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“I survived, but it's not a happy ending.” - Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried
Repressed memory.
That's what the doctors had called it, two years ago, when Tooru had woken up confused in an emergency room and couldn't remember the details of what had happened the day before. They'd told him that it was natural; that his mind was merely trying to cope with the immense psychological trauma he'd been faced with, so suddenly and at such a young age. He'd argued that sixteen wasn't young, but the fact remained that he barely remembered the twenty-four hours prior to his disoriented awakening, so he was really in no position to point that out. Age at the time of trauma didn't matter in the end, anyway. He’d still be haunted for the rest of his life.
Over the next few weeks spent in a hospital bed, Tooru’d had quite a bit of free time on his hands, so he instinctively began relaying the events of that day in his muddled brain, over and over and over again, till he’d pieced together all that he could about that fateful day. It wasn't much, but he managed to compile a somewhat chronological list of his meagre memories about the incident.
01. It had been raining, inching its way dangerously toward sleet by the minute.
02. They were on their way to see that new superhero movie that had just premiered. Hajime was driving, as usual.
03. Tooru had his feet propped up on the dash. It pissed Hajime off, as usual.
04. They hydroplaned, or skidded on ice, or he didn't know what, but the next thing Tooru knew the car was spinning and all he could do was brace himself against the momentum.
05. He heard a soft voice, nearly tangible in the thin air of the winter, utter a single word. “Duck.” Hajime didn't hear it.
06. He woke up seventeen hours later, in a hospital room, with an agonising headache and a broken arm.
07. Hajime was already dead by then.
“I think about you. But I don't say it anymore.” - Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima Mon Amour
Tooru wakes to the rhythmic banging of a fist against his bedroom door.
Glancing at his clock, he notes that it’s only 8:33, and his class doesn't start until 10:00. He groans, rolling his eyes as he stuffs his face into the cool side of his pillow. The knocking doesn't slow, relentlessly prompting him to stand and cross the room to fling the door open, annoyed.
“You asshat, what are you doing? We’re gonna be late for our first uni class ever!” Kuroo’s yelling as he busts into the room, making his way to Tooru’s desk chair in just a few long strides before plopping down into it.
“Tetsu-chan, we don't even have to leave for class for another hour.” He yawns, as if for emphasis, and stretches for so long that he's pretty sure every vertebrae in his back pops.
Kuroo sighs, breath blowing his long chunk of fringe off of his forehead for a brief moment. “Oikawa, it takes you at least forty-five minutes just to fix your hair.” He's folding his hands behind his head, leaning back into the chair to get comfortable, and Tooru knows he's lost.
Tooru just shrugs. He can't deny it, anyway.
At exactly 9:37, Tooru is rushing to slip his shoes on and fly out the door, eager to catch up to his best friend, who left five minutes ago because he “wasn't going to be late for something as stupid as misplaced hairspray.” (In Tooru’s defence, his hair would have been completely flat by the end of class if it wasn't properly sprayed, and how does Kuroo expect him to get through the day with hair as deflated as his motivation?) He rushes into the cool autumn air, and momentarily regrets wearing his UGG boots because they make it difficult to hurry. He awkwardly shuffles at top speed for a minute or so, and then he's caught up to Kuroo.
“What class are we headed to?” he mumbles, and he can feel Kuroo’s eyes on him even as he stares at the sidewalk.
“Vampires and modern culture,” Kuroo says offhandedly. He's used to Tooru’s forgetfulness by now; it's been terrible for the past two years.
“Why the hell do we have to take that, again?”
Kuroo shrugs, his shoulder bumping Tooru briefly. “I don't know, bro. It's a block course, so just shut up and deal with it.”
Tooru pouts somewhat dramatically. “As long as we don't have to read Twilight. I had enough of that in middle school.”
Kuroo snorts. “Did you even look at the list of required reading? Twilight was literally the first book on there.”
Tooru’s frown deepens.
Kuroo’s wearing combat boots, so he's moving at a much faster pace than Tooru can manage, and it takes most of his energy just to keep up with his friend. But thanks to the power walking, they somehow make it to class on time, with two minutes to spare, to be exact. Tooru is pleased with himself, but Kuroo harrumphs and throws himself into a seat in the back corner. Tooru’s forced to sit on the other side of the room, seeing as they're the last two to arrive.
Tooru, as usual, is distracted at best, and disinterested at worst. The professor seems like a nice enough guy, but he's just droning on about when exams will be and what's expected of class participation, so Tooru honestly tunes him out within the first five minutes. He turns his attention to doodling on the first page of his notebook, drawing volleyballs and aliens and a cat with a bit of fur that looks suspiciously like fringe.
But then, as usual, his mind wanders.
He’s doodling a vampire, because it's appropriate for the class (which doesn't count for much but he's slightly proud that he's at least remotely on topic), and he's no artist but he's got to admit it looks pretty damn good. He's given it black eyes, huge fangs that honestly wouldn't even be practical if they were real, and claws dripping with what's probably the blood of its latest victim. He even goes so far as to draw a little speech bubble by its head that reads, “I vant to suck your blood!”
But then he's got himself thinking about blood, and that's never a good place for his train of thought to go. He doesn't remember much about Hajime from the last time they saw each other, but he does remember a whole lot about his blood, and he can't help but flashback to that day all those months ago when he was quite literally laying in a puddle of it.
That's not his last memory of Hajime, and surprisingly it's not his worst either. Sure, that was scary as hell, but his overloaded brain could barely even register the mangled form of the boy who used to be his best friend, only catching glimpses here and there of a face marred with crimson. It was kind of like a scene from a movie, really, just flashes of the carnage, which is probably why Tooru’s brain was able to block it out for the most part. Repressed memory.
But the thing his brain can't forget, no matter how hard it tries or how desperately he wants it to, is the funeral. His arm had been in a cast, the rest of his body covered in various bandages and splints, and the doctor had even made him ride in a wheelchair just to be on the safe side. That alone was enough to make it a particularly depressing viewing, as if saying goodbye to the dead isn't bad enough, but the thing that really tipped him over the edge was the actual sight of Hajime.
The mortician had quite literally had to sew his head back on, so there was a nasty trail of red circling all the way around his neck; and granted, Hajime’s family had done their best to choose a shirt that would cover the jagged line, but collars can only do so much. And anyway, Tooru had been prepared for the scar. He'd known how Hajime had died; they'd told him a couple days before, and his mind had made the proper adjustments to cope before he ever got to the funeral parlour. He was detached.
What his well-intentioned brain hadn't taken into account, however, was the suit. It was just a normal suit, nothing too fancy, but it fit Hajime well and to Tooru’s knowledge it was the only piece of clothing that was even remotely nice in Hajime’s closet. He'd always been more the type to bum around in sweatshirts and jeans, and Tooru had teased him to no end about it one day he'd looked especially disheveled. Hajime had made some smart remark about hating to dress up, and Tooru had asked him what he planned to do when he got married.
“You can't dress so sloppily at your own wedding, Iwa-chan!”
He flicked Tooru’s nose. “Why not? If the person I want to marry has a problem with it, there just won't be a wedding.”
“You're going to elope? How scandalous!” Tooru threw his hand back against his face dramatically, leaning back for effect.
“Shut up, Shittykawa. I just mean I won't ever wear that damn suit, it's too much effort and what's the point, anyway? To impress people with how refined I am?” He scoffs. “That's so shallow. I wouldn't be caught dead in that thing.”
All Tooru could think the day of the funeral was that he’d finally caught Hajime in that suit. Dead.
“...And there's a difference between breathing and being alive.” - John Boyne, The Absolutist
The next few weeks of classes are, in short, excruciatingly boring. Tooru’s just taking his gen ed’s anyway, so he sees it as a colossal waste of time to be slaving over such impertinent material. He doesn't really have a say in the matter, though, so he sucks it up the best he can. He may not be motivated enough to give a shit, but he won't waste his parents’ good money by slacking off in his studies.
Kuroo is in his room again, trying to encourage him to study, but Tooru’s been staring at the blank word document open on his laptop for a solid hour now. He's supposed to be writing an essay on some Greek philosopher, but he can't find it in himself to even recall the assignment, much less bother getting started. Kuroo, for his part, is leaning against the foot of the bed typing away at a calculator as he hurries to finish his physics homework. He's got some group project to work on tomorrow so he wants to finish as early as possible, Tooru remembers.
Tooru spins around in his wheelie chair, smacking Kuroo’s knee with his foot in the process, effectively getting the other boy’s attention. “Tetsu-chan, I'm bored. Let's go out!”
Kuroo just sighs, shaking his head as he glances at the clock. “Oikawa, I'm not gonna let you drag me out for coffee at this hour, I have stuff to do in the morning.”
“But it's Friday, that's supposed to be the day we don't worry about school,” Tooru half whines.
Kuroo’s not fazed. “Actually, that's Saturday. We still have classes on Friday, y’know.” He turns his attention back to his formulas, and Tooru huffs and resigns himself to spending the next hour watching stupid YouTube videos.
Then Kuroo’s leaving, since it's nearly midnight and he wants to get at least a somewhat reasonable amount of sleep, so Tooru gives him a quick tackle-hug and sends him on his way. But then he's alone, which is the worst thing for him to be.
He’s just wearing one of Hajime’s old hoodies and his favourite galaxy print leggings, so he slips on his Nike’s and heads out the door. He grumbles to no one about how cold it is, but he really can't find it in himself to care because he's already halfway to his car and he can't be bothered to turn back and grab a jacket. He climbs into the driver’s side, thanking the universe for heated seats as he pulls out of the parking lot toward the nearest gas station.
This used to be his and Hajime’s thing; whenever one of them was feeling down, they'd stop whatever they were doing and go for a coffee run, no matter what time it was. For some reason it had always seemed to be late at night when they got to feeling bad, so it sort of morphed into a ritual to go for midnight coffee at least once a week. Hajime said it was therapeutic; Tooru hasn't done it since Hajime died, but maybe he's feeling nostalgic, or his caffeine craving is getting the better of him, but either way he has to admit Hajime was right.
So that's how he finds himself sitting on the library steps at 12:30 in the morning sipping shitty gas station coffee, wishing he'd at least sucked it up and gotten a jacket, because his coffee is lukewarm now and it's not doing much to warm him up. He wishes he knew where a good park was around here; Hajime always had a talent for finding the best spots for late night coffee drinking, and Tooru’s wishing he had that very specific skill at the moment. But he doesn't, so library steps it is.
The leaves are rustling around his bare ankles in the gentle breeze, and his fringe tickles his face as it flutters from the restless air. He tosses his hair lightly out of his eyes, pulling his knees up to his chin and staring at nothing in particular till his coffee is downright freezing. He still doesn't move from his perch, flipping his hood up in a feeble attempt to retain body heat, and sighs when he realises he hasn't had a single coherent thought for at least an hour now. Really, he can't remember the last time his brain wasn't completely devoid of all emotion, so he shouldn't be as surprised as he is. Maybe he should get that checked out.
“Yeah, you probably should.”
Tooru whips his head around, searching for the source of that voice; he swears he's heard it somewhere before, but he can't for the life of him figure out who it belongs to. He’s a little taken aback when he realises that there's no one around, and he's probably just hearing things but it's unsettling and he hates the sudden awareness it brings of how alone he is.
“You're not alone, Tooru, I'm right here with you. Well, sort of.”
He's really gone insane. He's completely lost it, mind finally cracked from the two years of the torturous monotony that is life without Hajime. Kuroo tried to keep him grounded, he really did, but apparently Tooru is too far gone. He's got to give Kuroo credit for doing his best, but it's all downhill from here, he supposes.
“Stop it, you'll never get better thinking like that.”
Tooru is really fed up with himself now, and in his frustration he can't help from blurting out, “Who the fuck are you?” at a stray cat that happens to be wandering by.
“Don't take your anger out on the cat, I'll tell you who I am.” There's a pause, like the voice in Tooru’s head is thinking. But wouldn't that mean he's thinking? That would make sense, but if that's the case then he should be hearing something besides radio static in his brain. Which he doesn't. Which must mean - “My name’s Sugawara Koushi. Apparently, I'm telepathic.”
“You never know what's around the corner. It could be everything. Or it could be nothing.” - Tom Hiddleston
Tooru busts through Kuroo’s door, completely ignoring the fact that it's one o’clock in the goddamn morning, and pounces on his friend mercilessly. “Tetsu-chan you will never believe what just happened to me!” he yells, and Kuroo lifts his face from the mountain of pillows he'd been suffocating in to glare daggers at Tooru.
“Whatever the hell it is, this had better be good.” He sits up in his bed, toppling Tooru over so they’re practically in each other’s laps, and paws at his eyes halfheartedly.
“Tetsu-chan, I have a guardian angel! Can you believe it?” Tooru’s bouncing lightly on the bed, buzzing with energy from caffeine and a late night revelation. Kuroo has a headache.
“Oikawa, what are you even talking about? That makes no sense.” Kuroo knows better than anyone that Tooru gave up on the whole god thing after Hajime died; why would anyone allow that to happen, if there were such a thing as salvation?
“Okay, okay. Lemme start at the beginning.” He settles into Kuroo’s bed, which makes Kuroo groan because he knows this is going to take a while. “First off, you remember the day of the accident? How I said I thought I heard someone tell me to duck, and everyone just told me it was intuition or whatever?”
Kuroo nods. “Yeah, though I remember Kindaichi said he’d always thought you were psychic.”
“I'm not, but I'm close!” Tooru grins, and Kuroo hasn't seen him this excited in years. It's kind of starting to make him uncomfortable. “Okay so, apparently that actually was someone telling me to duck! I have a person inside my head who can read my thoughts! And I can hear them too!” Tooru’s starting to get a little breathless, so Kuroo puts his hand on his shoulders.
“Wait, wait. Calm down and explain this properly, please? You just sound like you have an imaginary friend.”
“He's not imaginary, Tetsu-chan!” Tooru swats at his arm gently. “His name is Sugawara Koushi and he's telepathic, but for some reason I'm the only one who can hear him talk back. He's my guardian angel and I'm gonna meet him for coffee on Monday morning!”
Kuroo stares at him. “How….do you meet an angel for coffee? Is that even allowed?”
Tooru blinks a couple times before shrugging. “I don't know, he offered so I said yes.”
“Are you sure this is even a thing? Like, that Sugawara is even….real? No offence, but I've done a lot of reading about the damage major trauma can do to your brain, and I saw somewhere that -”
“Tetsu.” Tooru places his hand over Kuroo’s mouth, palm warm against his lips. “I'm not crazy.” He looks like he's going to cry, and fuck Kuroo can't be the reason for that.
He moves Tooru’s hand away, pulling loosely on his wrist, and sighs. “I don't think you are, Oikawa. But I mean, how could this be true? And why would you just now be able to hear him? After two years?”
Tooru’s gaze hardens a bit, his tears disappear and are replaced with an eerie resolve. “He's gonna tell me everything on Monday, don't worry.”
“I felt the most burning desire for once to be quite alone with my thoughts for a little while.” - Friedrich Nietzche
On Monday Tooru wakes up bright and early at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning, against his own better judgement, and spends a solid hour and a half fretting over every conceivable detail of himself. He realises he can't do much about the internal mess, the skeletons in his closet so to speak, so he focuses his nervous energy into making his exterior look as presentable as humanly possible. Or he tries to, anyway.
In the end, he settles for a pastel pink button-up Oxford, his favourite pair of black skinny jeans that hug his hips just right, and a leather belt that accentuates that fact. He tops it all off with a plaid scarf so it's not quite so boring, and also because if he didn't bundle up he might die from hypothermia. He throws on his favourite trench coat before calling it good and rushing out the door before he can change his mind for the millionth time that morning.
He’s still vibrating from the anticipation as he makes his way across campus, toward the coffee shop above the library, and he distracts himself by applying Chapstick for fifteen minutes straight. He's got way too much of it on by the end of it to be comfortable, but he barely notices. He just walks up to the counter, orders his usual skinny vanilla latte, and sits at an empty table by the window while he sips his drink distractedly.
He zones out a bit while he waits, and he finds himself wondering what Suga will be like. Evidently Suga knows what Tooru looks like, from reading his mind and the minds of people around him, but Tooru has no clue what he's getting himself into. For all he knows, Suga could be glowing or have actual wings or something ridiculous like that. He doubts it, but he's willing to bet that Suga is beautiful if nothing else.
And, well, he's not wrong.
The boy who suddenly sits in the chair across from Tooru is so graceful, his arrival so quiet, Tooru almost doesn't notice he has company. Till he turns his head toward the slight movement in his peripheral vision, that is, and physically feels the breath get knocked out of him because there's no way this boy isn't a real, live angel, walking among men.
He's wearing slim khakis under a teal turtleneck sweater, topped off with a brown peacoat and the fluffiest earmuffs to ever exist, Tooru’s sure of it. He’s also got shimmery silver hair, and the kindest brown eyes Tooru’s ever seen, not to mention an adorable mole under his left eye, which Tooru gets this weird urge to kiss. It must be an angel thing. His breath hitches in his throat as Suga slips off his earmuffs and jacket.
“Hey, Tooru.” He smiles, and it's like the sun. Tooru feels like he needs to lie down.
“Kou-chan, I was worried you wouldn't show!” He really doesn't know what else to say, because why the hell would such an ethereal being take precious time out of his day to meet up with someone as bland as Tooru?
“I'm not actually an angel, you know that right?” Suga smirks a little, but it's out of endearment.
“Impossible.” Tooru blinks a few times in denial. “There's no way you're not my guardian angel.”
Suga blushes the tiniest bit, and Tooru wants to throw himself out the nearest window. “Don't do that,” Suga chides, and Tooru gets a shocking reminder that this boy can, in fact, read his mind.
“Shit, I didn't mean it like that. You're just a little overwhelming, is all.” He mentally kicks himself for being a literal idiot.
“You're one to talk.”
Tooru’s mouth drops open into a tiny “o”. “How could I be overwhelming to someone like you?”
“Well, for starters, your brain never shuts up.” Suga giggles, and Tooru’s jaw drops even more. “Over the years I've gotten pretty good at tuning people out, but your mind is loud. Never could shake you.” He smiles fondly and Tooru’s sure he's going into cardiac arrest.
“Wait so, you've always been able to read minds?”
“Hear people’s thoughts is a more accurate way to put it.” Suga pauses, eyes drifting to the side in thought. “I can't just read what I want from them; it's just a constant stream of the collective consciousness in my head. What I hear depends on who's closest to me, unless it's you of course. No matter where I went, you followed.”
Tooru feels his brow furrow at that. “Why me?”
“I have no idea. I mean, telepathy isn't really a viable thing to bring up to your doctor, so I've been going off of what I can find online. But everything is so contradictory it isn't much help, so I kind of gave up on that. Speaking from my experience, though, it's kind of like a radio.”
Tooru’s lost now. “Uhm. Can you please elaborate for those of us who aren't supernatural beings?”
Suga laughs a little, nodding. “Basically, I've gotten good at recognising individual people’s voices, so I can tune into just the thoughts of those particular people I want to hear at the time. Like the dial on a radio. There's one channel that's whoever is close to me; it’s in constant flux and I only get snippets of thought as people move in and out of range. Then there's one that's just friends and family; people I know well and actually care about what they have to say. Or, well, think.”
“And me?”
“That's the weird thing; whenever I try to tune everyone out, to have some time alone in my own head, you're still there. It's like we’re on the same wavelength or something. I've been trying for years and I have yet to figure out why I can't get rid of you.” He shoots Tooru a small grin, almost nostalgic. “It ended up being a good thing two years ago, but I'm not sure how I got you to listen back to me.”
“How come I only heard you again a couple days ago? Where have you been all this time?”
Suga shrugs. “I guess you finally had an open mind, I don't know. Like I said, none of this makes any sense and I bet you think I'm crazy, but you're the only one I've ever told about this.” He scratches the back of his neck nervously.
Tooru looks up at him over the rim of his coffee cup, searching his body language for any sign he's lying. He doesn't find one, not that he expected to. “I know the feeling. I'm pretty sure my family and my one friend think I've gone over the deep end. Maybe I have.” He shrugs, like it doesn't make a bit of difference either way.
“It really doesn't, in the end. Make a difference, I mean.” Suga looks sad, but Tooru doesn't pry. “You know, Hajime really loved you.”
It's sudden, and Tooru almost knocks his drink over with the jolt that rocks his body. “What?” is all he can say, and he feels like he's suffocating.
“I just….There's one channel I haven't told you about yet.” Suga clears his throat, trying to find the best way to word it. “Well, I guess I should start by saying the reason I'm like this is because I died when I was five.”
“So you are an angel!” Tooru practically yells.
“No. I died, but I came back to life. And that's when I started hearing it, hearing people's thoughts. I think because I died, I can also hear what dead people are thinking.” He winces briefly, but then it's gone. “And I got the chance to talk to Hajime last year. It was a total coincidence, but my grandma is buried pretty close to Hajime, so when I went to pay her a visit I could hear him too. You're all he talked about, Tooru. He loved you so, so much.” Suga’s lip quivers ever so slightly as he says, “He would've spent the rest of his life loving you, and he's spending all of his afterlife loving you too.”
Tooru doesn't understand why the world has suddenly gone blurry till he feels the hot tears falling into his lap, soaking through the fabric of his jeans and turning it even darker.
“When you care about someone, you just do, and nothing changes that.” - Amanda Hocking, Lullaby
Kuroo is skeptical, despite all Tooru’s told him about Suga. It's been a week since they met for coffee, and Tooru’s diligent pestering has finally made Kuroo cave. Against all that's sane in the world, Kuroo has agreed to meet this guardian angel of Tooru’s. They're currently all sitting in Tooru’s dorm, Kuroo sprawled on the floor in between the beanbag chair Suga’s occupying and Tooru’s spot on the bed.
Suga is not what Kuroo imagined, and Kuroo does not act how Tooru expected. Kuroo’s always been protective, more so since Hajime died, but he's taking it a little far by physically placing himself between Tooru and Suga at all times. Suga’s been inside his head nonstop for years, for Christ’s sake. If he was going to do anything questionable he would've done it by now.
Tooru says as much, and Kuroo sighs. “You're right, but it's still hard to swallow.”
That's what she said, Tooru thinks, which makes Suga fall against the footboard in a fit of giggles. Kuroo halfheartedly glares at them both, throwing his hands up. “Don't do the telepathy thing without me!” he pouts, but then he's smiling and laughing with them and Tooru figures Suga has finally gotten through to him. It was only a matter of time, anyway, all things considered.
Kuroo swallows visibly once Suga and Tooru have gotten over their bout of laughter. “It's just weird seeing you so happy, not that it's a bad thing. It’s great, bro, really. I just wish I could've been the one to do that for you, y’know? Iwa told me to look after you, and I did a shit job.” He runs his hand through his wild mop of hair, sighing, lost in thought.
A minute later, Suga suddenly gets serious. “Don't ever think that again,” he deadpans at Kuroo, who starts.
“You….heard that?” He looks almost sheepish, and Tooru is totally at a loss.
Suga isn't, however. “Yes, and I don't want you to ever feel like that. They're wrong, and you deserve better than to beat yourself up over something that's out of your control.”
Kuroo just nods submissively, and Tooru wonders what the hell he was thinking that got Suga so upset, but just as he's about to ask Suga shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Tooru gets the hint, and changes the subject.
After that day, Kuroo and Suga form their own sort of bond. It's not like the one Tooru shares with Suga, but it's good for Kuroo, Tooru can tell. He doesn't know what Suga and Kuroo talk about, for the most part, but he knows Kuroo is in good hands. So is Suga, if he's being honest. Kuroo is a good person, a much better person than Tooru.
“Go all the way with it. Do not back off. For once, go all the goddamn way with what matters.” - Ernest Hemingway
Tooru misses Hajime. He misses him so fucking much, and for some reason it's only getting worse as time goes on. He's pretty sure that's not how it's supposed to work, but when has anything in his life been how it's supposed to be.
It happens a month and a half after he meets Suga; the three year anniversary of Hajime’s death. Tooru doesn't consciously keep track of it, it's not like he wants to celebrate it, but his stupid brain chooses the worst details to remember.
He's laying in bed that night, staring at the glow in the dark stars scattered across his ceiling, listening to the wind rattle the cheap dorm windowpanes, remembering. His brain may have forgotten a lot, but he manages to remember much more.
He remembers the first time he and Hajime met, when they were six and their whole lives were ahead of them and their main concern was scraping their knees as they caught beetles in the backyard. He remembers when they started middle school together, the first time they joined the volleyball team and their biggest problem was waking up at the crack of dawn for practice. He remembers how much they improved in high school, how much potential Hajime had, how inspiring he was.
He remembers Hajime as he was then, when he still had all the time in the world, and so much left to do, and so many more people to influence. How the beat of Hajime’s heart sounded after a particularly thrilling match, and Tooru could hug him to his chest and feel the fire in his veins, see the sparkle in his eyes. How he felt those strong arms wrap around him in return, an unspoken promise that he'd never let him go. How Hajime was meant to be, alive and in love with life and all it had to offer. In love with Tooru.
Maybe that's why it's gotten worse; now that he knows Hajime had loved him, how could Tooru not mourn the loss of what could have been? It had never really crossed his mind before Suga pointed it out, but he can see now in hindsight how much Hajime had loved him. And he can see that he loves Hajime, too.
That must be why he wants to die. He really, truly does, if for no other reason than to be with the one he loves once again. It's a shitty thing to wish for, the most selfish of desires, and childish to say the least. But he misses Hajime, and Suga can talk to him when he never even met him and it's not fair. None of this is fair, and Tooru wants it to end.
He's jerked out of his reverie by a knock on his door and a muffled “Tooru?” that can be none other than Suga.
“It's open,” he thinks, not finding it in himself to speak.
Suga swings the door open, letting a tiny sliver of light into the room, before walking over to Tooru’s bed and snuggling up as close as physically possible to Tooru’s side. He smells nice, like mint and vanilla and a little bit of boy soap, and he's petting Tooru’s hair, which always calms him down. Suga must know that.
Tooru turns over so he's facing Suga, noses almost touching in the dark. “Kou-chan, am I fucked up?” He's never actually asked it before, and who better to ask than the boy who knows more about him than Tooru himself does.
Suga’s still carding his fingers through Tooru’s chestnut locks, occasionally brushing his thumb against Tooru’s cheek in the process. “No, love. You're not fucked up, you're human. And being human means hurting, and feeling overwhelmed, and thinking you're alone. But you're not, Tooru. You may have lost Hajime, but you found me, and that means the world to me. I can't replace Hajime, no one can, and I can't stop your hurt. But I can help you get through this, and I want to, if you'll let me.”
Tooru closes his eyes, hot tears pressing out the corners. “You heard what I was thinking, didn't you? Is that why you came?”
Suga thinks for a moment, scratching the fine hair at the nape of Tooru’s neck reassuringly. “Yes, I heard, but that's not why I came. I came because I missed you, and I remembered what today is, and I wanted to be with you. To remind you that you have me, if you want me. I don’t know if it counts for much, but I do love you, Tooru. I have since before I met you; I fell in love with your mind, and after meeting you in person it only grew stronger. You're amazing, and you deserve to be told that every day, even by someone who's heard all your deepest secrets.”
Tooru clenches his arms around Suga’s waist, burying his face into the other boy’s shoulder. “You really mean it? That even though you've seen all my flaws and heard all my horrible thoughts, you still think that?”
Suga lifts Tooru’s chin gently so he's looking into Suga’s eyes. “I don't think it, I know it. You're beautiful, Tooru, and nothing can change that. You're more than what you've lost or the thoughts you’ve had, and you're more than I can ever say. You’re you, and to me, that's everything.”
Tooru’s crying harder now, drying his tears on the front of Suga's shirt, hands fisted into the fabric, anchoring him to the present. Hajime is gone, but Tooru is still here, and so is Suga and there's a whole life ahead of them that's waiting to be lived. He can't forget Hajime, but he can't live forever wishing he was here, either. He doesn't want to, but sometimes the only thing you can do is let go.
That frees up your hands to grab onto something new, which is exactly what Tooru does.
He takes his shaky hands, which spent too long grasping onto the past, and aren't used to holding anything but a grudge, and cradles Suga’s face in them, and guides their mouths together before he can think too hard about it. Suga’s lips are soft and he tastes like home feels, and for once Tooru is glad he has his hands full. They're full of Suga, and that's a precious gift he will never take for granted.
Because Tooru has felt a lot of things, and some of it he wishes he hadn’t, but all of it made him who he is and that's reason enough to live through the pain. Pain is part of life, and only makes the pleasure more vibrant, and it's all what makes us human, what gives us life. Suga makes him feel it all, and Tooru feels alive again.