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1.
“I might faint,” Arisu suddenly announces. He jumps up and down, his mouth letting out sounds of gibberish.
Beside him, Chishiya raises an eyebrow, unamused. “You’re not even the one being interviewed.”
“Precisely,” Arisu stresses. “Certainly feels like I am, though.”
“You’re worrying too much,” Chishiya shoots back dryly. “Are you trying to make yourself go bald?”
“Ouch!” Arisu gasps dramatically, before giving him a little nudge. “That’s not how you talk to a potential patient, they might deduct your points for that. I need those sweet, sweet words of affirmation.”
“Those sweet, sweet words of affirmation are supposed to be compensation for bitter medication.”
“Chishiya,” Arisu groans, clutching his chest. “Oh Chishiya, if you don’t say something nice, I might actually perish in exactly ten seconds— nine— eight—”
“How tragic,” he replies. “Make sure to faint somewhere clean. I don’t have time to mop.”
“And… I’m gone,” Arisu deadpans.
Chishiya nudges his shoulder with a finger. “At least commit to falling over.”
“But the floor is rough and cold.” Arisu pouts.
Chishiya sighs. He takes a look at the time. He should get going. “Have fun playing dead, then.”
And he only makes it a few steps, before Arisu is calling him from behind.
“Wait. Chishiya.” One of Arisu’s arms is behind his back. He appears anxious, alternating his weight between his legs in a nervous rhythm. “Can I have your hand?”
“Why?” Chishiya immediately shoots back. His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you going to give me an excuse to postpone my interview?”
“It’s nothing bad— just give me your hand,” Arisu says, tone short and clipped and definitely hiding something.
Nevertheless, Chishiya humours him, reaching out one hand.
“Here,” Arisu says, his hands encapsulating Chishiya’s. Fabric touches his skin.
“I’m prescribing you a full dose of confidence for your interview,” Arisu announces cheekily with a grin, gently folding Chishiya’s open palm and patting it for good measure. “Side effects may include success.”
“Without a license?" Chishiya teases. “Didn’t peg you as a law-breaker.”
And as Chishiya uncurls his fingers, he finds an Omamori resting in his grasp— empty inside, crafted more for sentiment than sanctity.
Even when he was schooling, he’d seen classmates exchange them before final year examinations or before the first day of residency. The smiles on their faces; how they’d hang them on their bags. He has never received one.
Until now.
“I don’t need luck,” Chishiya states, confused. He has enough skills— from outstanding grades to good recommendations from professors. Furthermore, he’s even had working experience, as he thinks back to the hospital he’d resigned from— the one where they valued money over lives. When it comes to being a doctor, he’s only ever relied on hard work and skills.
“I know,” Arisu says. “But… I would like for it to serve as a reminder, that whatever happens, I’ll be right by your side.”
Chishiya takes a good look at it. The material: it’s not paper, but cloth— the type that needs sewing, and a thousand times more tedious to make. Red in colour— for vitality and protection— with a white cat on one of the corners— appearing disfigured, one clearly crafted by an amateur.
Time had to be taken to make this. Someone had put in the thought and effort to make this for Chishiya.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
Something’s happening to him. A spike in his BPM. It’s loud; reverberating through his head.
Like some type of hammer pounding in his chest, aiming to smash his thoracic cage. Or like a drilling machine trying to tear a hole through his pericardium— whichever came first.
“You’re eyeing it like it’s a bad omen,” Arisu points out. He reaches to take it back. “You don’t have to—”
Arisu’s words die midway, silenced as Chishiya curls his fingers around it— the charm securely in his hold.
Chishiya blinks. Once. Twice. Huh. That was definitely an involuntary, reflex reaction.
“It’s okay. You put effort into this,” Chishiya says slowly; tries to search for the stimulus that triggered it. Besides, it was true, judging by the little irritated dots on Arisu’s hands.
His eyes dart towards the other’s.
“Well then, keep it close, okay?” Arisu reminds him, after a few seconds of really awkward eye contact.
“If that’s what you want,” he replies, trying to maintain his usual air of insouciance.
And when Arisu smiles, his BPM seems to increase by tenfold. So high till there’s dyspnea added into the mix— a shortness of breath that no amount of oxygen could fix.
He begins to be concerned about his body. Possible Sinus Tachycardia, he assessed, which probably isn’t a good thing to experience before heading to an interview. Perhaps he should get a cup of water—
“May your prefrontal cortex perform at peak efficiency no matter the question asked,” Arisu wishes him with a teasing lilt.
And the words get lodged in his throat, as though his throat has forgotten how to let them out.
“Don’t worry, Doctor Arisu,” he teases, tone smooth only on the surface, “save your wishes for someone who actually needs them.”
For a moment, his BPM rockets past 120, when Arisu laughs in response— bright, unrestrained and melodious to Chishiya’s ears.
Even in the quiet hallway, his pulse refuses to stabilise, hovering over 100BPM every time the thought of the charm, now tucked away safely in his pocket, resurfaces.
And long after that interview, it persists— in the way Arisu questions him; encouraging Chishiya to open up and share, his eyes soft and full of quiet admiration, as though he knew that success was the only natural outcome for Chishiya.
(Something’s happening to Chishiya, and for once, the thought of knowing why unsettles him.)
2.
The heater in his house hasn’t been keeping up to standard for the past few days.
It doesn’t help that— according to Kuina— apartments are supposed to feel like a magma chamber during winter, and since his heater is doing such a terrific job at that, this has granted her a transient stay at Ann’s place (Chishiya is sure she was looking for an excuse to spend more time with Ann, anyway).
Realistically, Chishiya should, too. Should book a hotel nearby for the time being till the maintenance team arrives the next day. Alas, he is a creature of habit; unmovable from his own habitat. So, he stays.
Kuina argues that he’s sabotaging his immune system. Chishiya likes to say that at least one of them has to remain loyal to their shared apartment in these trying times.
Like all things eventually do, Arisu caught wind of it. However, instead of suggesting Chishiya move out as well, he goes with the flow. Doesn’t demand Chishiya to change.
In fact, he even feeds into it.
Like now.
Chishiya is being— forcefully— bundled up by the extra, woolly blankets and sweaters that Arisu has brought him. He’s reading a book, sitting comfortably on the couch, legs tucked into his chest.
“Phew,” Arisu remarks as he steps out of the kitchen, two steaming mugs in his hands. “How do you even survive in these conditions? I feel like I’m in an igloo.”
“Through sheer willpower,” he replies smoothly. “Besides, all of you are being dramatic. It’s still warmer than the snow outside.”
Arisu chuckles, “Of course. I forgot that not everyone is a cold-blooded reptile like you.”
The smell of hot chocolate and Chishiya’s preferred coffee brand wafts through the living room. Arisu places the mugs on the glass table. Chishiya peers at them curiously.
“Raiding our pantry, now?” Chishiya gives a teasing jab, even though it’s to everyone’s knowledge that the pantry is a free-for-all, at this point.
“I’ll take it as compensation for my sweater that you're snuggling into,” Arisu counters, trying but failing to hide his grin.
Chishiya’s eyes narrow and he shifts, till his mouth isn't being covered by the collar. “I’m not snuggling into it.”
“Uh-huh,” Arisu agrees, unconvinced.
“Here,” Arisu continues, pushing Chishiya’s mug towards him. “Coffee. Just the way you like it.”
Chishiya raises an eyebrow. “That’s a very bold statement."
Chishiya has been a loyal coffee drinker for years. At first, it was a drink he tried because he had seen his parents down a cup of it everyday. As he grew older, he liked the benefit of caffeine hit during exam season. Now, he drinks it because he’s grown to enjoy it— so long as it’s made in an extremely specific way.
The only person who’s successfully made it was Kuina— probably because she's the only one allowed to prepare it. She had been adamant about mastering it— something about it being the least she could do since she was staying rent free at his place— and Chishiya had relented after weeks.
“Kuina’s been a great teacher,” Arisu explains. “She says it’ll be useful in the far future— whatever that means.”
Chishiya tentatively picks it up and studies it, ticking off the checklist in his mind. The right volume, the meniscus of the liquid two centimetres below the rim of the mug. It’s at the right consistency— not too thick or thin.
Arisu stares at him nervously, but Chishiya can still sense the excitement bouncing off him in waves.
“Just to give you a heads up, I've been told that I don’t sugarcoat my feedback,” Chishiya warns.
“Well, an unbiased opinion would be the most crucial in any situation.”
With that, Chishiya takes a small sip— lets the liquid coat his lip and his tastebuds to register it… and it’s actually good.
The espresso beans brewed to perfection— eighteen grams of coffee beans weighed and finely grinded. Extraction time at exactly twenty-seven seconds. Added to a hundred milliliters of steamed milk.
“How long did you practice for?” Chishiya asks.
“A ton,” Arisu admits. “Couldn’t sleep for a whole day, since I chugged down too much coffee in one go.”
Chishiya snorts, giving a pointed glance at Arisu’s leg that had been bouncing up and down repeatedly for the entire duration of this conversation. “No wonder you appear so jittery.”
Arisu simply smiles. “Worth it, though, since I was the one who suggested it to her.”
Arisu did… well, and that’s coming from Chishiya who’s notoriously picky about the things he enjoys. He knows Kuina had a hard time getting used to his grinder and lever press machine— he would hear her grumble complaints under her breath, but her determination had remained unwavering. Arisu has certainly got Kuina beaten in that aspect— the time taken for him to make a cup of coffee with this quality was kind of impressive.
It’s not easy, and here Arisu was going through the troubles of learning something that would please him— because that’s the kind of person he is. Similar to the Omamori, because the taller man had ended up revealing to Chishiya later on down the road that that was the first time he had attempted sewing.
And it was all for him.
As Chishiya thinks about it, this nascent feeling of warmth spreads through him. Negative feedback, obviously. His thermoreceptors are bound to recalibrate according to the drastic difference in temperature— because Chishiya is still a human with human needs at the end of the day, and there’s a certain amount of warmth his body requires for him to survive.
However, it doesn’t stop there. It keeps on escalating till he feels as though he’s being dunked in boiling hot water.
“You’re kinda red, right now.” Arisu leans towards him worriedly. Slowly, he places his hand on Chishiya’s forehead, the touch oh-so gentle and kind. “And you’re heating up, too.”
And the meteorite must have done some longlasting damage to his nervous system, because Chishiya— ever fluid in his ability to avoid touch— just… freezes. Like some malfunctioning robot.
Theoretically, Arisu’s hands should feel cold to the touch— but against Chishiya’s skin, they burn.
This is unusual.
And it’s only when Arisu uses the back of his hand to touch his cheek, whispering, “Are you okay?”, does Chishiya’s mouth finally catch up to what his brain has been trying to get out.
“I’m fine,” he says, albeit stiffly.
Arisu tilts his head as he retracts his hand, stares at Chishiya for a few more seconds, before he nods.
“So… what’s the verdict, my dear customer?” Arisu jokes with eagerness laced in his tone.
“Hot,” Chishiya critiques. Looks like nothing could beat Kuina’s way of preparing his coffee— since hers never seem to make him this warm (But he’d still drink the coffee, because it’ll be such a shame to stop just because of one minor hiccup). “This coffee is too hot. Next time, make it cooler.”
Because that had to be it. The warmth of the coffee had induced a rise in his inner body temperature, triggering cutaneous active vascodilation. Thus, leading to increased blood flow in his capillaries; and Chishiya has always been a little too pale, so it’ll be obvious when the rush of blood circulation paints his cheeks a pinkish hue.
“Man, you are hard to impress!” Arisu whines. He does not seem defeated by it. Instead, what lies in his words is pure determination. “I’ll be sure that your next coffee will be nothing less than perfection!”
And Chishiya’s thoughts and circulatory system just aren’t syncing up, because the excessive heat just won’t diffuse out of his body.
(It could also be an incoming sign of a fever; in that case, Chishiya hopes the maintenance team comes quickly, before this feeling consumes him whole.)
3.
When Arisu confesses, it’s with the quiet inevitability of a breath— unthinking, the words escaping before he can bear their meaning. “I think I like you, Chishiya.”
Then, his eyes widened, huge in comparison to Chishiya’s. The fork he was holding slips out of his grasp, clattering onto the plastic plate of chicken cutlets. “I mean— no! No, wait. Yes! Wait!”
And Chishiya can only tilt his head curiously as Arisu continues to flounder.
“No— I…” Arisu drags a hand down his face. “I do like you, Chishiya.”
Chishiya snorts, finding humour in the way Arisu is overreacting. He props his chin on his hand; leans forward, giving him a sly look. “I would assume so, or we wouldn’t be hanging out.”
“No— I mean, I’m in love with you,” Arisu corrects himself, the words coming easier now, like he’s finally gathered every last scrap of courage. “Have been for a while, actually.”
The world stops. So does Chishiya.
Love. The word plays in his mind, foreign and uninvited, like a language he’s never learned.
A shortness of breath. His BPM rising again— too much, too often to be healthy. The room feels smaller, sounds duller, his pulse thundering somewhere between his ears. The word love won’t stop echoing— each repetition making it harder to breathe.
And Chishiya realises that moisture is slowly gathering in his palms; the way his hands feel a little cooler against the air. Why, he thinks, his mind scrambling for comfort, why?
This hasn’t happened to him before. Even during his final year exams, even when he had to tell the parents of innocent children that their operation had to be delayed, even during card games— nothing has ever come close to this; this ominous feeling.
So many conditions are emerging— so many underlying symptoms that Chishiya hadn’t envisaged.
And his hands tremble— a mild hyperadrenergic response, his body’s involuntary confession that something about this moment has his nervous system in disarray.
So he does what he’s best at. Pretending that it doesn’t exist.
“No,” Chishiya says. Resonant, crystalline and sharp enough to hurt. “You don’t.”
Arisu blinks, thrown off by the emptiness in his tone. He even tries to joke, but Chishiya can see the way his heart is still racing to catch up with the moment. “I think I really do. Seriously. I always feel warmer when you’re around—”
“Heat exhaustion,” Chishiya determines, even though Japan is now at the tail end of winter— and there are still months till the summer heat hits. It’s an easy diagnosis, one he’s used on himself more times than he’d care to admit, usually when Arisu’s presence makes his pulse do strange things.
“Uh— well—” Arisu stutters, visibly taken aback. “My heart beats incredibly fast around you—”
“Palpitations,” he justifies, leaning back against the chair, arms crossed.
“— My stomach, too,” Arisu admits, his voice trembling on the edge of something frantic, as if he needs Chishiya to understand. “I swear you make me feel queasy, in a good kind of—”
“Could be indigestion.”
“No. Chishiya— do you not understand—”
“I hear it loud and clear. It simply sounds like you’re coming down with something. You—”
“Stop—!” Arisu snaps, the word cutting sharper than he intends.
“Just stop it, Chishiya,” he heaves, eyes wide, as if startled by his own outburst.
Chishiya studies him in silence. His gaze lingers on Arisu’s hand— shaking, faint but undeniable. Seems he isn’t immune to tremors, either.
“You’re diminishing the extent of my emotions,” Arisu bursts out, voice cracking. “You’re turning all my crazy, wild, heartfelt emotions into something icy cold and clinical.”
“Because it’s the truth,” Chishiya replies quietly, deliberately, each word clipped, sterile.
“It’s not— at least, to me,” Arisu mutters, utterly defeated, the fight draining from him like water from a cracked vessel.
“That’s because you haven’t been to a medical checkup in ages,” Chishiya remarks, tone automatic, logical, as if analysing a patient rather than a person he cares about.
And the words leave his mouth before he can process it. A natural response. “You’re just sick.”
He can see the moment Arisu registers that last word.
And he just stares at Chishiya, mouth agape. Speechless for all the wrong reasons.
The tension in the room ramps up; just on the edge of an explosion.
Arisu breaks the silence by laughing softly; but there’s no humor in it— just disbelief and hurt. “You know, silence would’ve been better than invalidation.”
Arisu’s eyes glisten, anger flickering beneath the surface as he pushes to his feet and grabs his bag. “I think I’m just gonna go.”
Chishiya doesn’t respond. Not a word. Not even a snarky goodbye. There’s a sharp pang, too close to angina pectoris for comfort, accompanied by the familiar tightness that comes with dyspnea. Each shallow breath reminds him of what he’s trying to ignore: how much Arisu’s absence, even the thought of it, unsettles him.
And even though his heater is cranked up to the toasty temperature that Arisu likes, his apartment has never felt so cold.
4.
“Chishiya!” Kuina calls out to him as she hurriedly enters the apartment. Her voice is frantic— which is to be expected, since he had just texted her that his time on earth was up. Again. “Where are you, Chishiya?”
Chishiya doesn’t answer her, though— too preoccupied with his current dilemma.
He’s sitting in front of the toilet bowl. Just… waiting. Waiting for the nausea to hit full force. But it doesn’t come. The awful feeling in his stomach doesn’t quell, and every thought of Arisu’s dismayed expression from an hour ago triggers his gag reflex. He’s frantic, mind running in circles, coming up with a glut of possible illnesses and diseases he might have contracted— but nothing hits the right spot.
Kuina’s footsteps get louder as she runs through the apartment, before it comes to a stop.
“Chishiya?” she gasps. “What are you doing on the floor? Get up!”
But he stays stubbornly tethered to the tiles, even swatting her hands away as she tries to drag him up. There was no way he was going to dirty their floor with undigested food.
Eventually, Kuina realises that she’s fighting a losing battle, and makes herself comfortable next to him with a deep sigh.
“Okay. What happened?” she asked.
“Arisu and I had a… minor disagreement.”
“I’m inclined to believe that it’s more than that, or you wouldn’t look like a man who’s entire understanding of medicine has been upturned— in that emotionally constipated way of yours.”
Chishiya can only remain silent at that.
“Come on.” Kuina gently nudges him. “You know you can tell me anything.”
Chishiya does get into fights— verbal ones. With that mouth of his, it’s inevitable. But he’s never been this terribly affected by it. It’s just a fight. It’s common; it happens to everyone. But he feels as though the world is ending, because his autonomic nervous system continues to go haywire; his nerve fibres releasing excessive acetylcholine leading to clammy hands, and his lungs aren’t expanding enough for adequate ventilation.
Was it because this time, the fight was related to Arisu?
“I think I hurt him,” Chishiya eventually admits. “No. I know I hurt him.”
Kuina softly asks, “What happened?”
“He was explaining to me how he felt… and I just pushed him away.”
Kuina tenses up beside him. “Chishiya— that’s— no…”
Instead of lashing out at him, though— because Arisu is innocent in all of this; and it’s Chishiya who should be severely punished— she rests her hand on the small of his back, rubs circles of comfort. She just wants to understand.
“... Why would you do that?”
“Because—”
Arisu is different; he’s always been different from the rest. This time, it might not be a good thing—
“Because Arisu makes me feel ill,” he confesses, a little quiet, more resigned than anything else. “Which is stupid— because I rarely get sick.”
Her eyelids flutter, clearly not expecting that. “Really?”
“Yes,” he sighs. “It seems as though I’m not as healthy as I thought.”
Kuina studies him, contemplative. “But you don’t look sick. No flushed face, skin pale— but not deathly pale— and you don’t sound hoarse. You look… pretty normal, actually.”
“Exactly,” Chishiya replies. “It’s all… happening on the inside, instead, when I’m around him. Only him. Perhaps it’s actually Arisu who’s a carrier of some disease that only I’m susceptible to—”
“Wait,” Kuina interjects. “Could you give me an example on how you’re feeling?”
“Nauseous, like I have bees in my stomach,” he deduces.
This has Kuina pausing. She looks at him blankly, as if her inner system crashed from the sheer nonsense that Chishiya had just uttered.
“Do you mean butterflies?” Kuina rephrases, baffled.
“No.” Chishiya leans back on his hands, pensive. Butterflies seem… too soft for him. That’s not his style at all, not after everything he’s done. “Hornets, to be exact. Because after their stingers pierce me, they refuse to die.”
“Do you… get nervous around Arisu?” Kuina continues to question.
“Not exactly, I… simply worry about what he might think of me.”
The corner of Kuina’s lips quirk up. “You’ve never let anyone’s assumptions affect you, though.”
Chishiya nods. “Exactly. Don’t you see how weird this all is?”
Kuina ignores his question, instead she asks, “Do you feel like your heart beats really fast around him?”
“Yeah,” he relents. “But not too fast to induce cardiac arrest.”
There’s a pause, before Kuina says, “Oh, Chishiya… I think you like him.”
Chishiya stares at her, unamused. “If I ever held any semblance of disdain to any of you guys, it’ll be glaringly obvious.”
“No, Chishiya. I mean, like, romantically,” Kuina clarifies. “You like Arisu. Romantically.”
And his breath hitches when he hears that. As Kuina suggests it out loud. Puts a label onto Chishiya’s feelings, the ones that no medical diagnosis can exactly pinpoint.
But such a thing can’t be true, right? Having such feelings of infatuation aren’t logical enough for Chishiya; and he’s always been a person who thinks with his head.
“I don’t think so,” Chishiya breathes out. Chishiya knows what romantic love is— clinically defined, an attraction to another person. But how could she be so certain that those symptoms were linked to something as elusive as emotion? It doesn’t make sense. And Chishiya hates it. “No. That’s not it.”
Hates that on the off-chance she’s right— that this is what love feels like— as though something inside him is being ripped apart— he wants no part of it.
“Chishiya,” Kuina starts, her tone soft, as if trying to not scare a stray cat away. And he’s convinced that she’s successfully Pavlov’d his body to relax whenever she uses that tone on him.
He feels absolutely dejected; his mind exhausted from it all. For always trying to justify things that don’t require logical justification to begin with.
“Are you certain that that’s the factual truth?” Kuina continues. “Or have you succeeded in convincing yourself that such an emotion couldn’t be possible— when in reality, you’re just running away again?”
Intermission.
When Chishiya was younger, roughly six, there had been a stray cat that would linger in the vicinity of his house. It was old, slow when it walked, and even its meows seemed more of an exhalation than a call for attention. Nevertheless, it would always make its way to the front gate of his house every morning; all of its paws on the ground, waiting patiently for Chishiya to head to school.
At first, he had found it odd, giving it sidelong glances as it struggled to catch up with Chishiya’s quicker footsteps. Then, its presence grew more tolerable. Soon, Chishiya found himself walking slower. He found himself sneaking raw salmon out of his kitchen. He found himself running his hand through its fur.
There had always been this feeling in his chest— something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. The way his heart stuttered and melted as the cat purred against his legs.
But it had been a pleasant feeling, so Chishiya hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.
As the weeks passed, the cat grew weaker, till Chishiya had to pick the cat up and carry it to school or he would be late. He would gently place it on a wooden bench nearby— leaving it there until school ended— before carrying it back home.
He had never let it enter the house; his parents hated any kind of fur left on the floor— too unsanitary, they had claimed. Chishiya listened. He understood.
Besides, cats were self-sufficient creatures. He hadn’t thought much of it.
Until one day, it stopped moving. No matter how much he’d nudged it. It didn’t respond.
It was the circle of life. Chishiya knew that.
Yet, that moment was where the unexplainable symptoms started.
A few tears traced paths down his cheeks, almost imperceptible, like tiny leaks.
His chest felt tight, every breath shallow, like a fish floundering out of water. His head throbbed— each painful beat in time with his heart— and felt stuffed with cotton.
He didn’t exactly understand anything. All he knew was that there was this persistent sense of agony that stemmed from somewhere he could not name.
Chishiya felt like he was dying.
“How do you feel?” his father had asked, when Chishiya came to him— red-rimmed eyes, hair messed up— too distraught and desperate to figure out what was going on. To others, it might have been interpreted as a form of concern, but beneath it, it was just a role his father had to play without any attached emotions.
“My chest aches,” he muttered, feeling a little weird from describing his discomfort to his father. For opening up a little. “My head hurts.”
His father continued to hum in acknowledgement. It was one of the first times he actually looked at Chishiya; but Chishiya doesn’t feel any warmth from it. Instead, he felt as though he was being analysed, picked apart bit by bit. Like some specimen. Creepy, but so familiar that it started to feel safe.
“I think— I think I’m sad—” Because that was what he’d been taught by his teacher. Sad, because the cat had died. Sad, because Chishiya was lonely in this huge, luxurious mansion. Sad, because he had come to adore that cat. He doesn’t have any close examples to relate to, but he’s almost certain that—
“Gastroesophageal Reflux and Migraine are plausible explanations," his father had interrupted him, tone cold and measured. “It’s only natural. Hitoka has informed me that you’ve been consuming meals at irregular timings. This is what happens when you don’t follow instructions.”
“You’re not sad.” His father had dumbed it down for him, mistaking Chishiya’s stunned silence for confusion. He lets out a little scoff, demeaning him— as though he couldn’t fathom his son feeling anything but emptiness. “You’re just sick.”
And Chishiya forced himself to take in another breath of air, as that innocent word— used by his peers as a way to garner love, affection, sympathy from their parents— was used as a weapon against him.
“No,” he insisted. “I really feel—”
And his father sighed. He doesn’t call him out for challenging him. He leaned back on the chair; looked at Chishiya with easy confidence, as though he had already won the battle, and was just humoring him.
“It appears as though we have polarising views,” his father began. “Yet only one of us has the certificates to back up our stance.”
In some ways, Chishiya reasoned. His father was right. It was a child with these newfound things to learn, against a renowned doctor who could probably recite any medical theory in his sleep. It was clear who would concede.
Chishiya couldn’t fight against facts. He was taught that logic always prevails.
“You’re sick,” his father repeated. “Fortunately, it’s easily treatable.”
He took a piece of paper, messily scribbled down big terms, and handed it to Chishiya. “Tell Hitoka to get you these. The effect should be seen in a few hours. Also, get some eye drops for those irritated eyes.”
“Let me know if the symptoms still persist,” he adds. “I’ll inform someone to stock up on vitamins for your body. It’s clear that this winter weather has had a detrimental effect on your physical wellbeing.”
He made a sweeping motion with his hands, and like clockwork, Chishiya found his legs being controlled by that action, as he walked out of that room.
Chishiya took the last of his pills, and waited. Waited for his heart to finally catch up with reality, because it was still in the past— as the cat laid lifeless in his arms; when his father delivered diagnoses with effortless precision.
The cat was bound to go, he repeated to himself, over and over again as he waited for the medication to take effect. It was simply nature’s doing.
And it worked. Eventually, he was able to breathe properly, the pain in his chest subsided, and he could think straight again.
No wonder he had been acting so out of character. There really was nothing medicine could not explain.
He was just sick.
(Eventually, after a few visits to his father’s office, it became a habit. For any emotion that Chishiya didn’t think he was capable of having, he had chalked it up to symptoms that needed remedies. There wasn’t any need to explain it to his father anymore— it was a waste of time to be judged by someone else, when Chishiya had always been his own harshest critic.)
+1.
It’s Usagi who opens the door to hers and Arisu’s shared apartment.
When she sees him, she’s instantly on guard— tensed, squaring up, preparing herself for Chishiya’s words— the ones that hit harder than fists ever could.
Doesn’t understand that Chishiya isn’t here for a fight.
He’s here in an attempt to make things right.
“What do you want?” she says, and it comes out as more of a demand than a question.
“Arisu,” he says. “I want to speak to him.”
“Why?” Usagi crosses her arms, challenging. “So that you can recommend him a hospital to go to?”
Chishiya presses his lips into a thin line; lets the words sink in till it aches— because he deserved it. He hopes his tells remain hidden to her— the way his breath is slightly laboured, how a few strands of his hair are stuck to his neck uncomfortably. The way he’s wearing sandals, because they were the easiest to slip on.
“I think… I’ve made errors in my speculation.”
There’s a pause that stretches on for eternity— with Usagi staring intensely into his eyes, and Chishiya trying his best to maintain that eye contact.
Just as he was about to back off, she spoke.
“One chance,” Usagi says in a serious tone. She lets him in. “That’s all you get.”
Then, her expression softens, because Usagi has always tried her best to be kind and understanding no matter the circumstances. And similar to Kuina, she’s all too familiar with the game he subconsciously plays.
“I know you can do it, Chishiya,” she continues, before shutting the door behind her with a muted click.
It's easy to find the room that Arisu is in— it’s the only one emitting sound.
He stands in front of the door that's ajar; peeks past the gap to see Arisu curled up on his bed, hugging his legs close to his chest.
Slowly, he pushes the door. It creaks at the slightest pressure.
“Go away, Usagi. I’ll get over it.” Arisu sniffles out, and a sinking sensation pulls through Chishiya’s chest and down into his gut, leaving a dull weight behind.
Chishiya swallows dry. His short, trimmed nails dig into his palms. Tries not to let his voice break. Realises he can’t even get to that step, because his mouth refuses to open.
So he just… stands there. Like some statue.
Arisu peeks from a tiny gap between his limbs, and when he sees Chishiya, his body freezes up.
“If you’re here to deal the finishing blow, you don’t have to,” Arisu tells him, voice wobbly. “There’s nothing else for you to hurt.”
“I…” Chishiya starts, “didn’t understand.”
“What did you not understand?”
Chishiya takes in another shaky breath. “You know what I mean.”
“No, Chishiya. I actually don’t.” When Arisu looks at him, it’s with irritated eyes and flushed, shiny cheeks. “I’m not some deity who can read minds.”
Those words hurt deeper than any knife wound could. And Chishiya’s first line of defense has always been to shut down when it hits too hard for comfort. Recede deeper and deeper till he disappears.
“Feelings, emotions, you know I’m not good at them—” Chishiya justifies, as his mind yells at him to abort, abort, abort. He had prepared an entire script of things he wanted to say— had rehearsed them over and over in his head on the way here— but now, that same paper is pristine white, and Chishiya’s body is moving on autopilot. “— and with the way you dropped that bombshell—”
And Arisu fights back— because it’s only natural that he does, especially with all the emotions and tension running high. “So in the end, it’s my fault, huh?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Then what, Chishiya?” Arisu fumes. “Or am I too delirious with some sickness to formulate my own opinions?”
“You’re misinterpretation it—”
“Because you speak in circles!” Arisu cuts him off, voice cracking. “And for once— maybe I just want something clear!”
“Arisu— wait—” Truly, what does it say about Chishiya’s character, when Arisu— the one whose warmth can thaw the coldest hearts— starts losing patience with him?
“Get out.” A tear slips from Arisu’s eye. “I hate fighting. And I despise myself for being this mad at you.”
This is how it ends. Chishiya isn’t welcome anymore. Arisu is kicking him out.
He’s getting dismissed.
Chishiya panics at the implications. He’s seriously the lowest of the low. He’s screwing up one of the best things that’s ever happened to him. Because for some reason, he can’t seem to take advantage of all the opportunities he gets; all the chances he doesn’t deserve. Even now; he doesn’t understand why Arisu would bear hatred for himself, when the actual target should be Chishiya, the one that’s too fucked up in the head to understand—
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Arisu whispers, so tender yet broken that it cleanly slices through the thick, convoluted mess in his head. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
And this forces Chishiya to come out of the neverending darkness in his mind, all the way to the forefront.
That’s when he notices it. A feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. The slight tremors in his shoulders, the tight constricting of his chest, the way his nose is souring up—
And Chishiya wants to say, I never meant to hurt you, but everything just comes out slightly too gargled for it to be comprehensible.
What was happening to him?
Suddenly, there’s this light pressure on his face. Soft, feathery and it tickles.
Tissue, his mind registers. But his hands are still by his side, dangling uselessly—
— While Arisu, all teary-eyed himself— face still wet and blotchy red, was dabbing away Chishiya’s tears with utmost care. There’s no more anger in his movements; just concern and guilt. After everything, Arisu still treats him so well.
Arisu is kind— too kind to Chishiya.
And Chishiya breaks.
“Sorry—” he heaves. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He misses the way Arisu’s hand freezes up, as he continues in his final attempt to make it right; in a type of haste that rarely hits.
To let his heart do the talking.
“I was wrong,” he rambles on. “I was projecting.”
“I didn’t mean it—” His vision has long since given up on him; with how everything’s blurred into a single distorted smear of colour and light.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Arisu tries to console him.
“It’s not—” he insists, the words cracking. “Everything’s ruined—”
“Hey… hey, breathe,” Arisu murmurs. “You’re gonna cry yourself sick.”
But Chishiya can’t stop— not when every breath he takes in just seems to sharpen the ache and fuels the tears. And he hates himself for it— hates that Arisu is comforting him, when it should have been the other way around. Hates how utterly out of control he feels; how his composure is slipping through his fingers faster than he can gather it.
How pathetic.
Before he knew it, his body was being pressed into a fluffy hoodie. Arisu simply holds him— arms firmly wrapped around his back, steady and warm. Anchors him there, patiently waiting for Chishiya to let it all out.
And Chishiya’s fingers bunch weakly into the material, afraid that Arisu might let him go. Tries to retain some semblance of dignity by burrowing his face further into the other; but it’s no use— not when Arisu has already seen everything.
That should scare him.
It doesn’t.
Instead, it’s comforting— to be seen by Arisu.
“I didn’t mean to imply that you were sick,” Chishiya explains. “I was… scared of what that would mean— because I had been feeling the exact same way, too.”
There’s a pause, before Arisu sighs with a hint of relief, “So you were making excuses for it, huh.”
“Admitting things easily isn’t really my style,” Chishiya mutters wryly.
“Yeah,” Arisu chuckles weakly. “But I think… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“It’ll get exhausting.” I’m exhausting.
“It’ll get boring if it wasn’t.” No, you’re not.
And the words were spoken with such conviction, that Chishiya can’t find the energy in himself to argue.
“I’m sorry,” he says once again.
“I know,” Arisu replies. “It means a lot.”
Contrary to what Chishiya had thought, he does run out of steam eventually. His heart rate slows down to his usual 85BPM, and he can finally take in a steady breath without emitting any sounds.
However, his eyes does itch, and he purposefully presses them against the cotton hoodie, ready scratch it—
Arisu lets him go. He steps back, and Chishiya can’t help the narrowing of his eyes at the proximity.
“Don’t rub your eyes,” Arisu reminds him, as though speaking from experience. Uses the soaked tissue to wipe away the last of his tears. “You’ll irritate them.”
“They’re already unsightly,” Chishiya grumbles.
Arisu chuckles, "Trust me when I say that you’re a pretty crier. I can't help but feel jealous.”
The words hit him at full force, so genuine yet so blatantly shameless that Chishiya can’t help but let out a snort.
"Don't worry, you're not so bad yourself," he says. With awkward, mechanical movements, he reaches up, thumb catching the bead of liquid from the corner of Arisu’s eye.
And Arisu leans into his touch— weighted with longing.
“It’s happening again,” Chishiya confesses in a whisper. “Vindictive hornets in my stomach, as each of my heartbeat feels like a gunshot ricocheting through my chest. My hands are cold, wet and disgusting, like I dipped them into a swamp for a prolonged period. And I feel like there’s an active, uncontrollable forest-fire beneath my skin.”
Arisu lets out a weak chuckle. “Your metaphors are incredibly brutal.”
Chishiya raises an eyebrow, challenging. “How would you describe yours?”
“Like little baby hummingbirds in my stomach,” Arisu muses with a small smile. “Sometimes, I notice my breathing and heartbeat quietly falling into rhythm with yours. And being near you… it’s like basking under the sun, slowly thawing after a long freeze.”
“That's… surprisingly gentle.”
“What’s so surprising about it?” Arisu prods curiosity. “Love can be so infinitely tender on the soul.”
Love. Love. Love.
Perhaps this was it. If Arisu wasn’t anyone special, Chishiya wouldn’t feel like this. Wouldn’t be this distraught over something that was supposed to be insignificant, heart tearing from the insides and desperate— so desperate to try and salvage this.
Chishiya is putting in the effort. And this serves as his moment of epiphany.
Chishiya shrugs. “I think I… refused to believe that I had the capability to love, let alone be loved like that by someone… like you.”
Arisu's eyes soften. “Everyone deserves to experience a soft and patient kind of love.”
Chishiya is effortlessly deceitful. He lies to everyone. But his favourite target has always been himself.
Yet, Chishiya finds that the next words he spills are nothing but the absolute truth.
“Not me,” Chishiya reveals. “I was so certain that it’d never happen to me, considering the type of person I am.”
Chishiya doesn’t do love. He’s never had the chance to learn what it feels like— nobody has ever handed him the data for it. If he’s feeling humorous, he’d say that no one in the Chishiya name knows what love is supposed to feel like, not when it’s been instilled that survival invariably requires detachment.
Arisu’s eyes soften. “Don’t speak that way about yourself. I won’t allow anyone to imply such a thing about the person that holds my heart.”
“It’s true, though. Everyone’s just too decent to say it out loud.”
“You’re assuming things again.”
“Force of habit.”
“Let me give you a demonstration, then,” Arisu says. “I’ll show you that a gentle kind of love can exist. It’ll be so addictive that you won’t ever want to let go.”
“So teach me,” Chishiya dares him, as excitement begins to bubble up— because he’s always been a curious individual. “I want to learn.”
“May I?” Arisu asks as he leans in; and the proximity is so close that Chishiya can feel the other’s breath on his lips.
In response, Chishiya simply pulls him in.
His heart flutters, a sweet ache blooming in his lungs as the butterflies in his stomach dance wildly; and a slow, tender warmth unfurls underneath his skin.
Feelings that no medicine can remedy.
Oh, Chishiya concludes. Perhaps this is what love feels like.