Chapter Text
You were only half-aware that you weren’t on the club table anymore.
The sticky gloss of spilled liquor was no longer cold against your cheek. The thump of bass was dulled slightly—muffled by something warm and solid pressing against your side. You were moving, but not of your own accord. Floating, almost.
Your head lolled, stomach lurching, and the ache behind your eyes pulsed like a warning light. Everything felt slow. Heavy. Like your limbs had been soaked in lead and your thoughts were stuck in honey.
Still, some slurred instinct buried in your foggy brain told you this isn’t right.
You twisted weakly in someone’s grip, muscles protesting, heart starting to beat faster in your chest. Panic clawed at your ribs. Shit. You couldn’t see clearly, couldn’t think straight—just the blur of neon lights streaking behind closed eyes and the distant sound of a door opening somewhere.
You were just about to scream when a scent hit you hard—Armani perfume, hoodie, and faint notes of cigarette smoke clinging to cotton.
Your stomach twisted again. This time in disgust and regret.
“…Matsuno?” you rasped out.
The figure carrying you didn’t flinch. He looked down, his jawline was sharper under the dim light of the hallway and his strands of messy dyed black hair was falling into familiar eyes.
“Unfortunately,” he muttered.
His voice was deeper right now. The way it got after he had a cigarette. It vibrated against your side where your shoulder pressed into his chest, and it made something in your throat hitch.
You squinted up at him, trying to focus through the spin of the ceiling and the taste of vodka and bile coating your tongue. “Get your hands off—”
“Bear with it a little more,” he cut in, flat and unamused.
You blinked pathetically. The way he held you—bridal-style, arms hooked beneath your knees and back—felt effortless. And fucking infuriating. Your feet dangled limply, your favourite heels were long gone, probably sacrificed to a drunk bitch after shot number three.
Chifuyu didn’t look at you. His gaze was focused forward, like carrying you out of a club at 2 a.m. was just another routine errand he’d added to his night.
To be fair, it had been that way.
“I didn’t ask for a babysitter,” you muttered.
“No,” he replied. “But Baji-san did.”
You hated it when he said that. Threw your twin brother’s name around like a shield, like it gave him the right to hover over your life like a vulture in vintage sneakers. You were too tired to argue. Too fucked up to win.
“Maybe I don’t give a shit,” you slurred instead, head rolling back against his arm.
Without a beat, Chifuyu shifted course—and whack—the back of your skull smacked against the doorframe with a solid thunk.
“OW—!” You recoiled instantly, curling up like a punched shrimp. “You dick!”
“Whoops,” he sighed with a dry, aggravating lack of remorse. “My bad.”
You groaned and buried your face into his hoodie, partly because of the pain, partly because the hallway was spinning and this was the only stable thing you could anchor yourself to.
“Smelling like grocery store men’s body spray won’t get you laid, y’know,” you scoffed.
“Good thing I’m not the one desperate enough to flash dance on a table for attention.” he shot back.
“Asshole.”
“Bold words coming from someone who passed out with glitter in their mouth.”
You fell silent.
He didn’t apologize.
You didn’t either.
He didn’t need to explain how he’d found you. Didn’t need to tell you how many people you’d pushed away tonight or how long he’d waited in the corner watching, arms crossed, jaw tight.
But you knew. You always knew.
And he always came. No matter how much you pushed him away.
The night air was chilly, biting at every inch of exposed skin your slutty outfit didn’t bother to cover. The cold hit you the second Chifuyu shouldered open the back exit of the club and the heavy metal door slammed shut behind the both of you. It was almost sobering. Almost. The mix of cheap perfume, sex, smoke, and sweat clung to your skin like regret, and the moment the wind sliced through it, you shivered hard, curling up instinctively like you could fold yourself into a pocket of warmth.
Unfortunately, the only warmth around was Chifuyu. Ironic. Maddening. Necessary.
So you clung to him, arms weakly circling his neck, your cheek resting on the fabric of his Balenciaga hoodie, scowl pressed deep into your features like it could erase the way your body leaned into him for heat. He didn’t say a word. Not when your knees buckled. Not when your heels had snapped hours ago. Not when he’d finally approached you when you were half-passed out, face-first on a sticky club table like the walking cautionary tale of every parental nightmare.
A group of guys loitering near the parking lot broke into whistles when they caught sight of you.
You were drunk enough to find it amusing, even flashing them a loose, unbothered grin. Maybe you could get a date. Chifuyu, on the other hand, didn’t even look in their direction. His jaw clenched visibly, eyes sharp as steel under his fringe, and he adjusted his hold on you—not tighter, but closer.
“Real classy,” he muttered under his breath, the cold puff of it brushing against your ear. He tugged your dress down with one hand, the other still holding you up like you weighed nothing. It was a clumsy gesture, and his calloused fingers accidentally brushed your inner thigh. You flinched and shot him a half-lidded glare.
“Careful, Matsuno. Keisuke’s watching. Don’t think he wouldn’t have knocked your teeth right out.”
Chifuyu’s steps slowed for a second, just a second, and his grip faltered with the name like it always did. You felt it. The way it stabbed through him even now. It had been 8 years since he died.
“I know,” he said quietly. “He’s the only reason I haven’t left you in a gutter.”
You rolled your eyes. Typical of him to say that.
Chifuyu led you to the parking lot, his grip on you firm as ever, carrying you like he knew exactly how many steps it would take to get you there without you puking all over his clothes. His Lexus gleamed under the dim streetlights, but you could care less. Every step he took felt heavier than the last for you; a combination of too many drinks and too many emotions boiling under the surface. When he finally stopped, he muttered under his breath.
“I’m letting you go now,” he spoke roughly, like he’d been running on fumes all night. He leaned you against the cool metal of the car, making sure you stood upright. But the moment your back hit the sleek body of the Lexus, you hissed at him, pushing him away with a slap of his car keys.
“I thought I told you a hundred times I’m never getting in your damn car,” you snarled. You were beyond irritated—no, you were furious. Furious at him, furious at yourself, and furious at the whole damn night.
Chifuyu’s response came quicker than you could blink. “It’s either this or you wake up kidnapped somewhere. Make your fucking peace.”
Begrudgingly, you turned your gaze away from him, seething in silence as he scooped up his keys from the ground, muttering something under his breath that you didn’t catch. Probably something about how much of a pain in the ass you were. His glare was sharp enough to cut glass when he unlocked the car, but before you could protest, he was already pushing you inside, practically shoving you into the passenger seat. You whipped around, ready to call him a fucker for the attitude, but the door slammed shut with a definitive bang before you could get the words out.
He stood there for a moment, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose, shoulders sagging in a tired exhale. You were too much trouble. It was exhausting being with you at all times.
Chifuyu finally slid into the driver’s seat, and the engine roared to life, vibrating through your bones. You felt the weight of his eyes on you give you a once-over and you couldn’t stand it. Scowling, you crossed your arms tightly over your chest, glaring at the window. You refused to acknowledge him, even as the tension hung thick between you.
He didn’t waste time, leaning over to grab your seatbelt and click it into place.
“Don’t touch me.” you spat out.
He didn’t argue with you. He just pulled the car into gear and pulled away from the curb, the silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable.
It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.
After reaching the apartment complex, Chifuyu carried your limp body to the elevator in his arms with your head resting against his chest. You were beyond drunk, your mind was a muddled mess, but the feeling of his arms around you was strangely familiar. The warmth of his body seeping through his clothes, and his steps as he made his way up the stairs, were the only things keeping you tethered to some semblance of reality.
You were too tired to fight him, too dizzy to push away the bitterness that swirled in your gut. When the elevator finally open, you didn’t make a sound, not even until you were standing outside your room. He unlocked the door and set you down just inside the apartment, but the moment his hands left you, you stumbled backward, your body fighting to stay upright as the world tilted dangerously. You hated this feeling—the helplessness, the weightlessness—but it was the only thing you could focus on.
Chifuyu didn’t let you fall. He gripped your forearm tightly and gave you a slight push with curt words. “Go to the bathroom.”
You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him to leave you alone, but your feet wouldn’t obey. Every step felt like a thousand pounds pressing down on you, and before you could even reach the toilet, you collapsed to the floor, your head hitting the ground with a dull thud. You groaned, your eyes closing of their own accord, too tired to stay open, too dizzy to care.
Chifuyu sighed in that annoyingly familiar way; you heard his footsteps approach, felt his hand grip your forearm again with an easy strength, and he hoisted you back up, dragging you toward the bathroom. He knew exactly what you needed even if your pride couldn’t bring itself to ask for it.
“Throw up already,” he demanded.
Your stomach lurched, and bitter drool leaked from the corner of your mouth as you stumbled towards the toilet. Everything around you felt like it was in a haze, like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up. You couldn’t focus. Your eyes felt too heavy to stay open, and the cold bathroom tile felt harsh against your skin. Your breath hitched as your body fought to stay conscious.
Chifuyu didn’t wait for you to protest, didn’t wait for anything. He reached behind you, and before you could say a word, his fingers were pressing into the back of your throat. It felt invasive and uncomfortable, but there was no energy left to push him away.
You gagged, choking on the sudden sensation, and before you knew it, you were vomiting into the toilet. Chifuyu, as usual, did what he always did. His fingers dragged across the back of your dress to get them wiped clean, and his eyes looked away, giving you the briefest semblance of privacy while you were at your most vulnerable. Each heave from your body was a mix of pain and disgust, and you hated it. You hated that he always saw you like this—helpless, pathetic, and too far gone to fight him off.
When it finally subsided, when your body stopped shuddering and your breathing was ragged, your back slumped into his chest. Your head found its way to his shoulder with an unbearable throb in your skull.
Chifuyu’s hands were still on you, steadying you as you barely stood on your wobbling feet. But then, you snorted, “Getting a hard-on from this?”
His reaction was immediate. He clicked his tongue, the sound irritated and annoyed, but not surprised. “You’re disgusting,” Then he stepped back, putting a little distance between you. “Wash up before you come outside,” he ordered, his tone harsher now, like he was done with the whole damn situation.
You flipped him off weakly, the middle finger barely getting any height before the door slammed shut. You didn’t care to try and stop him.
It hadn’t always been like this.
Sure, you’d always been a hurricane of emotions, tearing through everything in your path when it came to him, and Chifuyu had always been the one to stand by, watching the wreckage unfold. He never complained, never pushed back. You could be as angry as you wanted, as cruel as you felt, and Chifuyu would just take it. Maybe he believed it was his duty—Keisuke’s dying wish for him to look after you, even when you made it as difficult as possible.
But things had changed when you started living together. At first, it was awkward. You still hated the fact that he was there, but you hated being alone even more. So, you tolerated it. You tolerated him picking up your messes, listening to your rants, and letting you throw your tantrums while you told him how much you despised him and would never forgive him for what happened to your brother.
Then, life happened. Your university, his work, the endless grind of responsibility—it weighed on both of you. And somewhere along the way, Chifuyu started showing cracks in his patience.
His silence wasn’t there anymore.
His eyes, full of forced understanding, were gone. They were tired, distant. Sometimes you’d catch him staring at you, like he was waiting for something, but you never could tell what.
It wasn’t like he didn’t snap every now and then—he did. He always did. But it was different now. He didn’t just endure anymore; he pushed back. He didn’t always take your insults with a nod or silence. Instead, he’d roll his eyes or mutter something under his breath. He’d slam doors, slam your frustrations right back at you. Sometimes, you’d catch him letting out a frustrated sigh or making some sarcastic remark that cut deep, but you couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge it.
You thought, maybe, he’d gotten tired of being the punching bag. You’d never ask him about it, though. It wasn’t like you didn’t notice. You weren’t that oblivious. You had, for once, caught yourself in the mirror, realizing that you’d become so used to his calm demeanor that you’d stopped seeing how worn out he was. How tired he was of you. Of being the only one who would stand there, silently taking it, no matter how many times you pushed him away.
And yet, here he was again, dragging your drunk ass out of a club, hauling you to the apartment, and taking care of you when you couldn’t even remember how to take care of yourself. It was almost as if nothing had changed.
But maybe that was the problem. Nothing had changed.
Everything felt numb.
Keisuke was still gone. You were still hurting. Chifuyu followed you like a lost puppy.
You were 24 now, Chifuyu was 22; they said things get better overtime, but maybe it was all bullshit. Each morning, you were haunted by the ghost of your dead twin. His absence had left a jagged hole in your chest that never seemed to heal.
When you finally left the bathroom, the sharp scent of antiseptic still clinging to your skin, you spotted Chifuyu on the couch. He hadn’t noticed you yet. His back was hunched slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as his fingers sifted through the letters Keisuke had left for him. You could see the wear on the pages, the corners bent from years of being handled, read, and reread. Untouched ones were even in a bag at his feet.
Your stomach twisted with a vengeance. The letters.
Keisuke’s letters.
He hadn’t left you one. Not a single folded piece of paper. Not a half-assed post-it. Not even a voice recording, like he couldn’t spare the seconds.
But Chifuyu?
Chifuyu got the novel.
Pages. Plural. Chapters. Paragraphs about things only they knew. Inside jokes you weren’t part of. Soft words, heavy words, promises and confessions and instructions. He’d told Chifuyu how to live. How to carry on. How to be better.
There were so many that he still hadn’t finished.
And you were left with nothing.
Chifuyu noticed your presence and when he lifted his eyes to look at you, you were already biting your lip and walking towards the bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you.
You buried your face in your hands and finally let the tears pool.
Why did Keisuke have to die?