Chapter Text
The first thing Shinichiro notices is how dry his throat feels, like it’s been scraped at with a razor blade. The next thing he notices is there’s something stuck down there and that instantly sets him off in a panic.
It’s some kind of feeding tube or the like. He knows that because Manjiro had one not anymore never again and it looked awful. Now he knows that it feels just as bad as it looks.
It’s as he’s jerking and coughing and choking on the thing that he feels hands pull him up and pull the tube out, blinking his eyes open despite how painful the light is to look at. And it’s as he’s coughing once the thing is gone and someone’s putting ice water to his mouth that he manages to think a little more.
Usually, feeding tubes are only for patients who can’t feed themselves. Patients who can’t even swallow liquids. Patients who are usually either comatose or brain-dead.
That makes him panic even more. His mind assaults him with memories of Manjiro and isn’t that a pleasant thing? He needs to see his brother. He needs him immediately. He needs to make sure Manjiro is okay. He needs to see Emma, to make sure she’s okay too.
“Sano-san. Sano-san, please calm down,” someone says and he tries desperately to focus on them. The faster he focuses, the faster he can see Manjiro. A woman comes into view, her hair pulled back and glasses magnifying her eyes. She’s in scrubs and is looking directly at him. A nurse.
He takes a breath. Unwanted thoughts assault him.
What… happened? He wracks his brain and can’t think of what it is.
Manjiro…
Manjiro died.
Emma disappeared.
Grandpa died.
Wakasa became a criminal.
He killed someone.
He jumped into that river.
Haruchiyo saw him.
He jumped.
He died.
Or did someone fish him out in time?
“W-Wh-”
“It’s okay, Sano-san. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I don’t-”
His eyelids flutter shut of their own accord. He’s never felt so betrayed by his own body than at that moment.
The next time he wakes up, there’s a figure standing in the doorway. He can barely see them, eyes only slits from the bright light. What he can see is a pair of grey sweatpants and the edges of a white t-shirt. A wrist hangs at one side, the other likely out of view, and it has a hospital bracelet wrapped around it.
In his second year of studying, as textbooks piled up around him and Manjiro’s condition worsened, he’d run into a bunch of codes and notices that hospitals regularly use. And what he can barely see on that bracelet lines up with something he hadn’t really thought that much of at the time.
Suicide risk.
It was used to keep staff aware that not only should the patient stay on hospital grounds, but that they should be monitored constantly and they weren’t allowed certain objects or in certain spaces. Like the rooftop.
Shinichiro thinks, idly, that there are very few people left to visit him. When he first saw a figure, he thought it was a nurse or doctor. But it’s another patient.
And he wonders, trying to blink his eyes open a little more, if it’s a stranger wandering the hospital or if it’s someone he knows. No tattoos so not Wakasa. Too short for Takeomi or Keizo. Too tall for it to be Emma having come magically back. And Shinichiro knows Haruchiyo wouldn’t after how freaked out he was on the bridge. Then who-
Finally, he sees the long, black hair and then the piercing bronze eyes, almost gold in the sunlight streaming through the window. A sharp incisor pokes out from his lips that can’t quite decide whether to be a smile or a frown.
Baji Keisuke, with hospital-lent clothes, hair unkempt and streaks either cut out or dyed back to their natural colour. And that damn bracelet.
“Keisuke,” he manages to get out and Keisuke startles a little before giving him a grin.
“Well, how about that? They weren’t lying after all,” Keisuke says. His voice is deeper than it was before.
He looks older and more mature. Sure, after… After everything with Manjiro, Keisuke looked mature and haunted, but it’s not this. It’s not a darkened thirteen-year-old in front of him. It’s a composed yet wild fifteen-year-old.
“It’s… good to see you,” Shinichiro tries for and, for once, his words actually come out how he wants them to.
Keisuke’s expression twists a little. “Yeah, sure.” He slips into the room without a sound, looking at the gifts and flowers placed on a side table. Shinichiro hadn’t even noticed them. Who is leaving him flowers?
“Emma-chan really likes getting you flowers, huh?” Keisuke says as his hand comes up to hover, his bracelet falling a little further down his arm. It’s loose enough to move and not chafe, but not enough for a patient to slide it off.
Wait. “Emma? She…” She leaves him flowers? She came back? She’s alive?
“Yeah, she leaves them when she comes here with her boyfriend,” Keisuke mentions offhand. Shinichiro’s mind slows even further to a halt when he deciphers the words. He hasn’t seen Emma since she was about eleven, when she ran away. He’d called the police but with his hands full with Manjiro and bills and school, he couldn’t do much to help. When they came back with nothing, he regretted being unable to do anything.
Shinichiro doesn’t know how much time has passed. But Keisuke looks older, so it must’ve been at least a year, maybe two. That would make Emma about fourteen, right? About the right age for her to be getting boyfriends and about the right age for him to be scaring them off. He’s surprised in a distant kind of way that Keisuke hadn’t scared the guy off himself, but he’s also in hospital with a warning not to leave so things have clearly changed.
Keisuke has dropped his hand now, the bracelet making a little sound as it slides down towards his hand. His hair sweeps, past his shoulders and looking like it needs a good wash. Shinichiro wonders how long he’s been in the hospital.
In all honesty, Keisuke looks like a wreck, with the shirt baggy and pants too loose. He tilts his head a little, waiting for Shinichiro to say anything.
“Has Wakasa been by?” He asks. “Or Haruchiyo?”
Keisuke gives him a sharp look.
“Sanzu? No.” Keisuke grimaces. “Wakasa-san stops by every so often but I don’t run into him that much.”
Sanzu?
Keisuke finally decides to drop into the chair beside Shinichiro’s bed. It means that Shinichiro doesn’t have to strain his neck to see him, but he does watch as Keisuke winces with a hand to his stomach when he does sit.
He hesitates as Keisuke props up an elbow on his knee, chin cupped in the palm of his hand, the other still pressed lightly to his stomach, as the bracelet catches on the wider part of his forearm, stopping it from going any further. It's what Shinichiro’s eyes get locked on.
“Keisuke,” he finally asks, voice getting scratchy with all the use it’s been getting. “What… why are you wearing that? Why are you here?”
Keisuke gives him a dull look.
“When you stab yourself in the stomach, they give you a nice little bracelet to wear so you don’t leave,” Keisuke huffs, looking exceptionally grumpy for just admitting that he’d attempted suicide. Not like Shinichiro can argue when he tried the same thing. He doesn’t have a bracelet but maybe that’s because he’s not exactly in any position to walk off the roof.
“Do you get visitors at least?” Shinichiro asks.
“Yeah,” Keisuke hums. “Mom, Chifuyu, and Kazutora are the main ones. That Takemitchy does too, and I guess it’s thanks to him that I didn’t bleed out so it’s whatever.”
Shinichiro has met Keisuke’s mom before, but he has never heard the other three names. He guesses a year or two would lead to new friends. Is it a betrayal, he wonders. A betrayal to Manjiro?
“Why did you-?” He struggles with. Keisuke understands what he’s asking because he snorts.
“Tora did it first?”
“Attempt suicide?”
“Stab me,” Keisuke spits back. “I was just trying to finish the job. Was hard to explain to the hospital staff how I could stab myself in the back, but I managed it.”
The empty look in his eyes, the same one Shinichiro saw reflected back at him before he jumped, tells a different story.
“How nice of them, though. Give me some clothes, give me my own room, give me a fancy new accessory, super kind stuff for them to do,” Keisuke says. “Is this karma?”
“Karma?”
“I save your life so I survive in return?” Keisuke hums.
So Keisuke pulled him out of the river, huh? Shinichiro wonders if he was just walking by when Haruchiyo told him what happened.
“Keisuke,” is all he can say in return. He can’t even move his arm to hold Keisuke’s hand. He wants to. “Do you know when Emma is going to be here?”
Keisuke frowns.
“Not really,” he says. With his free hand, the one not gently holding his stomach (and now Shinichiro realizes he was doing that because that was where his injury was), he presses the call button and stands. “I’ve been here too long. The nurses will be looking for me.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I had to check,” Keisuke says. “I had to.”
Shinichiro dozes off despite how much he wants to ask, how much he wants to fight off sleep. Emma and Keisuke. Both alive, both willing to visit him. He doesn’t want to miss a visit from either of them.
So he’s lucky, as he blinks his eyes open, exhaustion still somehow hanging off every part of his body, that there’s a twinkling voice and a hand wrapped around his own, gently gripping it with manicured nails and soft palms. He gazes upwards to find long, blonde hair hanging at the sides of a soft face, angled away from him as a voice he hasn’t heard in so long carries upwards to the lower voice of a companion.
It’s Emma, wearing a black turtleneck and a pastel pink jacket, little earrings in the shape of stars piercing her ears. Her hair is loose, but most is tucked behind her ears and her nails are painted a light pink. She looks… happy. She’s laughing softly at something the other voice says and Shinichiro raises his eyes to see a taller man.
Blond hair done in a braid down his head and shaved sides showing off an impressive dragon tattoo, the man at Emma’s side holds a striking and distinctive silhouette. He’s wearing a loose cardigan, black and white and covered in patterns that Shinichiro can’t really make out. Loose pants, hanging low like a typical delinquent, and an untucked white button-up. Remnants of a school uniform, he guesses.
He looks too old, he looks too big, and yet Emma is smiling at him like he’s given her the world.
“Emma,” the man says, placing a hand on her shoulder. It’s the first word that Shinichiro has been able to make out, his hearing coming back as he comes more and more into consciousness. “Look.”
Emma hums in confusion and follows the look down to Shinichiro, eyes going wide when she sees that Shinichiro is looking directly at her. With that, her hand squeezes his tight and he gives her a squeeze back, letting a slight smile slip onto his lips. Oh, if only he could have Manjiro with them too. Emma looks like she might cry.
“Shinichiro,” she says, visibly gulping down a sob. “Oh, Shin!”
“Emma,” he replies, relief in every sound. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
She huffs, cheeks puffing up. “You don’t get to say that!”
The guy behind her chuckles.
“Emma, give him a break,” he says.
“No!” Emma snaps back and the guy backs off, grinning at her. “He’s stupid, he made me worry.”
“I’m sorry, Emma,” Shinichiro says and somehow he thinks it’s the truth. He never wanted Emma to worry about him. He never wanted Emma to be upset, to be scared.
So scared that she’d run away. So sad that she couldn’t rely on him anymore.
“You saw Baji, didn’t you,” the guy says, breaking up the following silence. “They’re being stingy with who can go see him right now.”
“I got to see him,” Emma says. “It’s only Chifuyu-kun, Takemitchy-kun, Ryoko-san, and Kazutora-kun that really see him. Everyone else was banned for causing a disturbance. Except me.”
“And Hina-chan,” the guy beside her (Shinichiro still doesn’t know his name) reminds.
“And Hina,” Emma amends. “Mitsuya-kun might too, but he and the others have been really busy.”
Hina, a girl’s name. He’s glad that Emma has made a new friend who isn’t another boy. Mitsuya is another new name for him to mentally jot down, but he’s getting used to it at this point.
“I’m glad you have some new friends,” Shinichiro tells her instead of all the questions he wants to ask. He wants to ask if she’s okay. Where she’s living, if she’s safe there. If she’s been to Manjiro’s grave, or grandpa’s. Who’s taking care of her? He wants to know. But he doesn’t ask.
Emma softens at his voice.
“Yeah, Hina is my best friend,” Emma says, grinning. There are still tears pricking at her eyes. “This is Draken.”
“Ryuguji Ken,” the guy corrects. “But everyone calls me Draken.”
“Dragon,” Shinichiro hums, making the connection. The guy snorts.
“Yeah,” he hums. “I thought it was cool.”
“It is pretty cool,” Emma begrudgingly says. “And so is his tattoo. Maybe I should get one.”
“Fuck no,” Draken tells her, half-jokingly. Shinichiro snorts despite how painful the action is.
“Emma,” Shinichiro calls and her attention immediately comes back to him. “Are you okay, now?”
She tilts her head in confusion. “I’m okay,” she says. There’s a question in her eyes. “Are you feeling any better?”
Shinichiro sighs, the breath leaving his lungs heavy and weighed with something more than just air. “Better than before.”
“But still tired? You’re flagging,” she notes. “Maybe we should let you get some rest.”
“That’s all I’ve been getting,” he jokes with amusement. “But maybe you should try going to see Keisuke. He looked lonely.”
Emma gives him another soft look before nodding and standing. Before she lets go, she gives his hand a final squeeze and waves.
“We’ll be back tomorrow. Hopefully, we can bring him with us,” she says. Draken laughs, the sound boisterous in the small confines of the hospital room.
“Hopefully,” he says.
Shinichiro watches them leave. Watches Emma walk out and tries to remind himself that she’ll come back.
She’s the only family he has left.
He wakes up again to someone slumped over his bed and his hand resting in thick, fluffy hair. It’s dark and the lights have been turned off but he can still just make out blond locks and he can hear them snoring softly.
It’s like looking at a ghost. Shinichiro is pretty sure he’s dreaming because Manjiro wouldn’t be snoring at his bedside, out of his wheelchair, hair tumbling down his back and half tied up.
Manjiro can’t be. He’s dead.
Still, Shinichiro finds himself indulging the dream. The idea of Manjiro, so worried about him that he falls asleep at his side, waiting for him to wake up. It should be horrible to hope someone is worried. But then again, if Manjiro is worried, that means he has the capacity to be worried, and he hasn’t had that since his fall.
Oh, Shinichiro yearns for it. So much so that he buries his hand in the hair a little deeper and listens out for every heavy breath in and out. A Manjiro living and breathing. He would give anything and everything to see Manjiro smile again, and hear him laugh in a way that didn’t hurt his ears or raise goosebumps along his arms.
“Manjiro,” he whispers. The dream Manjiro, or ghost Manjiro, doesn’t react, still fast asleep.
Still not real. Shinichiro feels exhaustion creep up on him, just watching the dream go on and on, and he falls out of the dream completely.
Waking up is hard. He’s tired again, his hand resting on the bed and no longer in thick hair. He wants that feeling again but he knows he can’t have it.
“I’m lucky, huh?”
Yet again, standing in the doorway is Keisuke. He’s cleaned up, his hair tied back into a ponytail, his eyes a little brighter, a little less dulled with presumably painkillers. His clothes actually fit him this time, a black shirt, and a pair of jeans, with a loose-knit sweater thrown over top. He’s still pale, but at least it looks like he’s taken a shower.
“Keisuke,” he hums.
“Shinichiro,” he mimics.
“That’s not really your style,” Shinichiro points out as Keisuke walks inside, still holding his stomach as he sits.
“Chifuyu gave it to me,” Keisuke says, the sweater moving with his loose shrug. “And since I scared him, I couldn’t really say no.”
Shinichiro snorts and his muscles still ache but it makes Keisuke crack a smirk so it’s worth it.
“Emma came by?” Keisuke switches the topic.
“She did,” Shinichiro responds. “It was… nice to see her after so long.”
“She did quite a bit of growing up,” Keisuke agrees.
Awkwardly, Keisuke looks away, trying to find something to focus on. His hospital bracelet is somewhat obscured by the sweater sleeve but Shinichiro can still see it poking out. It makes him nauseous.
“How are you feeling?” Shinichiro asks instead.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my question?” Keisuke throws back.
“We’ll take turns,” Shinichiro compromises. “You first.”
Keisuke looks away again, sighing and picking at the wool of the sleeve. “They said they’re taking my stitches out on Friday. Today’s Monday, by the way.”
“That’s good,” Shinichiro hums.
“Yeah,” Keisuke says with a sigh. “But I can’t leave until I have a psycho-psycholo-” His expression pinches as he struggles to dictate the word.
“Psychological?”
“Yeah, that. A psychological evaluation. If I pass that, I can go home,” Keisuke huffs. “But if I fail, they’ll send me to some institute for a few weeks or months. I… I don’t want that.”
Shinichiro winces. He doesn’t want that either.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Shinichiro says. “You’re feeling better, at least?”
“Guess so,” Keisuke says with a shrug. “Still twinges, but that’s what I get.”
“That's good,” Shinichiro tries in an attempt to cheer Keisuke up.
“Yeah, maybe. What about you?” Keisuke asks. “You've been comatose for just over two years.”
Two years. About what he'd suspected.
“I've felt better,” Shinichiro jokes, leaving out the part they both know. He's felt a lot worse. “I've talked to the doctor a few times, they want to try physical therapy once I regain some of my energy.”
“Shouldn’t you have a hell of a lot of that from being in bed all this time?” Keisuke asks, genuinely confused.
“Comas aren't exactly restful,” Shinichiro points out, giving Keisuke the stink eye. He should know with how Manjiro slowly but surely wasted away no matter what Shinichiro did.
Maybe he's trying to forget about that. Shinichiro kind of understands that Keisuke might just want to keep the old memories he has of Manjiro, back when they were running around as kids. He doesn’t bring it up, though.
“Are you going back to school?” Shinichiro asks and Keisuke squints at him like he’s confused before letting it go.
“Yeah. I got kept back a year, but Chifuyu has been tutoring me. Since my Kanji is so bad. You’ll have to meet him sometime, he’s really chill.”
High praise from Keisuke. Shinichiro idly wonders if Manjiro would have liked a friend like that.
“And what about you?” Keisuke asks instead.
“I… I don’t know,” Shinichiro hums. He could keep on the path he was before, working on bikes. Or he could use the skills he’s acquired through his studies and become a nurse full-time. Or he could do something completely different.
“You’ve got time to think about it, at least,” Keisuke says. “I doubt they’ll let you out any time soon.” He then looks nervous. “Uh… I’ll bring Kazutora around sometime soon. He wants to apologize to you.”
“What for?”
This time it’s Shinichiro who is confused.
“Uh… Don’t worry about it for now,” Keisuke waves off, cringing. “It’s… uh… don’t worry.”
Yeah, like that’s going to make him feel any less concerned. Or confused. Still, he lets Keisuke move on. Or more like, he moves the conversation on.
“Found a girlfriend yet, Keisuke?” He jabs, teasing the teenager as he goes bright red.
“Hey! Not like you could ever hold down a girlfriend,” Keisuke snaps. “And for your information… I do.”
Oh.
“Really?” Shinichiro gives him a sceptical look.
“Yes!” Keisuke replies before averting his eyes. “Well… if all goes well.”
“So we’re in the same boat?”
“No way!” Keisuke retorts. “Fuck you, Shinichiro.”
“That’s no way to talk to a former coma patient, Baji-san,” a new voice says from the doorway and Keisuke brightens, his pout disappearing as he turns to the door. Standing there, looking like an angel, is a blond-haired teenager with green eyes.
“‘Fuyu!” Keisuke stands up, not even wincing from the injury, and makes his way over to the new figure. “Chifuyu, this is Shinichiro.”
“Mikey-kun and Emma-chan’s brother, right?”
Something in Shinichiro heaves a sigh of relief. Keisuke never stopped talking about Manjiro. Probably told all his new friends about how great Manjiro was. Even told them his nickname. Pride swells in Shinichiro’s chest.
“Yeah,” Keisuke confirms. “Shinichiro, this is Chifuyu. The guy that lent me the sweater.”
“Saying lent means you have the intention of giving it back,” Chifuyu says with a frown. “I gave that to you. You have to wear it as punishment for being a dumbass.”
Keisuke shoots his friend a dirty look and it makes Chifuyu laugh.
Shinichiro is absolutely certain Manjiro would have liked Chifuyu.
And the thought almost makes him cry.
It's his first attempt at physical therapy and it's going about as well as one would expect.
Shinichiro doesn't even know why he bothers when Manjiro isn't even around for him to take care of. Isn't even around period.
But his memory then flicks to Emma, smiling down at him, then to Keisuke who is trying. So Shinichiro should try too.
It's as he's panting, holding onto both bars for dear life as he tries to take a few shaky steps forward, that he sees two figures watching him. Or, one figure watching and the other watching their companion.
Shinichiro squints because his eyesight is still not the best despite the time he's spent awake. His long-distance vision is still failing him and the doctors don't know if it's permanent.
Still, he can make out the two figures. The taller one has short blond hair and is fairly bulky, a big guy with no interest in him. The other, boring holes into Shinichiro’s soul, has long, pink hair and a black face mask on.
A visitor with pink hair?
Haruchiyo? Part of his face is hidden by his hair, hiding his scar perhaps?
As soon as he makes eye contact with who he believes to be Haruchiyo, the teenager turns away, sweeping out of the room with the blond on his heels.
He wishes he could understand what that means.
He’s half asleep when he hears a voice talking again. The soft voice of Emma and another he both recognises and doesn’t.
“Why is he never awake?” A boyish voice complains, volume low.
“You’re just unlucky,” Emma whispers. “Maybe you should come around more often. Or with me.”
“You’re here now and yet he’s asleep.”
There’s a hand in Shinichiro’s, grasping it softly like it’s not even there at all.
He hates dreams like these. Where he can only hear voices. That voice has to be Manjiro, or a mimicry of it. Still, he wishes, more than anything, that the hand in his could be real. It’s not, he knows that, but he really does wish so.
“Shin,” Manjiro whines softly and Emma scolds him.
“Don’t wake him, he needs his rest.”
Shinichiro doesn’t want to open his eyes and break the illusion. If he opens them, he’ll wake up in an empty hospital room. Again.
Shinichiro remembers, vividly, the day that he’d been wheeling Manjiro out into the courtyard and Wakasa had come up to him, asking him if he had a moment.
There was something broken in Wakasa’s eyes that day.
Shinichiro had ended up leaving Manjiro in the shade, fresh breeze on his face and the sunlight trying to peek through the branches of the tree. He’d walked towards a bench and sat Wakasa down, who’d looked almost as dead on his feet as Shinichiro often felt. Shinichiro hadn’t seen Wakasa all week and then he’d turned up randomly, bloodshot gaze only half locked onto him.
“What happened?” Shinichiro had asked, concerned. Wakasa had gulped, hiding his face in his hands and trembling. Vulnerable in a way he only was to very few people, Shinichiro being one of them. Despite his worry, he’d been patient while waiting for Wakasa’s words.
“There was a fire,” Wakasa had said, so very softly. “At Seishu’s house.”
Seishu, the young boy who used to hang around the bike shop Shinichiro worked at, was always excited to see Shinichiro and Wakasa. He’d been entranced by Wakasa and Keizo’s tales and had loved to listen to Shinichiro’s explanations of what he was working on. The young boy that Shinichiro had stopped seeing around after he’d had to quit his job to look after Manjiro.
“What happened?” He’d repeated.
“Seishu, his older sister Akane, and his friend Hajime… they were inside. The firefighters didn’t get there in time,” Wakasa had whispered, leaning into Shinichiro with bone-deep exhaustion. The words had hit Shinichiro like a ton of bricks. He can read between the lines.
“All of them?” Shinichiro had asked. Wakasa, in response, had nodded.
“I went to the hospital. Akane died at the scene, but the boys were taken to Tokyo General. Seishu lasted the longest. Apparently, Hajime had tried to protect him from the worst of the flames,” Wakasa’s voice had been so empty as he’d explained. “Their funerals are on Thursday. We can go together if you want.”
“Wakasa…”
“Don’t… don’t bring Manjiro,” Wakasa had almost begged. And maybe it was selfish of a request but Shinichiro had tried not to take offence at the time. “It’s not about him.”
“Listen to the wind blow, watch the sunrise.”
Shinichiro doesn’t open his eyes this time either. There’s another hand in his, more calloused and firmer than the phantom of Manjiro or the warmth of Emma. He recognises the song, not the voice. It’s an old English song that he used to play when the boss had left the shop, an old tape Takeomi had gotten him in a whole stack of American tapes for his seventeenth birthday.
“Run in the shadows. Damn your love, damn your lies.”
Seishu loved that old tape. He’d begged for a chance to make a copy, even if CDs were more in fashion. He’d asked Takeomi that summer if he could get a CD copy of the album, just to give to Seishu for his birthday. Takeomi had shrugged but said he’d have a look.
Then Manjiro had his accident and he’d never found out if Takeomi had found that CD. Never found out if Seishu had managed to get it.
Then Seishu died and if he’d had a copy, it would have burned up in the house alongside all his other belongings.
“And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again.”
The hand in his tightens as Shinichiro resists the urge to mouth the words. He knows who he’s dreaming of now.
“I can still hear you saying. We would never break the chain.”
“Inupi,” another voice cuts in and the hand retracts.
“I’m coming,” the same voice that had been singing answers softly. “Goodbye, Shinichiro.”
Footsteps carry out of the room and Shinichiro finds a tear slipping down his cheek for the teenager that never was.
Shinichiro is looking through one of the magazines Emma left him, one probably picked out by her boyfriend because of all the motorcycles, when there’s a knock on the doorway.
Standing there in jeans, a t-shirt, a jacket, and a black scarf is a familiar face.
“Wakasa,” Shinichiro says, relieved. He’d been worried that Wakasa didn’t want to see him after what he pulled. Or that he’d watch from afar like Haruchiyo.
“You’re looking better,” Wakasa comments, stepping inside and plopping down in the visitor chair. His hair is stripey now, purple and blond. It looks nice on him.
“Is that a compliment? From you? About my appearance?”
Wakasa snorts, sending him a genuine smile.
“God you’re such a fucking dork,” he says.
“And instantly you’re mean again,” Shinichiro huffs. They sink into easy silence after that, Wakasa looking through all of Shinichiro’s gifts for any sneaky candies he could pocket. The silence doesn’t linger, though. At least, Shinichiro doesn’t let it linger.
“Are you the one looking after Emma?”
Wakasa freezes.
“Huh?”
“Someone has to,” Shinichiro tells him, not noticing how stiff Wakasa is when he turns around. “As soon as I get out, I’ll see about getting a place and she can move in with me.”
Wakasa is pale as he leans over the bed, grasping Shinichiro’s hand.
“Shin…” He hesitates. “She’s fine where she is.”
Shinichiro frowns at him.
“Fine,” he says with a huff. And maybe he has a point. If Emma is staying with Wakasa, she’s better off remaining there instead of uprooting her life just to live with her brother who might not even have a place. “Do you know if someone has been cleaning down the family grave, at least? I’m sure Emma would do it, for Manjiro.”
If anything, Wakasa looks sicker.
“Don’t… Don’t talk about Manjiro,” Wakasa says softly. “It’s…” He shakes his head. “Fuck, Shin…”
Shinichiro scowls. “I’m not forgetting him, Waka. I spent years raising him and another four looking after him after he went into that coma. It doesn’t matter that he’s…” He can’t even bring himself to say it.
“Shit, Shin, please,” Wakasa sighs, almost crushing Shinichiro’s hand in his iron grip. “Shin, shut up.”
At Wakasa’s distress, he does. The silence isn’t comfortable anymore.
He can’t help it, though. He makes it worse.
“I heard Seishu last night,” he confesses, voice barely a whisper. Wakasa side-eyes him from where he’d been purposefully ignoring him.
“Did you?”
“He was singing that song that we both liked. Remember we used to play that tape when the boss was gone,” Shinichiro says. “It was nice, while it lasted.”
Wakasa bites his lip.
“Sorry, I know you don’t like talking about him.”
He’s fucking everything up.
“Shin…” Wakasa starts, very, very quietly. “How… how did you end up here?”
Is that a trick question?
“I…” He pauses. “I assume Keisuke managed to pull me out of the river.”
Wakasa stands abruptly.
“I’ll…” he shakes his head. “Fuck.”
And he’s gone. Shinichiro just lies there, wondering if he’s done something wrong.
Shinichiro isn’t really able to walk properly yet, so he’s confined to a wheelchair when Emma next comes to visit. She’s dressed in her pink coat again, a white scarf wrapped around her neck and a navy blue skirt paired with black stockings and brown boots. She’s grinning when she spots him in the patient garden and not in his boring hospital room anymore.
“You’re outside!” She says with a cheer and a spring in her step. “I’m glad.”
“Emma,” he simply says in response. It’s been a few days since he’s seen Wakasa since the man ran off with no explanation.
A part of Shinichiro was hoping that Wakasa would come back after an hour, having cooled down and relaxed enough to explain what his problem had been. Instead, Shinichiro had waited hours until dinner was brought in and then he waited the whole next day before giving in.
“Want me to push you?” She asks, slipping behind him to grasp the handles of the wheelchair. It’s exhausting on his arms to push the wheels again and again, so he nods with a grateful smile. She struggles for a moment before managing to put a grin on her face in response. “It’s just like when you used to push me on the swing,” she says, trying to brighten the situation. Because it’s not great, having an older brother stuck in a wheelchair because he was stupid and tried to take his own life.
He’s never said it before.
“Emma… you’re so strong,” he tells her, voice subdued. She tilts her head before leaning forward and resting her chin on his head.
“You’re being silly, Shin.”
“I’m telling the truth,” he pushes back. “You’ve been through so much and yet you’re still this happy and warm.” He then hangs his head and she pulls back, suddenly nervous.
“Shin…”
“I’m sorry about this. Everything is my fault,” he says. Instead of responding to his apology, she just starts to push the wheelchair along the paved path through the garden.
“You’re scaring me, Shin,” she confesses quietly and it makes him freeze. “It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Baji-kun will say the same thing. Kazutora-kun is sorry, you know.”
Before he can even ask, she continues.
“He bowed to me, full hands and knees bow. I told him to stop but he didn’t get up until I’d accepted his apology. Baji-kun did it too, but I just smacked him.”
“Emma…” He whispers. He has no idea what she’s talking about.
“But it’s okay, you know. You’re okay, Baji-kun is okay, Kazutora-kun is in therapy, and everyone is happy now. You’ll see,” she says softly.
Kazutora is a name Shinichiro has only heard from one other person.
Keisuke.
The only things he knows about this Kazutora is that he stabbed Keisuke and that he wants to apologize to Shinichiro for some reason. But that he is the reason that Keisuke stabbed himself.
He wonders if Keisuke has left the hospital yet. He hasn’t heard anything back from him about his evaluation, but his stitches will be gone now. So he must have been released. He hopes that Keisuke has been released, so he can go back to his mom and his friends and his life.
“How is Wakasa?” He asks. She should know, shouldn’t she? If she’s living with him?
“I… I haven’t seen him…” Emma says, like she’s confused. “Has he… has he not visited you?”
Shinichiro hums. “He did, a few days ago. But he left in a rush.”
She stops the wheelchair.
“I think there’s something wrong,” she says softly.
“Huh?”
“I want to talk to Baji-kun,” she states. “Do you want some help getting back to your room?”
Just like Wakasa. Bolting as if he’s said something wrong. But he has no idea what he’s done.
“Emma,” he urges. “Did I say something wrong?” He’s looking at her now, craning his neck just to see her biting her lip, anxious.
“I don’t know,” she responds truthfully. “You’re asking weird questions. And you’re never awake when Mikey comes.”
Shinichiro’s stomach drops.
“...what?”
“I’ll bring him by later, if you want,” she says softly. “And I’ll try to find Wakasa-san... if you’re really worried about him.”
Shinichiro’s brain has stopped working. Completely stopped.
“E-Emma…”
She doesn’t take any notice.
“I’ve got to go,” she says.
And she walks away to his wide-eyed gaze.
Mikey.
Manjiro.
What does she…
What does she mean by that?
He’s still mulling over Emma’s words, unable to even stomach dinner, when the last hour open for visitors begins and he gets a very quiet one, standing in the doorway for a while.
It’s a teenage boy with dark hair, pieces of blond bleached throughout to create a strange amalgamation of tones. A part of Shinichiro wants to say it looks like a banana peel.
The teenager, eyes an eerie golden and staring at Shinichiro with blown pupils, shifts a little and the small bell earring jingles, like a cat. His clothes are fairly nondescript; a black tank top, black jeans, and a navy blue bomber jacket over top. But what is striking is the elaborate tattoo covering one side of his neck. A tiger.
“Well…” Shinichiro breaks the air. “I haven’t met you before.”
“I…” The teenager still has a wide-eyed look. Shinichiro holds himself back from asking, very politely, if the kid is on any drugs. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“No?” Shinichiro prods gently, as if dealing with a skittish cat. He genuinely has never seen this kid, never met him. So he has no idea why he’s there. Why he interrupted Shinichiro’s spiralling thoughts about Emma and what she meant.
The boy looks lost for words.
“I’m Hanemiya Kazutora,” the boy says and it becomes only slightly clearer.
He has never seen this kid before, he has no idea why he wants to apologize to Shinichiro. Why he got on his hands and knees and begged for Emma to accept his apology even if she didn’t forgive him.
He doesn’t look like he would attempt a murder.
“You stabbed Keisuke, didn’t you?”
If anything were to startle the kid, Shinichiro just hit it, because the kid practically jumps. He curls in on himself, paling a little.
“It’s complicated,” he murmurs. Shinichiro can only hear him because the hall is unusually quiet.
“Is there something you need, kid?” Shinichiro asks because he doesn’t know.
“I just…”
Hanemiya approaches, steps only accentuated by the soft bell chimes as his earring swings back and forth. Hanemiya comes to the bed but doesn’t sit down.
Instead, he bows his head, and then his back, so he’s almost completely bent over. He’s quiet as he does so. It’s late, Shinichiro is confused and a little scared and Emma is confusing him and Wakasa ran off and Manjiro is dead and Haruchiyo doesn’t want to talk to him.
Keisuke made new friends, Emma has a boyfriend, and no one is telling him what happened.
“I’m sorry,” Hanemiya whispers. His hair is a mess, a curtain hiding his face from Shinichiro’s sight.
It’s only after slight hesitation that Shinichiro asks. “What for?”
Hanemiya flinches. He tries and fails to form a sentence for a few moments before finally speaking.
“I hurt you.”
Shinichiro hums. He’s never met this kid before.
“I tried to kill you,” he says softly but his voice is choked up.
“Hanemiya-kun,” Shinichiro almost interrupts.
“I’m sorry…” Hanemiya repeats. “Mikey forgave me, Emma forgave me. You don’t… have to… but I just needed to say it.”
“Hanemiya-kun,” he says quickly, sharply. Mikey. Mikey. Mikey.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry,” Hanemiya says a final time before rising and walking out. Shinichiro raises a futile hand to beckon him back, to ask what he meant.