Archive of Our Own

It's somewhere between Eiji's first verbal acknowledgement of Ash's nightmares and the 'to hell with it' of them just pushing those twin beds together to make one that the system is created. 

Ash tosses more than he thrashes when they happen. He looks hurt, scared; there is no peep out of him, though, until the inevitable gasp that comes when he wakes. Then, he'll walk to the sink--sometimes he gags or lets out a stray sob but usually he's the kind of quiet that leaves everything ten times more bitter than it started.

Eiji knows all of this before the routine starts. He memorized the motions as they went along–the slight twitch of sound that came from the bed as Ash started to toss, the gasp, the breathing, the single retch before Ash stopped himself from going further. 

It yanked him out of his own bed one night and Ash fell asleep in his lap. He begged Eiji to stay, as if there was ever a chance of him leaving. And from that single sliver of tenderness on, Eiji swore to himself, insisted upon himself, that Ash would never gasp horrified into that sink ever again. 

–

When the night comes, Eiji looks back on the day and feels like it may have been a good one. He had played a game of poker with some of Ash’s guys early in the morning and won, somehow. There was also a decent hotdog here and there, a walk out of the condo is always nice–and he had ended up at the library with Ash for a good chunk of time, too. 

“I want to try reading a book in English.” He had said while Ash poured over some research novel on South American Botany that would surely be no more comprehensible to Eiji if written in Japanese. “As practice.” 

Ash did not look up, only smiling. “Oh yeah? Bored of your comic books?” 

Eiji scowled at him “you complain that I take too long to read the paper! I am trying to get faster.” He stood up, snatching his crumby manga off the table with him. “I want to. What do you think I should start with?” 

Ash had followed him over to one of the shelves, and let him poke around for a while before saying anything. He had simply stood. Watching, amused. 

“Eiji.” 

“What do you want? Tell me what to get.” 

“You’re not going to find good ‘practice’ books in this place. This is a research library–for reading with intent. You know, not simple.” 

Eiji scoffed at him “They can’t all be like that. That is just what you read here. I will find something for myself. If you won’t help me, go back to your book.”

For a short while Ash stood there, watching Eiji pick through books that he quickly deemed unsuitable for the scenario. One after the other, but Eiji kept looking. 

“You’d have better luck across the street.” Ash eventually said. He was walking back to his table when Eiji turned around–probably bored of the whole ordeal. He was perpetually bored by something. 

It took Eiji about ten minutes of avoiding the fact that he was terrifically far from having any luck to approach Ash’s table again, then with a semblance of defeat in his face. Ash didn’t look up, again–but this time it was to display a little smugness. 

“I’m going across the street.” Eiji had declared to him, trying to make it sound as though it was his own idea as much as possible. 

“Alright.” Ash’s book snapped shut “let’s go.” 

Eiji gave an eyeroll he knew was futile “it’s only across the street–you don’t need to leave your book behind and come with me. I will be fine, keep relaxing.”

“I’m not risking that.” Ash replied, straightforward but with a weariness probably only Eiji could point out. “And I want a hotdog. No eating in the library, so let’s go.”

Eiji glanced back at the table Ash had been sitting at while they walked towards the door “was your book helpful?” 

“Probably not. But it did give me some evidence to back up one of my theories. I’ll have to look into it more.” 

“That sounds helpful.” 

Ash shrugged “I won’t know until I’ve figured out if the theory itself is right or not. I could be wasting time.” 

Eiji had frowned at that “Ash, I want you to finish your research if you need to. I will stay here if my leaving makes you nervous; you can read for as long as you’d like. Surely finding a book with me is even more of a time waste than a maybe-false theory.” 

“It isn’t.” Ash said to him, assured. “I would like to read the newspaper before noon, so it really is important to get you reading quicker. Not that I know why you care enough to read a New York newspaper anyway.” 

“I am here, I want to know what is happening.” Eiji huffed “and I do not take that long! You wake up at eleven thirty anyway, so why does it matter?” 

“No yelling in the library, onii-chan.” 

Across the street Eiji felt less intimidated by the books, and a little regretful over his second hotdog. 

They had a few books written in Japanese–not many, though. Eiji decided to pick one up for a little leisure reading outside of his quest to really comprehend English. Something that would not give him a headache if looked at for longer than a half hour. 

Ash poked around fiction while Eiji searched for his desired books. He had picked some out for himself, too–something called The Sound and the Fury that Eiji thought he might have heard of, and another thing called The Lottery and Other Stories that Eiji knew he definitely had not heard of before. 

“You shouldn’t get something too wordy.” Ash offered “Check out the font size before you decide. And try to get something that reads normally, too.” 

“What kind of books don’t read normally?” 

“Some authors don’t follow grammar rules. Like the entire book is one paragraph, or the speaking isn’t done with quotations. Just avoid those.” 

Eiji has never been that into reading. He enjoyed it when he did it, even in the forced instances like the assigned Kokoro he found himself at least a little enamored with. But he has never read like Ash does–just purely for the fuck of needing some peace. 

There was an instance around the time when he broke his ankle and fell into misery in which he read to pass the hours sitting there and healing. He dabbled in things like Murakami and Dazai because they were popular, but they weren't his thing in the end. 

Then he read Botchan and favored it much more. The last book he remembers reading during that time was a decent translation of The Great Gatsby, which largely assisted in persuading him to take Ibe up on his offer and tag along to NYC. 

He thought for a little bit in the library that it might be a good idea to reread something like Botchan in English as his practice–like knowing the novel beforehand might make the whole thing a little less daunting. But he dispersed that thought for the sake of trying something new. 

“How about you get a book on photography? They’ve got a whole section for it–Ibe would be impressed.” Ash leaned on the fiction shelf next to Eiji with a third book in his hands– Nine stories it said on the cover. 

“You’ve read something by him before.” Eiji pointed to the book. “I recognize the name.”

Ash gave a quick nod. “The Catcher in the Rye. I've read it a few times–everyone has.” 

“Should I?” Eiji asked him. 

“Maybe start even shorter. It's close to three hundred pages–which isn't that bad, but it's much longer than the newspaper.” Ash smirked “and we already know how that goes for you.” 

Eiji scowled again. “Fine then. Since I am just stupid, you should lead me to the baby books then, right? Maybe I will check out a Mickey Mouse book.” 

Ash laughed “I don't know about the kids books, but come with me. I’ll show you the photography section.” 

It was in the back corner of the library that Eiji decided on his book. 

The shelf Ash took him to was dubbed in big letters  ‘Photography and The History Of’ and next to it was a similar section for cinematography, and next to that was a thick shelf of plays that had been adapted to screen, then ones that had not. 

Eiji had looked at all of those vaguely–more of skimmed–before he jumped down to the very last shelf before the wall hit. He felt an ‘aha!’ form and looked, bright-eyed. 

“I’m going to get one of these.” He told Ash. It was not a ‘should I’ or anything, he had decided. “I want to.” 

The lettering above the books read ‘Poets and Poetry Anthologies’ Eiji was set on it. 

“You're into this kind of thing? I wouldn't have guessed.” Ash glanced at the shelf. “The older ones might be difficult.” 

“I have always wanted to try reading something like this. Help me find a good one, Ash. I know you have probably read some of these.” 

Ash nodded “I have. They were all over the place at my old crib. I’m sure you saw a few when we drove over there.” 

Eiji gave a nod of recognition “yes. Those were Griffin’s though, right? You read them too?” 

“It wasn't like there was a ton else to do.” Ash picked one off the shelf and gave it a couple glances. “Get this one. It won't be shakespearean or anything.”

“You’ve read it?” Eiji asked, cradling the book. 

“No. I've probably heard of some of them, but I haven't read that book in particular. It's an anthology, so a ton of different guys’ll be in there.” 

It laid maybe two hundred pages in Eiji’s hand. He flipped through it once, twice. There was a lot of variety–some a few pages, some a few words. He did not directly recognize any of the names, but as previously understood, he has never been much of a literature whiz. 

It seemed fine enough. 

“Okay. I will get this one, then.” 

–

Yeah, Eiji goes to bed considering the day to have been a good one. He has his new book, he has skimmed a few pages here and there, but nothing too deep yet. He’s saving that for the intense boredom that hits every couple days when he doesn’t leave the condo for a while. Those moments when he’s so hot with cabin fever that anything other than what is already known to him seems eons more appealing than usual. 

“Are you tired?” Ash asks him from the opposite side of the room. “I guess you did get out a lot more than usual today.” 

“I had fun.” Eiji replies, curling up under his blanket. “The library…I understand why you enjoy it so much, Ash. It is very peaceful.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” Ash moves to sit on the edge of Eiji’s bed. “Sometimes I can’t believe how grand some of the places in this dump are. It took sixteen years for them to design and build that thing; nine million bucks for the construction alone, twenty for the plot. What did they do all of that for?”

“A lot of work.” Eiji agrees “In Japan, there are shrines and temples everywhere from the ages before machinery. They are intricate and designed with much care, despite the fact that such efforts caused excess time and energy to be spent–especially with it all being hand-done. It is remarkable to see the structures humans made out of love.” 

“Out of love, huh?” Ash wisps out, gazing at the window “It’s hard to fathom that there are people walking those streets that’ll do things just for passion or love. All the street kids I know can only work off desperation, all the rich ones off greed. But there are just good people. Like you, like Shorter was…Max too, in the end.” 

Eiji shifts closer to him “You are one of them aren’t you, Ash? You are putting your life on the line, pursuing this drug, it’s all to get justice for Griffin–and to stop Golzine and other bad people from getting more power, is it not?” Eiji squeezes the bedsheets next to Ash’s hand, not making direct contact yet still attempting to comfort. “That’s good.” 

“I don’t think that cancels out everything I’ve done, though. In the grand scheme of things, I’ve done a lot of fucked up stuff. Half of this whole Banana Fish thing is just me running off of spite–maybe more than half, I don’t know at this point.” 

“Well I know.” Eiji doesn’t hesitate. “I know you are good. You can say you are not, but I know otherwise–nothing will change that.” 

Ash doesn’t say anything for a minute. He glances at Eiji for only a split second before looking back to the window, not showing any sort of emotion outwardly. 

But Eiji knows him, he knows Ash’s brain is running a million miles a minute, desperately holding onto what Eiji has just proclaimed while simultaneously wrecking it into a pile of lies unwillingly. Eiji does not know what to do about that–he wants to do something, but he knows whatever that something is, it will not function instantly like he wants it to. 

If he wants to knock this kind of stuff out of Ash, he’ll have to spend years doing it. 

And he’s perfectly fine with that. 

“I’m gonna take a shower. Night, Eiji.” 

Eiji almost reaches out to stop him from leaving. He feels his fingers twitch to go for it, but stops himself. He’s stuck between his desire to help Ash, and the telltale signs of the blonde’s discomfort that he does not want to contribute to anymore.

“Goodnight, Ash.” He says as the door closes. 

The next time Eiji hears Ash’s voice, it’s a gasp rather than a word. 

The clock reads a blurry two in the morning as Eiji becomes slowly more aware of Ash’s form slipping out of the bed next to his, trudging shakily towards the bathroom. 

Usually he wakes up while Ash is still asleep, just starting to toss and turn. Eiji is a light sleeper–and he has all the time in the world cooped up in the condo to nap, so he lets himself hover in a silent outsider’s perspective of Ash and his nightmares. 

The blonde does not like to be touched mid-nightmare–being spoken to is iffy too, so Eiji lets him wake up on his own, usually. 

Sometimes he’ll reveal his understanding, sometimes he stays silent.  

Tonight, he cannot bear the idea of staying away. It probably has something to do with their conversation the night before–he just feels Ash’s pain on a greater level than usual. 

The sink turns off, Eiji hears the shuffling of feet moving towards the towel rack, then the door. He turns on the lamp on his bedside table, and makes note of the sudden hesitation present in the footsteps. 

Ash comes out to them making direct eye contact. He looks weary, disturbed–things Eiji hates to see on his face. 

“Sorry about that.” Ash rasps out. “You should go back to bed.” 

“Come sit with me.” Eiji replies, shifting to the left to make room for Ash next to him. 

“What?” 

“Sit on my bed like you did the first time I let you know I was awake–but this time, I want you to sit here, more comfortable.” Eiji pats the headboard, then the empty space next to him. “Come here, Ash.” 

Ash looks away “I know you’re tired.” 

“I’m never too tired for you–especially not when you are feeling bad like this.” 

Ash lets some visible hesitation dash over his face, but he does start toward Eiji’s bed. 

It’s a tight squeeze, sort of. Eiji has a habit of sprawling out everywhere while dead to the world, and Ash seems to be thinking about that fact as he sits lounged on the very edge of the mattress. His leg almost dangles over–Eiji finds it absurd. 

“Come closer, Ash. I do not bite.” 

Ash, surprisingly, doesn’t argue. He shifts further onto the bed, more secure but still not as close as Eiji wants him to be. 

So, Eiji just shifts himself. He goes until they are pressed together from legs to shoulders, the coaxed Ash with a few light presses to his hair to lay his head down on Eiji’s shoulder. Even after, Eiji still continued on running his fingers through Ash’s hair. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eiji asks after a moment. 

“There’s nothing to talk about. It’s always the same old stuff–it will be until I die.” Ash spits out–Eiji is sure most of that hatred in his voice is somehow directed at himself. 

“Do not talk about things like that, Ash. Please.” 

“Dying?” Ash’s head shifts on his shoulder “I’ve talked about it before and you’ve never been too bothered–or didn’t seem it.” 

“You’ve been doing it a lot lately–more than before. I…do not want to think about a world without you in it.” Eiji suddenly feels a bit sick to his stomach “I can’t.” 

Ash doesn’t respond for a second–it does not do the conversation any good, Eiji thinks. 

“Sorry.” Ash quietly relays “I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently–how I’m probably one of the only kids in Dino’s secret little club that ever reached or will ever reach eighteen, if not the only. How many people want me dead, how the number is only growing as I get closer to Banana Fish. How…I never in a million years considered the idea of making it to adulthood. I don’t know why, but it’s all been heavier on my mind than usual.” 

Eiji feels like he’s choking–harder and harder the longer Ash speaks. It’s like a primal sense of fear that he doesn’t think he’s ever had before–maybe one other time, watching Shorter wither and fall before his eyes, but even then, it was not as pronounced as this. 

“Oh Ash,” He says, curling them further closer to each other, “I pray never to see the day you leave this world. At least not until we are old and grey, and I can follow closely behind after watching you go peacefully.” 

“Do you think we’d still know each other at that age?” Ash asks with half a laugh, still shaky. 

“We will.” Eiji affirms “Just like today, just like now. We will be right next to each other. I will have shown you all of Japan there is to see by then, and you will have paid for a million of my hotdogs, and read a million more books than you have now. It will be good, happy.” 

Ash doesn’t say anything to that. He slips a hand under the blanket, and wraps his fingers tight around Eiji’s, silent. 

Eiji wants to take it as Ash being too busy visualizing the fantasy to speak, he really, really does. He can half make himself do so as he runs a finger across the blond’s knuckles. 

“Does that sound good, Ash?” 

“It sounds incredible.” The reply comes after a beat, a little quiet. “More so than anything else.” 

“Good.” Eiji moves the hand from Ash’s hair down to his cheek. It brushes the skin before stretching to the nightstand next to Eiji’s bed. 

“What are you doing?” Ash asks, eyes following Eiji’s hand.

“I’m going to read to you.” The poetry book they checked out earlier makes its way into Ash’s line of sight. “Just until you fall asleep.” 

“I won’t fall asleep on your bed, it’ll get crowded.” 

“I don’t care.” Eiji replies, determined. “Lay with me.”

Ash does.

Eiji flips the book to a random page, laying himself down still curled together with Ash. “Are you ready?” 

Ash’s nod rubs against Eiji’s arm. 

“Now that I am in Madrid and can think, I think of you, and the continents brilliant and arid” Eiji starts “and the slender heart you are sharing my share of with, the American air” 

“Is this Frank O’hara?” Ash asks, eyes closed. 

“It is” Eiji affirms “Do you know him well?” 

“Sort of.” Ash yawns “keep going.”

“as the lungs I have felt…”

“Sonorously–like a deep, pleasant sound.” Ash says 

“You didn’t even open your eyes! So you do know this poem well.” Eiji pokes Ash’s nose bridge between his shut eyes. 

“Maybe, yeah.” There’s finally a hint of a smile in Ash’s voice. “He was in a special exhibit the library had once. Keep reading, please.” 

Eiji hums “as the lungs I have felt sonorously subside greet, each morning. and your brown lashes flutter revealing two perfect dawns colored by New York.” 

He continues, “see a vast bridge stretching to the humbled outskirts, with only you, standing on the edge of the purple like an only tree, and in Toledo the olive groves’ soft blue look at the, hills with silver” 

As Eiji reads, the breaths beside him grow steadier and steadier. Ash has fallen asleep as soon as he closes his eyes for as long as Eiji has known him–which has not been long, but it will be. Eiji will make sure of that, no matter what. 

He feels himself start to smile softly as Ash’s sleeping form dips slowly towards him, pressing them closer without the habitual tension of an awake and moving body. 

“you are smiling, you are emptying the world so we can be alone” he finishes, and turns out the light.

—

The next time it happens, it’s actually just the next night. 

Eiji gets up this time, goes into the bathroom, and softly takes Ash’s hand to guide him to the bed. 

He does not have to pry for Ash to make himself comfortable this time, nor does he have to give an explanation when he reaches for the book. “Did you like this last night?” He asks. 

Ash’s eyes are already closed. “I did.” 

“I did too.” Eiji smiles, petting Ash’s hair once. “Tonight,” he opens the book to a random page “I am going to read something by someone different.” 

“Alright.” Ash yawns 

“Are you ready?” 

“I am.” 

Eiji snuggles down and starts, “Whenever I make a new poem, the old ones sound like gibberish. How will they ever make sense in a book?”

Ash hums next to him. 

“Let them say: ‘He seems to have lived in the mountains. He traveled now and then. When he appeared in cities, he was almost always drunk. 

Most of his poems are lost. Many of those we have found in letters to his friends…” 

“He had a very large number of friends.” Ash murmurs along with Eiji, seemingly a note away from sleep. 

Eiji huffs out a laugh “you know this one too, then?” 

The only reply is soft, steady breathing.

–

Two weeks after this whole system starts, ten reading sessions in, Eiji decides while waiting for Ash to come home one day to push their beds together into one. 

He still has a good chunk of strength from his pole vaulting days–they weren't that long ago, so it only makes sense. The beds fit together with ease, and Eiji flops down in the center to see if the divot is too uncomfortable–it isn’t. 

“What’s this about?” Ash asks when he gets home at around nine that night. 

Eiji shrugs, “Do you hate it?” 

“I don’t” Ash assures “but…sometimes I act up during the nightmare things. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you or something.” 

“I am not worried about it.” Eiji says, grinning “You don’t have nightmares in my bed, maybe pushing them together will make you not have nightmares at all.” 

That is true, Eiji’s presence, being able to feel him does help Ash sleep more soundly. He never goes back into those dark zones after Eiji drags him over to his bed. 

“Maybe so.” Ash says “We’ll have to see.” 

“I hope so,” Eiji’s grin turns into a soft smile “I want you to sleep peacefully, Ash.”

—

Ash does sleep peacefully with Eiji there next to him all night. He really does. 

The nightmares don’t come, the sheets don’t feel like a trap, he doesn’t get hot or itchy with sheer discomfort in his own skin. 

He just, sleeps. 

Which should not be a problem, really. The whole goal in the first place was getting him to sleep peacefully–so this is good. 

It isn’t. 

He grew fond of hearing Eiji’s slow read aloud sessions at two or three in the morning. He really, really did. And now, sleeping from midnight or so until ten? Eleven? He has not heard a poem since. 

Eiji is still warm next to him, but…he still misses it. 

The first night it was almost painfully slow–the rate at which Eiji read, that is–but Ash really is fond of it, Eiji’s getting better, too. Or he was, before the whole thing came to a stop. 

“Are you alright?” Eiji asks him in lamplight. “You usually don’t come to bed this early…it is only ten.” 

“Yeah.” Ash breathes. “I’m fine, just tired.” 

“Did something happen today?” Ash takes note of the book in Eiji’s hand, currently being dog-earred and put down. It’s in Japanese–the one from the library, probably almost due just like the poetry book. 

“You were there for most of it.” not a definite answer, Ash knows. He says it anyway. “It wasn’t too bad.” 

“But you see more than I do.” Eiji tells him, sinking down to lay faces parallel. “And I know how you act when you’re bothered.” 

“How is that?” Ash asks, a little amused.

“Like you’re acting right now. You can tell me, Ash. Please tell me.” 

Ash feels a soft hand press against his cheek–it feels like magic, as if nothing else exists in the world. “How is your book?” 

Eiji sighs at the avoidance “It’s fine…You’ve probably read it, I think. It is just a translation of an American book.” He waves his hand “that was all the library had.” 

“Oh yeah? What’s it called?” 

“Of Mice and Men.” Eiji replies, still looking at Ash expectantly. 

“I have. My old man had that one–Steinbeck was probably the only thing he loved in his miserable life. I read it young.” Ash looks up at the ceiling “It’s a tragedy–do you know that?”

“I thought it would be. It just seemed like one from the title.” Eiji’s hand reaches out for Ash’s chin, and he tilts the blonde’s head back to face him. “I do not like tragedies, or when things appear to be very sad. It hurts me–especially when the said things in question are those I care about.” 

Ash looks at him, faltering. 

“So won’t you tell me what is wrong, Ash?” 

“It’s nothing that you need to be going around calling tragic.” Ash shifts “I’m just in a bit of a mood, I guess. It’s all fine, really.” 

Eiji stares for a second, his face a mix of deep thought and some sort of sadness. Ash hates that he’s the one who put it there, but he does not want to tell the truth–that he misses his bedtime stories. 

He does not need to tell the truth, though, because without any prompt Eiji reaches over to the bedside table, and pulls a book they both know well off of it. 

“What are you doing?” Ash asks, careful not to sound too hopeful. 

“You’re sad–when you are sad with something I cannot understand, this is the only thing I know that makes you feel better. Or, I think it does, anyway. It seemed to.” He starts flipping through the book for something they have not yet read. “Does that sound okay?”

Ash does not say anything, his face is pressed between a pillow and Eiji’s arm–all he does is give a slow nod, not showing his face. 

“Alright.” Eiji brushes a hand through Ash’s hair “Maybe this time I will land on something that is new to you, for a first.”

“Maybe” Ash murmurs from the pillow.

“You hitched a thousand miles—north from San Francisco. Hiked up the mountainside   a mile in the air. The little cabin—one room—walled in glass.” 

Ash shifts next to him, face becoming visible, eyes closed peacefully. 

“Meadows and snowfields,   hundreds of peaks. We lay in our sleeping bags, talking half the night; Wind in the guy-cables   summer mountain rain. Next morning I went with you  as far as the cliffs, 

Loaned you my poncho—the rain across the shale—you down the snowfield, flapping in the wind. Waving a last goodbye   half hidden in the clouds, To go on hitching   clear New York; Me back to my mountain   and far, far, west.” 

Eiji takes his eyes off the paper, moving to put his hand in Ash’s hair again. “Did you know that one, Ash?” He hums, quiet. 

“I didn’t.” The answer is slurred, half conscious “thank you, Eiji.” 

Eiji smiles at him, “Silly Ash, if you missed reading with me, you should have said so. I missed it too.” 

The light goes out, soft sleep replies. 

—

Shorter appears at maybe three in the morning. He never has before, not in this way. Eiji, in his delirious state of sleep, feels the fresh corpse weighing down on his body just as it had that terrible, terrible day. 

He feels the heat, the blood pooling warmth around his own torso–only some of it is his own, barely any of it, he feels. 

There is someone screaming his name–Shorter’s too. They sound so sickly sad, awfully familiar. A type of hurt that he’ll always hold onto in his own mind clings to that poor, poor voice. 

He wants to go latch onto that voice. He wants to squeeze all that horror out of it–maybe to make himself feel a little bit less terrible himself, definitely to just try and kill whatever pain he can. 

But he cannot move–there is a corpse pressing him down. He tries to push it off, it does not work. Shorter weighs a thousand pounds, a million. Eiji’s strong, athletic arms can’t even move his fingers. 

It’s an awful feeling, being trapped, feeling the last spasms of a dying body on top of his own, all melodied with the saddest, most desperate voice Eiji has ever heard. He feels as though he can’t breathe–that he never will again. Shorter is weighing more and more by the second, soon Eiji will be crushed under him. 

“No.” He begs “Help. Shorter, please.” 

His hands are pushing desperately against the corpse, shoving it with less and less care as the weight grows more agonizing. 

When he grows so panicked that he begins to claw and kick at the body as though it was never a person, it was never Shorter, the sack of flesh finally lifts off of him and—

Eiji’s fingers slip on his friend’s blood, the iron corpse comes crushing back down straight onto his lungs. 

“Help me” He cries, a little more desperate, “anyone, help–” 

“Eiji, Eiji wake up.” 

Eiji’s body flies up with a gasp. Shorter’s corpse turns into blankets, Ash’s screams turn into soft murmurs. 

Oh. 

He was dreaming.

What a horrible dream that was–he can’t seem to pull himself away from it. Despite the realization bubbling up, he can’t stop the hot, fast breaths that are leaving his body as though he just ran a marathon. 

“A-ash?” He breathes to the hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re okay, Eiji. It was a dream, you’re okay.” Ash keeps his hand on Eiji’s shoulder but does not move to rub his back or anything–he knows from personal experience that extra touches like that just makes these things worse. 

“I…I saw–” 

“I know, Eiji. I’m sorry–I’m so fucking sorry.” A bit of the pain Eiji remembers from his dream is present in Ash’s voice, though a millionth as pronounced. 

“Ash–” Eiji says again. He can’t seem to make himself stop. 

“You’re okay, Eiji.” Ash promises, “Here–talk about what you see, it will help you calm down.” 

“What…I see?” Eiji asks through a gasp.

“Yes. Talk about the room we’re in right now.” 

“We are…in bed, fresh sheets. You have one pillow…I have two.” Eiji can’t bring himself to look away from Ash’s general direction–as if he’ll be sent back into that nightmare the moment they lose direct contact. 

“Anything else?” Ash asks, soft. 

“Your nightstand…it has the picture I took when, we landed. In Japan.” Eiji looks down at it, pressing his head against Ash’s shoulder in the process. “You, did not have anything with you–only the clothes on your back…and, that poetry book. The one I read to help you sleep–you re-checked it out and you were carrying it when you got my letter…”

“I was.” Ash says, finally moving his hand to press against Eiji’s back. “I wanted it to remind myself of you after you left.” 

“You brought it to Japan.” Eiji shakily remembers “You…said you were going to mail it back to Max, so he could turn it in but—” 

“I never did.” Ash finishes. “I’ve had it for a year now.” 

Eiji nods against Ash’s skin “I also see…your dictionary. Japanese to English–it is next to the picture. A coffee cup on top of it. And…the book you are trying to read in Japanese. The same one as last week.” 

Ash huffs out a laugh “Yeah, I guess I read that stuff pretty slow, don’t I?”

Eiji does not reply. Instead, he presses himself as far as he possibly can into Ash, and lets out something of a sob. “Oh, Ash…he was so good. I want to dream of his kindness–but every memory I have of him is so tainted by his death.” 

“I know.” Ash whispers “If there was one event I could go back in time and undo, it would be what he experienced at Dino’s mansion that day–and how he suffered through the unwilling betrayal the days leading up to it.” 

“I thank the world every day that you are here with me.” Eiji says into Ash’s shoulder “My heart hurts for Shorter so much–if I felt the pain of your death along with his, I do not know if I could bear it. I can’t ever–” 

“We’re away from that now, Eiji. It’s just like you said, I haven’t touched a gun since the plane landed in Tokyo. I’m not going anywhere–you’re okay.” 

“I am with you forever, Ash. Just as you wished, despite saying that ‘for now’ was okay–it will be forever.” It comes out as a whisper, like a secret being told–despite it being something that they are both very aware of. 

“I know, Eiji” It hardly takes a second for Ash to reply “Thank you” 

“For what?” Eiji asks as he pulls both of their bodies back down into a lying position. Pale thumbs press against his tear tracks. 

“Getting me out of hell. Caring so much and…staying when I asked you to.” 

“I could never leave.” Eiji says “Everyday I get further from such a thing.” 

Ash replies by squeezing Eiji closer to him. The air feels steadier now, Eiji’s breaths have slowed. “Have you ever had a nightmare about what happened back then before?” 

Eiji shakes his head against Ash “not like this–not so vivid.” 

They lapse into silence for a little bit–Eiji tries to pay attention to the thumb rubbing against his back–but he can’t seem to get settled enough to even attempt falling back asleep. 

“Do you remember the first poem you ever read for me?” Ash asks him suddenly–Eiji had half assumed he was asleep. 

“I do.” Eiji affirms “Now That I Am In Madrid And Can Think.” 

Ash hums “There is another poem by him…you read it to me after we escaped from Dino’s party, in the sewers, do you remember?” 

“Of course.” Eiji’s voice sounds a little lighter, finally. “You had already read it before.” 

A hand comes up and brushes through Eiji’s hair. It ghosts over his face, urging him to close his eyes. 

“To have a coke with you” Ash starts “is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irun, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne   Or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona” 

Eiji lets out a hum, his deep breaths still shaky, but his short ones smooth. 

“Partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian    partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt    

partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches    partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary”

Eiji lulls, he feels the thumb against his back, the vibrations of Ash’s voice, the murmurs–soft words, the fact that they’re both still alive and breathing. 

He feels it all–and somehow, that overwhelming joy pushes him into sleep. 

“Which is why I’m telling you about it” He mouths as the world fades a calm black.