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Noise.
Darkness, a black and blue world, thick, greasy hues flowing down unevenly. A small pale dot somewhere above can't handle this concentration of colors. It seems to him for a moment that they are the ones making the noise — the heavy, lazy landslides of color breaking the sky beneath them. He didn't know there were such dark nights. Especially in the city.
His sneakers are slumping and sinking.
There is a haunting smell of salt.
The noise grows, wanes and grows again — just waves rustling against the wet sand. The sky is not broken.
Chiaki doesn't remember going out on the beach. There is something else in the salty air besides the ocean chill, unknown and incomprehensible, and it makes him shiver. Surrounded by the darkness seeping through the dome of the sky, the uneven noise and the smell, he almost loses his composure in surprise, when suddenly human speech is added to the air as well:
"Chiaki."
This voice is hard not to recognize. Soft, monotonous, and not entirely intelligible, it sounds exactly like the rustling of waves, but Chiaki hears it clearly all the same. He doesn't have to look around for long. A figure, pale against the gloom, rises from the water and waves to him cheerfully. In the darkness, and from a distance, it looks like a blue smudged blur with no clear details.
"Kanata!" Chiaki exhales. Kanata's presence defeats the loneliness of the night beach and invariably gives him courage — which, however, is immediately replaced by confused indignation. "You're crazy, it's the middle of the night! What are you doing here?! It's cold, you'll get sick! And it's dangerous to swim alone at night, what if you drown?!"
Kanata seems to ponder this quietly for half a second — and then laughs. With a familiar, easy laugh, the same one in which Chiaki always hears a real, contagious calm.
"Am I "alone"? You are here, Hero. What could possibly happen to me?"
A sharp gust of piercing wind blows a faint smile off Chiaki's face.
"It doesn't matter, it's still cold! Get out, let's go home!"
He takes a couple of steps to the water's edge, but freezes. The water is more like ink, indifferently staining the shore and the fine sand, and he really doesn't want to wet his sneakers in it: for some reason it feels like it will be left, sticky, on his soles. Kanata's silhouette, sitting in the black water, looks as rippled and erratic as the moon flickering beside him, a rare reminder of light. He suddenly splashes his hand, breaking those gray patches.
"Swim with me first. It's such a "nice" night."
Chiaki takes another look at the shallow waves of darkness crashing onto the shore and, swallowing, smiles nervously again. It's stupid and irrational, but nothing good can be in this water, in this night. He wants to get home as soon as possible, but first he has to get Kanata out and take him with, or the dark will swallow him up entirely.
"We'll go swimming in the afternoon, okay?"
Kanata sulks unhappily. Chiaki can feel it even from a distance.
"Why not "now"?"
"It's dark, Kanata! You can't swim!"
He takes another step, reducing the distance between him and the sharp line of the water edge to four steps. The transition between the light-colored sand and the bay is so clear that it seems as if they are two worlds unconnected.
"Let's go home."
Kanata doesn't move, but his outlines become even more blurred in comparison to the distinct edge of the waves; Chiaki absent-mindedly notes that his eyesight is getting worse again.
"We'll be back in the afternoon."
The uncomfortable smell in the salty air does not dispel. Chiaki takes another step, three more to go, and holds out his hand to his partner.
"A hero's word!"
It's only then that Kanata's silhouette twitches toward the shore. His laughter merges with the noise of the water.
"All right, then. There's "nothing" like a Hero's word, is there?"
He stands up whole, gray-blue from the night and the dark water, making his way through the waves with a slow splash, and Chiaki finally gets to make out his face.
As always, Kanata smiles a peaceful smile, radiating calm; but the moment his icy, wet fingers touch his hand, Chiaki can't tear his eyes away from the impenetrable shadows on his pearly skin and the not-so-familiar gaze.
The last thing he feels is a fall. Kanata never takes the last step out of the black water.
And then Chiaki opens his eyes in his dorm room; the ceiling is painted by the early dawn, Adonis is snoring, Makoto is sleeping quietly, and there is no trace of the wet, salty haze.
Just a dream. Just a bad dream. Not worth the fright.
Trying to calm his racing heart, Chiaki sits up in bed and takes deep breaths. Somewhere outside the window a bird trills peacefully, marking the beginning of a new day.
Everything is okay. He probably just misses Kanata. They haven't been seeing each other at all lately: Chiaki is busy filming, Kanata is always preoccupied at the aquarium, and they see each other so rarely that his brain seems to have decided to scare Chiaki into solving the problem so that he finally meets up with the person closest to him in the entire world. It's unlikely he's up this early, but for some reason Chiaki has a pressing urge to see him right this instant.
So he doesn't even wash his face or go into the kitchen for a glass of water. Hastily climbing out of bed, he nearly falls, tangled in the blanket, staggers awkwardly to the exit and almost forgets to close the door behind him.
Kanata's room is one floor up, right above the room Chiaki shares with Adonis and Makoto. He tries to knock as quietly as possible so as not to wake up the entire dorm, but then he risks not waking Kanata either, so his banging on the door gets harder and more impatient until his fist suddenly falls into nothing without meeting the wood.
Water drips from the metallic shiny hair. Kanata stares at him in confusion for a split second, then smiles.
"Good morning, Chiaki. I "knew" it was you."
He's soaking wet. He's so wet that moisture collects in puddles in his sleepy, serene grassy eyes.
He's... Always wet. He's always wet, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he was just in the murky water of the bay, but Chiaki still involuntarily freezes for a moment — all of him, from his heart to the fingertips.
Nonsense. There is nothing in the face of this Kanata, familiar, that even remotely resembles that Kanata. Of the night.
With a small motion, Chiaki shakes off this stupid, momentary illusion, and smiles back.
"Good morning!"
The wet fabric of his partner's pajama shirt is a disgusting chill on his hand as he rubs Kanata's shoulder like always. Chiaki can barely stop himself from wiping it on his pants. He forgot to think through what he was going to say as he impulsively rushed down the hallway, needing just to see him, but he's never had a problem with finding words in a hurry.
"How happy I am to see you on this beautiful morning, Kanata!" With a smile wider than his face, he switches to his usual mood. "I woke up today and decided that only you, my friend, can make it better. How about... going for a walk? Today? A swim? Can you spare me a minute?"
Kanata must be picking up on his incomprehensible nervousness, because Kanata knows him by heart and reads him like an open book — but still, examining his imperfect image with a lazy glance, he pretends not to notice.
"Of course, Chiaki. I'd be more than "glad"."
The affectionate reassurance in his voice washes away all remnants of the creepy dream better than any running water could. Kanata is by his side, the real Kanata, close and familiar and cozy Kanata, and the horrors of the night can't compete with his smile.
Noise.
Dense darkness presses against him again from all sides. The night hasn't gotten any lighter. The same mix of salt with something elusive, but invariably oppressive, in the air instantly makes him shiver.
The black beach envelops Chiaki again, and before he can realize it, a light voice interrupts the waves — again:
"Chiaki," Kanata's figure waves cheerfully out of the water. Again.
Last time he woke up in his room. It is a dream, albeit a tense and uncomfortable one, but a dream nonetheless. Chiaki assertively repeats these words in his head as a reminder.
"Will you "swim" with me?"
Only then he notices that not everything is exactly the same: this time Kanata is standing much farther from the shore. The ink now reaches his waist, eating his body in half.
Does he have to reply? This is just a bad dream, and it would be much easier to turn around and walk away, or at least just ignore the images made by his subconscious, but- But when Chiaki sees and hears Kanata, he simply cannot ignore him.
"Kanata... Let's go home, okay?"
"Hmm..." He hums back melodiously, and then stretches out words in his usual content tone. "I don't want to."
Shoot, how did he manage to convince him last time?
"I give you a hero's word that we'll be back in the afternoon!" The words quickly spring to mind.
"It won't "work", Chiaki. You gave me a Hero's word last time."
"B-but I kept it!"
"Yes, it was just "wonderful," Kanata easily agrees. "But the sea "at night" and the sea "in the daylight" are two completely "different" things."
The oily sheen of the impenetrable water only confirms his words. The splash of the waves, calm and peaceful, like the sound of his voice, echoes him in unison.
"You see, Chiaki, you can see everything in the sea during the day. And it's clear at once what the sea will do. But "at night" it's not. "At night" the water "takes you," and you never know where it's going to bring you. It's a question of "trust," Chiaki. If you trust the water, it will bring you "back." Maybe," He chuckles, and the sea chuckles, too. "Do you trust the water?"
Streaks of gloom fringed with grey foam run onto the shore, as if trying to reach Chiaki. For some reason he can't move. The distance between him and the waves is unbridgeable for the sea, and he feels it very vividly — those endless three steps. Until he takes them himself, this darkness cannot reach him.
The strong smell is making him sick.
"Do you trust me, Chiaki?"
Trying to make out the concreteness of Kanata's features in the darkness again, Chiaki thinks "of course" by reflex, but a part of him still won't let him take a single step toward the liquid dark under the starless sky and the person he trusts unconditionally.
Noise.
It seems as if with each successive night the splash only grows louder, the colors thicker, and the heavy smell brighter. It has a strange sweetness in the salty moisture.
Chiaki finds himself again and again on the beach, where he is met by the dry sand, the watercolor silhouette and the vague fear.
"Chiaki, I thought we trusted "each other," The soft voice is tinged with a ringing color of feigned insult.
Each time, he finds it harder to reply to Kanata. It's as if the words acknowledge his reality, his existence, acknowledge that he is not in a dream, acknowledge that he is frightened by a phantom, by made-up darkness. That's not heroic at all. Chiaki shouldn't be afraid of anything, much less the ghosts of his own consciousness — but still, it gets harder for him to answer.
"O-of course I trust you!" He bravely tries to put on confidence, but fails to make it loud. Rather pathetic. "Do you trust me?"
"If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be "asking" you to join me."
"Then please, get out of the water. I beg you," His voice breaks, betraying his helplessness.
Why won't Kanata listen to him? Why does he stubbornly choose to stay in this gooey tar, which does not bode well; just the sight of the muddy sea makes all the instincts that warn of danger scream, but it is as if Kanata doesn't notice. When he openly hesitates, Chiaki even believes for a moment that he will finally be able to save him — but what Kanata does instead makes his limbs grow even colder, real ice gathering in his fingertips.
"I have a better idea. Look, Hero," And he dives headlong into the murky depths, disappearing completely, and then appears only in fragments, small bright spots above the surface of the water, immediately disappearing again. Even more frightening than the desperate splash of the water is only the shrill scream that fills the beach:
"Hero! Save me, Hero!"
Noise.
Noise and a chilling cry, roar of the waves and an urgent call: the call of Kanata, the call of distress, the call of a hero, the call of his need to help and save, the call of promises to come running at any moment, and here it is, this moment, and Chiaki wants to run, but he cannot move a muscle.
Noise, noise, noise, this call permeates all consciousness, pushing even the weighty smell to the back of his senses. Only echoes, darkness, and a chilling cold remain.
He had rescued Kanata from the water once before: he was no hero then, but Kanata was a god, and the only wish Chiaki asked for with all his soul was his life. At that very moment, Chiaki was determined that he would never leave Kanata again, and would not allow anything bad to even touch him. He vowed to protect him before himself and the whole world, as a hero and... as a friend. As a partner.
And now the bad is clinging to him from all sides and pulling him down, and Chiaki needs to hurry, and the black water and the harsh tones are chaining him in place and pulling every drop of courage out of him, and he takes one more step anyway.
Noise after noise, night after night, shout after shout, and —
"Help, Hero!!!"
"Chiaki?"
He jerks sharply, flying away from the cold touch, and almost falls off the low bench in the practice room with a rumble.
Kanata looks with confused worry — at him and at his own hand that caused such a reaction. Tetora, Midori, and Shinobu, who were previously using the break to chat amongst themselves in the distance, also turn around, bewildered at the noise, and under the four pairs of stares Chiaki tries to straighten his shoulders and put on his usual bravado. Nothing happened, he was just caught off guard. He's a little... lost.
"Are you all right, Morisawa-senpai?.." Tetora freezes with a bottle of water in his hand.
"You look like you haven't slept in a week," Midori notes bluntly.
With how often he's started having nightmares about black water, it could very well be true. As embarrassing as it is, Chiaki is getting scared to go to sleep; scared that he will be met again by the cold dark beach, and the fingers of the sea reaching out to him, and the ringing cry for help which he cannot provide, because he is simply scared. He — a hero — is scared.
He would never, ever admit it to anyone. No way.
So his response to the chorus of anxious looks is his trademark smile and a loud voice — and nothing else.
"I was just lost in thought, guys!" Standing up, stretching, brushing down his clothes — the minute actions help clog his head so there's no room left for thoughts. "Looks like we have too much free time! It's a great sign that it's time for us to get back to practice!"
Midori groans in pain, Tetora hastily finishes his water, Shinobu throws the towel he was holding back into his stuff, and Kanata-
Chiaki involuntarily flinches and shrinks away from the hand on his shoulder in a tiny motion, but quickly straightens up. Still, there's no hiding it from Kanata.
"Chiaki, you seem very "jumpy." What's going on?" His voice, his gaze, his fingers lightly touching Chiaki are filled with nothing but genuine concern, but-
But-
Chiaki is dying to wriggle out of them. So much so that every second almost turns to panic, and he has to breathe deeper.
Nonsense, insane absurdity, God, how stupid. Kanata is his friend, his comrade, his partner; what they have been through together has bonded them forever, and no bad dream can destroy that. He can rely on Kanata with more certainty than on himself; they have saved each other's lives —
But there is no way to calm the goosebumps running down his spine, and Chiaki still has to get rid of Kanata's skin on his as off-handedly as possible.
It's shameful. Kanata doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve to have some fiction of Chiaki's subconscious, not real, ruin his real trust, and there's no way Chiaki is going to ultimately let that happen, of course, but for now... there's nothing he can do about it.
"It's all right, honestly," To Kanata his guilt is probably easily seen in his smile. "Is there anything I can help you with? As a hero?"
Chiaki wishes he could make it up to him at least for listening to his cries for help at night and doing nothing.
"You seem to need help yourself, Hero," Kanata tilts his head in slight disapproval and no longer tries to touch him.
Noise.
"Did I "trust" you for nothing? You promised you'd always come running to me."
Chiaki knows exactly what he promised. He doesn't need to be reminded of how guilty he is, but it's better than a blood-curdling, soul-destroying scream.
"It's "sad," Chiaki. It means you don't trust me, and I "can't" trust you any more," Kanata informs him with a grave seriousness and regret that doesn't match the carefree way he splashes around in the water. "It seems we can't be "partners" anymore."
"No!"
He doesn't even have time to think before he unwittingly takes another step forward. The sea is almost licking his sneakers. There is one more step between him and the dangerous abyss. Just one step.
But what worries Chiaki more is that Kanata is leaving him behind. Leaving him behind, as he deserves, because he really didn't keep his promise and gave in to fear, but that can't be allowed to happen. Just the thought of having to live in a world where Kanata doesn't want to be by his side anymore, immense and unmanageable, scares him worse than even this gloom, and he must do whatever it takes to make Kanata stop saying that. He just has to get better and never let him down again.
A plea for another chance almost leaves his lips, but he is interrupted by a realization:
This close to the water he can see Kanata much more clearly.
It is undoubtedly his Kanata, Chiaki would instantly sense the switch, but — the intrusive feeling of uncomfortable abnormality that has haunted him since the beginning and only grew with each night — hangs ever more undeniably in the atmosphere. As if somewhere one tiny detail out of a myriad has shifted and no longer fits perfectly into the canvas with the others, creating an unevenness in the overall picture.
"Then come "here", Chiaki."
Chiaki has no way of knowing which detail and why. His attention only captures pieces of his features, and for some reason he can't put them together; only fragments emerge from the darkness, one by one.
Noise.
Bluish lips, merging in tone with the skin.
Noise.
Sharply outlined, bottomless shadows in the corners.
Noise.
A dim gaze without the usual peaceful strokes of light.
The more nights pass, the more wrong details he notices. Their mosaic makes up an almost-true Kanata, but his presence brings only heightened nerves instead of the usual calm, and instead of finding safety in his arms, Chiaki wants only to run — not to him, but away from him.
This is his Kanata, but this is the first time Chiaki is seeing him.
The sweet unknown smell in the air takes shape. Decaying seaweed, sludge, and rotten meat.
"Do I need to start "screaming" again?"
"Let's go over it one more time," Kaoru sets aside the empty cup where his coffee was. "You're having nightmares. About Kanata-kun. And that's why you look so horrible. Did I get that right?"
Chiaki nods vaguely. His own coffee doesn't do much for his exhausted body.
Under the friendly sun warming the café's veranda, and the joyful ruckus of passersby enjoying their summer — next to Kaoru, energetic and lively — tired Chiaki feels like he doesn't belong. Like a dull stain on a bright matter.
The daily fear spreading through every cell of his body has ultimately forced him to seek advice somewhere.
"Have you told him?"
"Sort of."
"Meaning?"
Chiaki sighs deeply. He's sleepy. For weeks now, he's only been able to sleep during the day because the same things consistently happen at night and don't get any better, and with his schedule he can only find a couple of hours to sleep during the day at best.
"I mentioned that I have nightmares about him, but he must have thought he was a victim in them or something. But not..."
The words "the one I'm afraid of" don't come out.
Kaoru casts him a deadly glance, dangling his foot in the air.
"Tell him properly. I don't think you'll feel better unless you confess to him, Moricchi."
"I can't."
"You have to. Any more of this and you'll be dead in the water. Pardon the pun."
"He trusts me, Hakaze, and this is..." Chiaki takes a long time trying to find a word. His brain tosses and turns and refuses to cooperate with him, until at last it helpfully suggests: "Betrayal."
"Have you lost your mind?" Kaoru grimaces. "Is this some kind of heroic crap again? How do dreams, which you, mind you, have no control over, make a betrayal?"
Chiaki shrugs uncertainly. It's hard to explain, but everything that happens at night feels like he's insulting his partner over and over again with fear and inaction.
"Talk to Kanata-kun. No one can convince you right now that there's nothing to be ashamed of but him. As for the dream..."
Kaoru is absent-mindedly twirling a spoon in his hand. Sometimes it hits his coffee cup and makes a resentful clinking sound, and Chiaki frowns each time.
"You're a hero. I know it's messed up, but I feel like once you save him, it'll all be over. Sounds like it makes sense. Kinda."
As if Chiaki never wanted that. As if Chiaki haven't tried. As if Chiaki's entire being didn't yearn to pull Kanata out of the sea, every time stopped by an insurmountable barrier of water.
"You know, every time I hear his voice now, I only hear that scream."
Examining his lost face, Kaoru flashes with genuine concern. He slides Chiaki's almost untouched coffee closer to him.
"Have courage, Moricchi."
When Chiaki knocks on Kanata's door again, the sun is sinking towards the horizon, and there are streaks of pink on the dorm hallway floor and walls. He's still not quite ready, but if he's going to talk, he needs to be sure to get it done before dark.
Of course, Kanata is wet again, and Chiaki quickly starts babbling so he doesn't have time to think about anything.
"Kanata! Good evening! Are your roommates home?"
"Did you "come" to see them?" He asks with a slight playfulness.
"No, I came to see you," Chiaki tries to hide his trembling voice behind a smile. "To talk."
Kanata looks at him with such friendly tenderness, as if he had never heard anything better in his life.
"There's no one home. "Come" in."
Chiaki steps over the threshold, leaving something behind. The laces on his sneakers barely want to give way, and he nervously pulls off his shoes without untying them.
"Make yourself "at home". Want some water?"
Water will probably get stuck in his throat. He shakes his head. The room, where he has been more than once, suddenly feels unfriendly and alien. Chiaki tries to swallow all the anxiety, but the brave facade begins to crumble like old plaster, and his legs are shaking when he sinks onto Kanata's bed. How do you begin such a confession?
"Am I... not disturbing you?"
"You never "disturb" me, Chiaki," Kanata sits down gently beside him. "I was just "watching" a movie."
Only then Chiaki notices a paused image on the TV: a close-up shot of some bright tropical fish. Probably a documentary.
"We can watch it together if you want," His partner continues softly. "As soon as you "tell" me what you were going to."
Fish documentaries are not his cup of tea at all. He never had the patience for them when Kanata turned them on before, arguing that he watches tokusatsu with Chiaki, so it's only fair that Chiaki watch quiet films about the underwater realm with him. But this time... maybe something slow and boring is exactly what he needs to relax a little and stop getting nervous in Kanata's mere presence.
"Okay," He bites his lip and looks away, bracing himself for the hard conversation. It's impossible to choose the right moment to start, so it's better to rip off that band-aid sharply and quickly.
"Anyway... I told you I have nightmares about you, yes, but what I didn't tell you is," He breathes in and swallows. "The one scaring me in them is you."
Kanata is silent, and Chiaki is careful not to look in his direction so as not to see the pain and frustration.
"There's... A night, and a beach, and the sea, black and dangerous, and you. In the water. Calling me to join you, and I don't want to, and I'm asking you to come out, and you keep insisting, and... at some point you started to drown. On purpose. And screaming. Calling for help. And I didn't do anything because... I was scared, and then... you said a lot of terrible stuff and you looked so weird. Like it was you, but not really, you know?" He stumbles over words and feelings, but forces himself to continue. "I'm sorry. I let you down, Kanata. I promised to always save you, and... I didn't."
It feels like silence will crush him. He hasn't felt this miserable in a long time.
"Chiaki... look at me."
Chiaki doesn't dare.
"Please."
Only then he lifts his head back up and meets Kanata's gaze. Silent greens whisper of tenderness. He says more with his eyes than with words.
"You've already saved "me", Chiaki. When I "needed" it. Everything you "described", it wasn't me, you know? I would never do that. And no matter what "fake" me tells you, you're still my Hero."
Something snaps and breaks. Chiaki tries his best to hold back the stupid tears, but they don't comply, and he quickly lowers his face again to wipe his cheeks with his hands.
"Can I "hug" you?"
Before, Kanata would never have asked permission first, but apparently Chiaki has become too intimidated by any touch from him — so much so that it is now necessary. He nods shallowly and immediately finds himself in cold arms.
For the first time in a while, this wet chill connects not to the black sea, but to old, familiar memories.
Kanata was just as wet when Chiaki rescued him on the second year of Yumenosaki, and just like now, Chiaki grasped at his clothes and was simply glad to feel his breath in the water-frozen body.
Kanata was just as wet when they hugged each other countless times in those three years. It was never anything scary, and it shouldn't be now. Not any more.
Thin, comforting fingers run through his hair and stroke his head. Kanata rocks him gently, like a child, and he is probably the only person in the world that Chiaki is willing to feel so weak with.
"Stay "overnight," He suddenly offers him quietly.
"What?"
"I'm a Hero too, after all. I will protect you from "nightmares."
Chiaki only grips his shirt even tighter. The damp fabric seems to be the only thing keeping him from falling.
This evening he falls asleep to the narrator's steady voice before the first documentary is over — right on the couch, in his arms. He is escorted by hands on his waist and a fleeting, weightless kiss in his hair — into sleep, into darkness, into determination — and Chiaki feels like a hero again.
Noise.
It's familiar already, but not the least bit piercing.
Tonight the cold, even harsher than usual, reaches his bones with particular fervor. It's the kind of cold that can kill, even more so for a man soaked to the skin, and Chiaki instantly searches for Kanata's figure in the water again.
Kanata is silent.
Kanata is silent and silently drilling him with a frozen gaze. Motionless and colorless, he looks like a clipping from an old photograph; a flat, low-quality image superimposed in the world, not a living person. A picture that sees right through him.
Chiaki doesn't need to gaze long into his eyes to understand at once that he knows everything.
Everything Chiaki has done. Everything Chiaki wants to do and can't bring himself to, and everything he will do without even realizing it himself yet. He doesn't need to say anything else, because today Chiaki will go into the water.
In this silence, for the first time, Chiaki notices how quiet the beach is. No seagulls shouting, no city singing behind him, no humming of cars; only noisy, noisy waves rumbling, his heart pounding, and Kanata silent.
In this silence, voices echo in his head particularly clearly.
It'll all be over.
I will protect you.
Kaoru and Kanata said it would be all right.
Just one step. One step, one feat — he can do that. He has already saved his most important person, and he can do it again, and the inky water will not be an obstacle for him.
After all, he is a hero. And his own hero promised him safety.
The sole of his sneaker sinks into the delighted sea. In a single instant the water permeates his body, filling every cell and nerve with the sharply cold dark and stopping with electricity on his nape, and for a second Chiaki feels such primal terror from which it is impossible even to run, only to fall, powerless, cry and burst into prayer — and in the same instant he wakes up with a jerk.
The room is flooded with the sun, which has already boldly risen. He somehow finds himself on the bed; Kanata is asleep beside him, calm and serene, and the light is hugging his soft features. With one hand he's still touching Chiaki's shoulder, as if he were trying very hard not to let go of him whatever happened. The terror quickly falls back from that sight.
It's okay.
He stepped into the water, and nothing bad happened. Sure, he was scared, but he immediately woke up, and all is well.
The next dream it will definitely be over. He will save Kanata, and it will all be over; he will be able to sleep again and stop feeling the dumbest guilt and inexplicable fear, the gloomy sea will be a thing of the past, and his life will at last return to its course. He will become himself again.
Chiaki almost saved himself. Kanata almost saved him from the visions of the night.
The clock is showing half past eight. He has to get up soon for a shoot anyway. Giving the sleeping Kanata one last look, Chiaki leaves a small grateful kiss on his hero's cheekbone as a farewell and climbs out of bed, trying not to disturb the sleep of the other inhabitants of the room.
A little bit of color returns to the world. As he puts on his shoes, Chiaki thinks he's even almost got enough sleep and will probably be able to get some good work done.
It's bright and nice in the hallway; the day outside the windows promises to be pleasant. Residual fatigue still hangs over his body, but the mere hope of escaping from his nightmares makes Chiaki's gait more cheerful. Something quietly crunches on every other step as he types a message to Kanata on the go, heading for the kitchen — for breakfast.
"Thank you, Blue ☆ Your help was so useful! I had to leave for work, but I almost got a good night's sleep! Text me if you have a spare minute today 😁"
Maybe his support will help Chiaki deal with the last nightmare. Maybe he could even fall asleep in his arms again: there's nowhere else that he can sleep so peacefully.
The annoying crunch of his shoes that has been accompanying him from the very room finally gets to him, and Chiaki stops to check his sneakers.
In the light of the warm sun, the wet sand on the damp right sole dries out and stays noisily on the floor.