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In their time as friends – which is going on a decade, now, almost, – Rei thinks, thumping Rin-san on the back, there are very few instances he’s seen Rin-san really, truly scared.
Scared Rin-san is not a pretty Rin-san, a real departure from his usual photo-ready, sunshine-cheerful, eye-blinding self. Scared Rin-san is angry and volatile, a hark back to Rei’s first year of high school, when Rin-san was scared all the time and, like a cornered wild animal, more a danger to himself than to anyone else.
A while ago – several minutes, in fact – Nagisa’d said, “calm down, Rin-chan. You just need to give him some space. He’s going to come back on his own.”
Rin-san had told him to, “fuck off, Nagisa, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” shouting over the music. He’d looked rebellious, resolute, afterward, as if he hadn’t intended to say it, but was going to follow through now he had.
Nagisa had risen from his seat, looking stonily furious, an expression Rei is thankfully not very familiar with, and said, in a voice like icicles protruding from a cave roof,
“I wish you luck with him, Rei-chan, he’s impossible right now. Rin-chan, when you want to apologize, you’ll know where to find me.”
Rei can see him now, several meters away, chatting up some spellbound stranger near the bar’s stage, where the live band is playing something loud, metal, and headache-inducing. Nagisa catches Rei looking, flashes him a large smile. Rei smiles back.
“I’m sorry,” Rin-san says, hoarsely, when he has coughed out the lump in his throat, face still luminously tearstained, “I shouldn’t have said that.”
There are dark rings underneath his eyes, like he hasn’t slept in a whole week, and a spot of red on his mouth, where he’s bitten through his lip. Rei thinks, vaguely, that he would not look out of place in a horror film.
Rei shrugs, pushes a glass of water in his direction. “Nagisa-kun doesn’t hold grudges.”
Rin-san heaves a sigh, swallows, audibly. “Still,” he says, looking out in Nagisa’s direction. Rei thinks he is going to add something else, like he doesn’t deserve to hear things like that from me, but instead, Rin-san looks down at his hands, curled tightly around his glass of water, knuckles white.
“Rei,” Rin-san says, so quietly Rei has to lean in to listen. “What do you do when you’re afraid you’re going to lose,” he pauses, “someone?” He clasps and unclasps his hands.
“Look, Rin-san,” Rei begins, and pauses. What he wants to say is I honestly don’t know what to tell you; this is not my area of expertise; ask me anything else – but now Rin-san is looking at him with a sort of hopeful desperation on his face that makes Rei want to back away, or put his head down and cry, “from what you’ve said, you weren’t the only one in the wrong. These things take time. Take a step back, wait for things to blow over.”
Rin-san’s face drops. Rei can feel the weight of his disappointment as if it were a corporeal thing. It makes his throat stick. I’m sorry, he wants to say.
“Haru’s not Nagisa, Rei,” Rin-san says. He sounds tired, all of a sudden, spent, just like Rei feels.
Sympathy makes Rei reach out, place his hand on his shoulder – tentatively, because Rin-san does not always welcome being touched. Surprisingly, Rin-san does not object; instead, he leans into Rei, shoulders sagging into Rei’s, like a tent collapsing in on itself, head coming to rest under Rei’s chin.
It is not the most comfortable position in the world, and Rei would rather he was not sitting in a noisy, crowded bar, but at least, unlike words, physical gestures of support and consolation are easier to understand, and not so easily misunderstood, and usually better received, in Rei’s experience.
“I know,” Rei says into his hair, “but they’ve been friends a long time. Didn’t Nagisa say the same thing?” He bites his lip before he adds something less comforting, like, hey, maybe listening would help.
“Hope you’re right,” Rin-san mumbles. He shifts, to look Rei in the eye, his glittering. “I miss him, Rei.”
end.