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The call comes in after dinner. A little after dinner, actually. After Shinjiro’s washed the dishes and filed them away, sat himself down on the couch and clicked on the TV. He sifts through the channels, settles on his background noise for the night, then leans back against the upholstery, groaning slightly at the click of his bones as his neck fell against the back.
And that’s when he feels it. A buzz in his pocket.
He wrests out his phone with a start, blinks at it almost blearily. At the top is the time, 21:38, but blaring across the cracked screen is three letters accompanied by an Incoming Call beneath it.
Shinjiro’s used to just clicking decline and stuffing the stupid thing back into his pocket whenever he sees this screen. That’s his first impulse now, too. But nobody’s around and nothing’s on, so he simply sighs and moves the phone up next to his ear.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Hey, Shinji,” Aki answers. And apparently that’s all he had lined up to say, because it’s only after a long pause that he continues with a stunted, “How – ahem. How are you?”
It takes Shinjiro approximately one minute on the line to realize he’s not used to hearing Aki’s voice over the phone. Sure, they’ve had each others’ numbers for years now, but they’ve never been used for much besides the sparse text here and there. Shinjiro didn’t get his first phone until his first year of highschool, and at that point they were living together at the dorm. Didn’t really need to call when you lived right beside someone, went to school with them, and saw them for more waking hours than any reasonable person should ever see another person for.
Aki would try calling him every now and again, back when Shinjiro first left the dorms. Calls that Shinjiro would inevitably miss because he was sleeping, or was busy at work, or because his phone was dead; or which would be purposefully ignored to save him the headache.
Really, the only calls they ever had were quick things. Few in number and short in duration. A quick Can you make it for five? or a You on the way? If they were set to meet up, Aki would ring just to check when he’d be there. Shinjiro would, after the fact, just to make sure Aki got home safe. Sometimes there’d be a Merry Christmas or Happy New Year or You busy? call, but those didn’t last long.
It was easier for Aki to reach Shinjiro through texts, and while Shinjiro didn’t send nearly as many in return – the keyboard of the damn thing was way too small to use – it was their main means of communication besides them seeing each other in-person.
“Er, m’alright.” he answers carefully. “…Did you need something?”
“Oh, no. Not really.” Aki replies, “I just wanted to say hi. Check in on how things are at home.”
Shinjiro doesn’t say anything. His eyes sweep across the lounge skeptically, like he needed to get his bearings, check for any onlookers, before deciding against hanging up. It’s late enough that everyone else has retired upstairs to either sleep or to study before sleeping. Koromaru is his only companion and thus his only witness, laying next to his foot.
“Well, I’m fine. The kids have all gone up.” Shinjiro shrugs, feeling like he shouldn’t have to ask when he adds, “And you?”
“I, well. The same.” His voice is a little rough through the speaker. Tinny, crackling, like listening to the radio. Reminds him a little of the comms he’s used to hearing through Penthesilea’s broadcast. Or well, Lucia’s now, he supposes.
When a beat passes and Aki doesn’t elaborate any further than that, Shinjiro sighs. He quickly comes to the conclusion – by how unconfident Aki sounds, by his short and strained sentences, by the fact that he’s even calling at all – that Aki’s in some sort of mood. What mood exactly has yet to be determined.
“And your parents?” he shifts gears. Sits up a little straighter. Tries to get Aki talking, because that normally works well enough. “How are things?”
“Boring,” he responds, the sound protracted. “I forgot how… little there is to do here. I don’t like vacations.”
Shinjiro’s lip slants to the side. He’s got next to no frame of reference for how a vacation is supposed to go. The only vacation he’s ever been on was the one Kirijo took the two of them on to some small island her parents owned back in their freshman year. He’s pretty sure you’re at least supposed to enjoy them, though,
“Where’d you guys go, anyway?”
“Ugh… It’s some vacation home my dad’s friend owns. Not far from Onjuku. It’s nice, I guess. There’s just…”
“Nothing to do?”
“Except sunbathe and walk around.” Akihiko groans. Shinjiro thinks he can hear the pout on his face. The words drag slightly as he says them. “And study. But who goes on vacation to study?”
Shinjiro shrugs. “Can’t say I know. I don’t go on vacations. I also don’t study.”
He swears he can hear a faint snicker, but still Aki responds with, “Not funny, Shinji. I’m just – tired of it. I want to go home.”
A pause stretches between them, drawing the sentiment out. Shinjiro frowns.
“Heh. And here I thought you’d be happy,” he hums, straining to make conversation. It’s really not his strong suit, but the silence on the line is killing him. “When’s the last time you saw them, even?”
Akihiko hums at that. A similar tune, if not a little spiritless. “I don’t remember, honestly,” he shrugs, “probably sometime last year. It’s not like we’ve ever been close, though. You know that.”
Shinjiro clicks his tongue, yielding. Suppose not.
He tips his head back up at the ceiling, thinking. Besides Aki and Kirijo, most of SEES stayed behind for the summer holidays. Though even if there are still people around, that didn’t mean they spent much time at the dorm. Junpei had summer school, Amada was constantly holed up in his room, Yuki was always out and about, and Takeba was making the most of the break hanging out with her friends.
Shinjiro’s spent most of his break doing just as he is right now: sitting alone on the couch, with some show on for noise. Not that he minds. He’s used to his peace and quiet, likes things that way. Besides, he’s not alone alone. Koro’s still at the dorm, at his feet – though he’d probably go anywhere so long as it meant companionship and a good meal.
Shinjiro slides the phone between his shoulder and cheek. “Guess not. Didn’t realize you’d be miserable though.”
“I’m not miserable,” he rebukes sourly, “I’m – I don’t know. I don’t like that word.”
“Lonely, then?”
“I don’t like that word either, Shinji.” Aki huffs back, and a small smile cracks across Shinjiro’s face.
“Mm.” he offers in assent, “Well, I’m afraid I don’t have a better one for you. Sounds to me like you’re lonely.”
There’s silence on the other end for a moment. A brief pause, before Akihiko finally relents, muttering, “Fine. If that’s how you want to put it.”
“It’s only been three days.” Shinjiro feels the need to mention.
“Three long days, Shinji,” Akihiko corrects with, in a pouty tone of voice. “But whatever. Enough about me. What have you been up to?”
“My usual. I don’t do much, Aki,” he says. “Made dinner. There’s fuck-all on TV. The dog’s here.”
“Koro?”
Shinjiro’s face scrunches up. “What other dog would I be talking about?”
There’s a noncommittal “Hm.” on the other end. A Good point, Shinjiro reads it as; or – considering Aki’s current tone – maybe a Whatever. Then, after a short beat, “…How’s he doing?”
“Same old.” he shrugs. He pats the cushion beside him, which Koro fitfully reads as an invitation. He leaps up onto the couch and sprawls out, placing his head nicely in Shinjiro’s lap. “He’s good. You meet anyone on your little trip, Aki?”
“Who’s there to meet?” There’s that sour tone again. A little petulant, whiny, even, if Shinjiro dares to call it that. “Nothing to do here but swim and lounge around. The beach is nice, I guess, but it’s all old people out here. Cottage country.” He sighs, “I wouldn’t be so bored if I had someone to hang out with.”
Shinjiro isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to that. He pets Koro’s head absentmindedly, hand moving into the coarse fur at his scruff. “Don’t think it’d be easy to find someone who can keep up with you even if there were kids out there.”
It feels like a safe enough response. Though what exactly would constitute a dangerous response, he’s not sure. Something about the conversation just feels – uncomfortable. Precarious. Like there’s a line there, somewhere.
“You’d race me,” Aki says simply. Less as a question, more like a statement. He wonders if Aki’s been thinking about him, with how quick the response is. “There’s a few boulders we could use as markers. I don’t think you’ve swam in a while, though, so maybe it wouldn’t be much of a competition.”
His throat feels a little dry. “I don’t like getting wet, Aki,” he replies with, ignoring Aki’s attempt at taunting him.
“I think you’d like it here,” Akihiko continues on anyway, reckless as always. “It’s quiet. Pretty, I guess. Nice to just walk around. There’s a few hiking trails, too.” Then, “It’d be fun.”
Shinjiro swallows . It’d. Confirmation of what’s really on his mind. Not that Shinjiro didn’t already figure as much. “Well,”
His mind feels blank. He scours it for an adequate response, eventually salvaging from the back recesses of his brain – the bunker where the last of his rational thought hides in, “Maybe. Don’t think your parents would appreciate me tagging along, though.”
It’s purely hypothetical – Aki’s already there and summer break is almost over, anyway – and yet it feels risky to even acknowledge the idea. Shinjiro’s never damn seen whatever vacation home Aki’s staying at and yet it’s so easy to slot himself into that mental picture. Of being – alone, together, on whatever empty back streets Aki’s been wandering on by himself, shadowed over by rustling trees above.
Shinjiro’s not a romantic. Wouldn’t know how to put the image in his head into words if he tried. But it’s… nice, thinking about it. He’s not really one for the sun or swimming or or getting sand between his toes. Nor is he much of a fan of hiking, either, or the idea of getting lost in a network of winding, sidewalk-less roads in the middle of nowhere, but well.
He’d go if Aki asked him to. If Aki wanted him there.
It takes a couple minutes before Akihiko says anything. In the back of his mind, Shinjiro wonders if he’s thinking the same thing. “I know.” is the quiet continuation, “I don’t get why they don’t like you. It bothers me.”
Shinjiro has a few ideas why that might be the case, but it’s a moot discussion. “It is what it is,” is all he can manage on that point. In the silence, he turns his head over to the window of the dorm. It’s expectedly dark outside and it’s not like Aki travelled out of the country, so Shinjiro can’t help but wonder.
He bites the bullet. “What are you up to right now?”
“In bed,” Aki answers quick and simply. “It’s too hot in this stupid house. I can’t sleep.”
“S’only nine, anyway,” Shinjiro says instead of lingering too much on that image. He doesn’t get it. He’s never had an overactive imagination. Maybe it’s the fact that all he has of Aki is his voice that is making his brain supplement what he can’t see. He clears his throat, dislodging the thought and packing it away. “Or ten now, I guess.”
“Some people go to sleep at normal hours, Shinji,” Aki scoffs. “Honestly, I don’t know even how you manage the way you do. I couldn’t.”
“You have class and all that shit to worry about, so I don’t think you could,” he shrugs. Koro’s apparently had enough of his lap, yawning and twirling around once before curling up in a ball on the cushion beside Shinjiro instead. “Not that I could do what you do, either.”
“I think you could,” And it’s surprisingly sober, the way he says it. It’s not like Aki doesn’t compliment him ever. He does – especially in battle, or if he was fired up, or whenever Shinjiro made him something. Offers thanks up readily, too.
But those times are different how he sounds now. The staticky undercurrent of the phone speaker at some point tuned itself out, became imperceptible. It’s just Aki there on the line, voice low and rougher than normal, rubbed raw.
He said it’s hot in his room, so Shinjiro imagines him laying over the covers of the bed. Wonders if he’s on his back under a ceiling fan, or on his side with the phone on the pillow beside his head.
“Shinji,” he says suddenly, and Shinjiro snaps out of it.
“What is it?”
“Can we do something when I get back?”
Shinjiro sits staring at the wall opposite him. The corkboard with the chores list and notices pinned to it, something to focus on instead of falling back into the mirage in his head. “Like what…?”
“I don’t know. Something,” Aki answers. There’s a slight creak, what Shinjiro can only imagine are the springs of whatever guest bed he’s been sleeping on. “Like… the movies. Or maybe just dinner would be nice. Or we can try the arcade, finally. I think you mentioned that once. We never did check it out.”
“Yeah, years ago,” Shinjiro murmurs. There’s a reason why they didn’t. “But, uh… If you want, I guess we can.” he rectifies. “I think you’re just sayin’ that though. ‘Cause the loneliness.”
“I’m not –” Akihiko makes a small, garbled noise in defeat, then, “It’s just been a while since we’ve… done anything like that together.”
It has. That’s somewhat by design. Still, “Do we need to?”
“I want to.” Aki replies. “I miss it. Miss…”
Aki doesn’t have to finish with “you” for his breath to hitch. The word slots itself in anyway, into the silence. It’s what Shinjiro’s been scared of hearing and now it’s there, out in the open between them.
Shinjiro feels stupid for thinking he was in the clear, that he’d dodged all the bullets Aki could throw at him, and yet –
He sucks in a shallow breath, looks down at Koro beside him and rolls his lip between his teeth. He feels suddenly dizzy, so dry in the mouth and lost on how to even approach responding to that.
“Sorry. That was – weird to say.” Aki’s words bumble out. Shinjiro’s grip tightens on around his phone.
“No – it’s. S’fine. Just… caught me off guard.” he says, and really it’s too much to say out loud. But Aki laughs softly at it. Shinjiro feels his cheeks heat.
“Yeah. It caught me off guard, too.”
“I…” he hinges on the words. He wants to say it, say something. Wishes it was as easy for him as it seemed to be for Aki, with that reflexive, fly-by-wire honesty of his – how he could just drop something like that so thoughtlessly. Shinjiro feels like a fish out of water, choking on the words.
“I miss it too. Hanging out. You. With you. Whatever.”
There’s a silence on the other end. Stretches long in Shinjiro’s mind like a shadow during sunset. His chest feels tight and he wants so badly to press that red end call button and whip his already cracked phone at the wall. It’s a stomach-dropping feeling, being that honest. A shot of adrenaline to take risk like that without any good reason to.
Aki swallows – he can hear it, a subtle, pulpy sound – before speaking. When he does, all he manages is a quiet, “It’s – well, I’m… glad to hear that.”
“I’m sure you are.” It’s a lame response. Shinjiro looks towards the kitchen, feeling like he can feel each individual second as it ticks by. He holds his breath. All he can manage, when he does find his tongue again, is ask, “…It’s late, isn’t it?”
Whatever embarrassment he’s feeling, though, he’s pretty sure Aki is also experiencing on his end. Because he doesn’t fight Shinjiro on that point, doesn’t try to remind him how they were just talking about his own inability to sleep, or Shinjiro’s already broken circadian clock.
He just says, in this strange, strangled sort of voice, “Right. I guess it is. Late. For me, at least. But I won’t keep you.”
Shinjiro exhales. Says a silent prayer to whatever god is looking out for him.
“You should get some rest anyway,” Shinjiro offers. “Not like we can’t talk tomorrow.”
He’s never picking up a call from Aki again, actually. He’s half-considering just crushing the thing as soon as this is over.
“Yeah, I – I appreciate it. You talking to me. Especially while I’m like this.” Akihiko mumbles apologetically, “It helped a lot.”.
Shinjiro feels his chest squeeze again. He needs Aki to stop saying shit like that. It’s bad for his health. “It’s… not a problem.” Then, finally, “Goodnight, Aki.”
“Goodnight, Shinji.”