but it feels like you've given up."
"I haven't given up," Yuuma frowns. "The neighbourhood is dangerous, and there's a chance we won't all make it back." Jin flinches at his words, but Yuuma has never been one to shy away from the truth. "I don't want to waste what time we have left, is all."
"There's a difference between pragmatism and pessimism," Jin says, touching Yuuma's cheek to nudge the boy to look at him. "If you promise to do what you can to come back, I'll let this go. But you have to promise, and you have to try."
There's a difference between optimism and delusion, too; Jin's insistence on chasing the best outcome is foolish to Yuuma, born only of someone who was raised with something to live for that isn't another man's war. He values his own life, of course, but he also knows when to compromise for the best chance of a good outcome.
"Of course I'm going to do what I can to come back, I'm not exactly throwing myself-"
"But you are— you put the survival of your team above yourself, because you think it's a better trade—it's not!" Jin's voice trembles as he gets more worked up, and the ferocity of it makes Yuuma shrink. He can't deny these words. "I want you all to come back, okay?" Jin says, eyes bright, somewhere between determination and desperation. "Promise me, Yuuma."
"I can't promise that," Yuuma says. "I don't get to decide the future just because I want something." And neither do you, he doesn't say.
"I'm not saying that—" Jin stops as if catching himself, and he takes a breath before speaking again. "I'll... I have something to tell you, but you have to come back to hear it."
"Jin-san..." Yuuma's chest tightens. The sudden change in tone has caught him off-guard, and he is struck by a pang of loneliness as he imagines Jin spending nights up here alone after they've built this habit of each other's company, holding words he will never have a chance to say. Even on the nights when they're not up here, Yuuma has crawled into the older boy's bed to cuddle innocently, simply to find comfort in holding and being held. The idea of Jin by himself again twists uncomfortably inside of him (you did this; you made him care), and Yuuma needs a few seconds to properly process the feeling of guilt-longing-need that has become Jin-shaped in his heart.
He swallows. He nods. The truth is nothing here changes, but he says it anyway.
"Okay. I'll do my best."
"Good," Jin says, leaning in to crush him in an embrace. "This isn't goodbye, then."
"I guess not," Yuuma laughs, though it is a wobbly thing. He really does need to make it back, now.
(But he knows, after the conversation has shifted to lighter topics and they've come to a lull, that this is not something he can control. If it comes down to picking between himself and someone else— well. He just has to make sure not to be in such a situation in the first place.)
&
After his duties at Border, Jin makes his way to the Mikado General Hospital. The nurses know him by now, and even greet him politely as he traverses familiar corridors.
Yuuma's room is empty of other visitors today. Jin tidies the wilting flowers, rearranging them to look a little livelier, and deposits a few new cards on the side. It's been two months since the away expedition concluded in a resounding success, and another six months before that when they departed.
Two hundred and forty-six days, Jin thinks as he sits down next to Yuuma, ruffling the crow-black hair of his natural body. Two hundred and forty-six days since he last spoke to the boy, since he last committed those ember-red eyes to memory and heard that rough, unrestrained laugh that he saved for the quieter, more intimate moments. Two hundred and forty-six days he has spent regretting keeping Yuuma at an arm's length because he was scared he had manipulated their relationship into existence, only to realise he's been closing the doors one by one; in wanting things to happen naturally, he did the very thing he promised himself he would not, only in the opposite direction.
It was naïve of him to think that their conversation after the invasion was enough to push Yuuma out of thinking himself as expendable, but they had grown so close, and the boy was so genuinely happy that Jin had chosen to believe that he had done his job; that all he had to do was wait, and they would fall comfortably into step. Yuuma is still young, and Jin is patient. They will have time, especially with future sight to guide them and Border at their backs.
He should have looked harder. Pulled more strings. Moved the pieces to put him on that ship instead of staying behind, anything—
It doesn't help to get lost with these thoughts. Jin sighs, shaking himself out of his mulling and focusing back on the present; at Yuuma's still body, swallowed by white sheets, flat where the boy is missing an arm and a leg.
Today should be the day. Granted, he thought that yesterday, and the day before that, but he's now more sure today than he's ever been. He laces his fingers between Yuuma's slimmer, paler digits, and starts the familiar ritual of telling Yuuma about Border's going-ons; how his friends are doing, any interesting gossip, anything that caught his eyes and made him think 'Yuuma would like that'.
He's halfway through a story about Shuuji defending Hyuse to some new C-Ranks when he feels it. A flicker— a twitch.
The air leaves the room. Jin's breath catches, and he's watching Yuuma's eyelid flutter as he claws back to awareness.
"Yuuma?" He asks barely above a whisper, not wanting to break the fragile hope in his chest by speaking too loudly. His reply is a rasp, too scratchy to form a word but it is a reply all the same and Jin cannot stop the dry sob that escapes as relief floods through his body. "Hello, Yuuma," he says, squeezing the boy's hand. "Welcome back."
Selfishly, Jin does not inform anyone else of Yuuma's awakening as he's kicked out of the room while the nurses bustle to check Yuuma's readings to make sure everything is okay. He just doesn't want to raise anyone's hopes needlessly in case the short few minutes is all Yuuma can handle, and it's just as well because when the observations have all been taken the boy is asleep again.
Still; the small, shy smile that was just a little slack on the side of his face that was damaged is enough for Jin to hold on tightly to his chest as visiting hours end. The futures have evened out, now that the worst is over, and Jin can finally let go of the breath that he's been holding and deliver the good news to the rest of their small but growing family.
It becomes difficult to catch Yuuma by himself once the rumour of his awakening starts to spread. Part of Jin is proud that Yuuma has touched so many lives positively, and has so many people who care deeply for him, but the louder, more impatient part of him wants to go back to the roof of Tamakoma, watching Yuuma's hair glowing in the starlight as he traces new constellations with his fingers.
When he does manage to slip away with Yuuma, daylight is still clinging stubbornly onto the sky, orange and purples and pinks streaked on thin, lacy clouds. Winter does ensure it gets darker earlier in the day, but Jin still has to fight against the Hospital's visiting policies—he's managed to get away so far on the technicality of Rindou being both his and Yuuma's legal guardian, making them brothers, so it's a little strange to... anyway, the important part is, he's finally managed to steal away to the roof to show Yuuma the (almost) night sky he's missed so much.
"I said it's fine, Jin-san," Yuuma says, his accent heavy with neither of them being in trion bodies to translate, his vowels softer and rounder than a more fluent speaker. It's cute, but he's been teased enough over it to grow self-conscious, so Jin does not make a comment.
"I want to do this," Jin replies as he's carrying Yuuma up the last flight of stairs. There is no elevator or ramp leading up to the roof, which may be a conscious design choice or simply an oversight, but for Jin it just makes him feel like he should have activated his trigger before going on this heist. "You said you missed the stars."
"There are not going to be any stars this early..." Yuuma mumbles, tucked petulantly in Jin's chest as if he isn't pink-cheeked in delight. He enjoys the mischief as much as Jin does.
"Well, there's not going to be none," Jin argues, using his elbow to open the door. The sharp winter air hits them both, and Jin is glad that he's bundled Yuuma up in two scarves and his own spare jacket, though the boy sneezes at the sudden temperature drop anyway. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," Yuuma replies, pointedly using Jin's sleeve to wipe his nose. Cheeky brat.
"I'm afraid there's not really anywhere for me to put you down..." Jin says as he walks out, stopping at a bench near the centre of the roof. He's not quite brave enough to carry Yuuma to the edge where they usually sit on the Tamakoma building, not when the hospital is significantly higher up and Yuuma is no longer in a trion body. He ends up sitting down with Yuuma on his lap, swaddled tightly like a toddler, but Yuuma has no complaints, staring upwards with his one eye wide in wonder.
The few stars that Jin can see are faint in the slowly darkening dusk. It's unimpressive compared to the open country skies that Tamakoma is situated under, but it's enough for someone who has only been allowed outside during the day.
"The Neighbourhood doesn't have nearly as many lights in the sky as Japan," Yuuma says, smiling softly. "I missed this."
Jin hums in agreement, though he has spent plenty of nights alone looking at this very sight. He's more interested in re-learning the shape of Yuuma, with new-old scars peeping out from under the bandages, and the way Yuuma's black hair frames his face, emphasising the roundness of his cheeks that he's not had time to grow out of yet. It's an uncomfortable reminder of the myriad of injuries Yuuma will never recover fully from, and Jin doesn't need future sight to know that Yuuma faces an uphill battle to regain some semblance of a normal life.
"Do you remember what you said, before I left?" Yuuma is uncharacteristically shy when he speaks, the blush on his cheeks having deepened to a soft crimson.
"I do." Jin sighs. He was hoping to hold on to this secret a little longer until Yuuma is discharged at the very least, but he's been finding it difficult to deny the boy anything.
He leans down, pressing their lips together. It's a longer, surer kiss than Yuuma's fraught confession all those months ago, and though the younger boy startles at first he is reciprocating and kissing back eagerly, opening his mouth to Jin in an uncontested surrender. It's clumsy and Yuuma slips trying to tug Jin closer, but it's sweet and it's everything Jin wants and more.
He was a fool to think he could wait, when all waiting has done is hurt the both of them. Yuuma's taught him how precious their time is, and even if he's defeated the odds and made it back, the months of uncertainty have worn away every doubt in Jin's mind over holding back.
"I like you too, Yuuma," he breathes when they part, committing the lines of Yuuma's genuine delight and affection to memory. "Thank you for being patient with me."
Yuuma's laugh is soft and fond. "I have something to say, too."
"Hm?" Jin hums, interested.
"I think I'm in love with you."
It should be a surprise, but it isn't. It settles around Jin like a well worn blanket, and for a moment he sees Yuuma in white, red eye sparkling in dappled sunlight, looking up at Jin. He catches his own reflection in the sunset-warmed irises, just a flicker before the vision is gone, and he simply knows.
"I think," he says, pulling Yuuma close, close enough to inhale Yuuma's scent under the antiseptic smell of the hospital, sweet and unfamiliar and new to the boy's natural body. "I think I'm in love with you too."