Chapter Text
“Let me tell you some things about this man... He was alive and breathing just two weeks and fourteen hours ago. He was smiling as I watched the life get sucked out of his eyes. Hell, he was comforting me too as I sat there and begged for him to stay awake.
“I didn’t get a lot of time with him…. Sure, I got more time than some people did, but we’re both barely twenty-two. That’s at least forty years left to live without him. That’s too much time to think about him and what could have been. That’s too much time to wonder what life would be like if he were still alive.
“And to be honest, I’m not okay. I only had three years with him. The best three damn years of my life, might I add. He was a pain in the ass. He was so picky about his food that he’d gone on a granola bar diet once just because I kept sticking a couple pieces of carrots in his lunchbox. He spent half of his time at home complaining about anything and everything. He clung to me whenever he could. He would tease the shit out of me over something like my height or how girly my handwriting looks.
“And now that he’s just gone, it’s hard for me to wake up without that monkey clinging to me. It’s hard for me to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for one. It’s hard for me to not turn around and call his name. It’s hard for me to take a shower and have to look at my half-faded tattoo. Fuck, it’s hard to do anything without remembering that nobody’s going to return home to me every night with something to complain about.”
Yata Misaki took a deep breath, watching the tears roll off the cheeks of every individual that had chosen to gather for one last farewell to the person that had - and always will - meant everything to him. He was crying, too, and barely holding onto his voice as he spoke the last half of his message.
“He was an asshole, but he was my asshole. He was mean but he made a point to show me he cared about me even when he wanted to do nothing but stay in bed all day. He knew how to make me feel better when I was upset. He didn’t smile a lot, but when he did it was one of the best things ever. He worked hard, too hard, but always came home to me. He always came home…”
Yata was losing his composure as he got to the hardest part of the speech. He toyed with the hem of his suit, forcing the lump that had formed in his throat to disappear. Almost there.
“Fushimi Saruhiko… my soulmate… died protecting me. He threw himself in the line of fire to make sure I’d be able to make it out alive. Did we ever tell anyone how fucking unlucky we always were? Something bad always happened to us. But this… this was just really, really unfai-”
Yata choked. He couldn’t get the last word out. He watched helplessly as his mind replayed Saruhiko’s last few moments in his mind. How he shoved Yata out of the way, a gunshot resounding in the empty air barely a second after. How he held onto Yata as he gave him a sappy speech about taking care of himself. How he told him he loved him and wouldn’t let him die that night.
He clutched at his heart, willing it to let him breathe. Just a little longer.
Yata’s hands were shaking as he tried to gain his composure back. He couldn’t look at the crowd anymore, so he just stared at the piece of paper that was on the pedestal. It was blank, because Yata Misaki wasn’t the kind of person that would willingly write an entire speech in such short notice. Or at all, for that matter. This speech, this farewell talk…. It was all him. It was Yata at his core.
“H-he… he was just smiling at me as he tried to hold me. He wouldn’t stop telling that it’s going to be alright and that I needed to shut up and stop crying. The last thing he told me was that he loved me and that he’ll be waiting for me.
“Can you believe it?” Yata laughed bitterly, suddenly tempted to rip the paper to shreds. “Saruhiko, the most impatient person I’ve ever met, told me he’ll be waiting for me.” He hiccupped, and managed to smile before he prepared himself to choke out his last few words.
He looked to the coffin that was sitting in the center of the small stage. “I love you, Saru, and I miss you… so much.”
Yata was certain that he had broken down on the stage when he finished his eulogy - if it could even be called that.
He was also certain that he had to be helped off the stage. He felt weak and looked even worse, but everyone understood his pain - losing a soulmate at a young age was one of the worst kinds of pain anyone could ever experience.
It was torture, too, to have to live with a half-faded soulmate tattoo on their shoulder - forever a physical reminder that they're gone, and won’t ever be back.
The person in charge of the funeral waited until Yata was in a more stable condition before ushering everyone outside. It was a warm April afternoon, and the blooming cherry blossoms looked out of place with the current mood of the crowd. Yata still wouldn't budge from his seat as he stared at the glossy black box where his soulmate was resting in. He's memorized the way Saruhiko looked - as if he was taking one of the most peaceful naps he's ever taken, except instead of his usual loose pajamas and content smile, he was wearing a penguin suit identical to Yata’s own attire with a straight, dead expression.
“Yata.” Kusanagi called out to the young man from a few feet behind him. “We’re ready to go.”
Yata nodded numbly, but didn’t make a move to leave his seat as he watched some of Saruhiko’s co-workers pick up the coffin and take it outside. He still didn’t move, even when the coffin left the mostly empty room and entered the hearse.
“Yata,” Kusanagi tried again, approaching him slowly. “We need to go.” He tried patting his shoulder, but Yata immediately shied away from the touch.
“… Don’t touch me.” Yata growled and tried to glare, but he was too tired to bother. He hasn’t slept very well in the two weeks and now fifteen hours since Saruhiko was gone, and it only became more and more evident what with the way he carried himself and in the way he was no longer the liveliest one in the bar he worked at.
“Yata, everyone’s waiting for you.” Kusanagi tried reasoning with him.
“Let them wait.” His words were icy compared the warmth of Kusanagi’s own.
“You know better than to do that, Yata.”
Yata clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles were as white as a sheet. He just wanted everyone to disappear. To leave him alone forever. Go away, go away, go away!
Misaki, stop. Another voice chided him. Its voice sounded strangely familiar, but he couldn’t be bothered to figure out why.
It took a lot of coaxing, but eventually Yata gave in and stood up weakly, rejecting any assistance and trudging towards the exit on his own two feet. He ignored the sympathetic looks and went straight into his assigned car, locking his side of the door and curling up into a fetal position. Screw having a seatbelt.
“Yata, you’re not going to feel any better if you don’t try to finish this day.” Totsuka said, looking back at him from his position in the passenger seat. Yata didn’t even notice Totsuka in the car until just then, but he didn’t care in the least. It was them and Kusanagi assigned to this car, for more than obvious reasons - they were the only ones that could approach Misaki without getting (figuratively) bitten.
Yata didn’t answer; instead, he curled up even tighter and tuned out all the sounds around him, welcoming the silence of his mind. He didn’t notice Kusanagi getting in and driving them off towards the cemetery, nor did he notice their arrival. Totsuka was the first to leave the car, and stood patiently by Yata’s door.
Kusanagi went out and opened up Yata’s door, smiling sadly at his broken figure.
It hurts, doesn’t it? I’m sorry that you have to go through this.
“Let’s go,” both Kusanagi and Totsuka spoke softly to him, coaxing him out of the car and into the light of day. Yata squinted, making out nothing but the shapes of the cherry blossoms.
God, how he hated them right then and there.
He spotted Mikoto away from the crowd, looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Something about it unnerved Misaki, and he held his gaze for a few seconds before looking away, wanting nothing more than to simply hide from everyone.
He didn’t really remember how the ceremony – or whatever it was called at this point – started, but he did remember being the last to take one last look at Fushimi before the coffin was closed and buried six feet under. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want to look away from Fushimi’s figure. He stared at the ring that was looped in the chain that hung on his neck; at their wedding photo right under it.
“You’re not gone, right?” Yata’s small laugh was devoid of any real emotion. “This isn’t real, right?”
Nobody answered him.
“I’m not that stupid though… You’re gone, aren’t you? That’s why we’re all here, right? To say goodbye…. Yeah…” Yata started to sniffle as he held Fushimi’s cold hand one last time. “I’ll see you soon, okay you stupid monkey? I’ll see you soo-“
His throat tightened and he broke down again, letting Fushimi’s hand go. He was now falling on his knees and resting his head on the side of the coffin, unable to maintain his composure any longer. He couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t stop the sobbing, the yelling, the pain that had taken over him. His own mother watched as her son cried and cried, afraid to comfort him only to break him even more.
Nobody went to comfort the widower except one of the only two that have bothered to speak to him that day.
Totsuka went to crouch next to Yata, winding an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. Neither tried to speak, and when Yata managed to turn and cling to him, Totsuka simply hugged him tight and let him cry as much as he needed to.
The pain was a lot worse the younger you were.
After some time, Yata’s mother went up to her son, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. She, too, had tears running down her face; but who didn’t, really? She couldn’t say a word to comfort him.
Nobody could, really, because nobody could guarantee that it’d really be alright, that the pain would really go away.
It didn’t take too long for Misaki to gather up the strength to stand and give one last loving look at his soulmate before turning and sitting next to his mother somewhere in the front row of chairs. He watched with lifeless eyes as they slowly lowered Fushimi deeper, deeper, deeper into the ground, until he was at the proper depth to be buried.
Yata was brought back up to sprinkle the first handful of dirt on top. It was stupid, really. Why would he have to be the first to dirty Fushimi’s coffin? For added measure, he tossed in Fushimi’s favorite forget-me-not flowers from a random bouquet that was displayed next to the hole, too, because he felt that maybe it’d help him calm down, help him forget the pain, but it only helped remind him that he wasn’t going to forget him, wasn’t going to forget the pain.
So he started tearing up again, but he didn’t cry again. Not yet.
Yata sat back down and waited for everyone else to finish, waited for the big crane to dump mounds and mounds of dirt onto his soulmate, waited for everyone to disperse and meet up at some place he didn’t even want to go to, but had to because he was the widower and he was supposedly the one needing all the support he could get.
No, no, no. he didn’t want their support. Didn’t want them offering their apologies or condolences to him. Didn’t want their eyes on him as he grieved.
But Yata - as Totsuka had seas not too long ago - needed to finish what had already started, so he mindlessly went back to Kusanagi’s car, mindlessly allowed Kusanagi’s and Totsuka’s words to completely miss his ears, and mindlessly dragged himself into a chair in another open-spaced area he didn’t even know the location of, where they were supposed to eat dinner and share some more words about the deceased.
Yata skipped dinner and listened to everyone fuss over him and how much weight he had lost in the past two weeks. Nothing reached him though; he heard, but he only really heard Fushimi’s lullaby as he stared blankly at the faces of Fushimi’s (now) former co-workers, his own co-workers, and even his mother and siblings. He tried to smile - really, he did - but he felt so weak and so lifeless that he honestly just wanted to leave.
And so he did; when the crowd pulled back and resorted to mingling with one another and not just him, Yata simply walked out with the excuse of “I’m getting fresh air”, and started to head out of the place. He didn’t know which direction he needed to go, but he was sure he’d make it home eventually.
Where is my home though? Saruhiko, is there any place I can call home now?
He was almost out of the gates, but footprints began resounding in the chilling air, forcing him to stop and look back at whoever had decided to approach him. He was ready to punch and kick and scream at this point. Anything, anything, anything to make the pain go away.
Misaki was met with calculating violet eyes.
“Munakata.” Misaki deadpanned. He didn’t want to talk to him of all people. He felt the grief twist and turn to anger at the sight of Fushimi’s manager. It wasn’t him in particular he was angry about, no. It was everything else that wasn’t Fushimi that was putting him on edge.
“Yata.” Came his calm response. “I see you’ve decided to leave.”
“Like hell am I going to stay in that place.” Misaki spat. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”
Munakata only smiled, the knowing glint in his eyes adding fuel to the fire in the pit of Misaki’s stomach. “I’m not here to pity you. I’m here to bid my farewell to one of my best employees.”
“An employee that you overworked most of the time.” He remembered all those nights Fushimi would come home complaining about work or about his manager in general. It was annoying, to say the least, but Fushimi put up with it because he felt like it was what was necessary for the both of them.
“He did it on his own free will for you, Yata.”
Yata froze, but still glared daggers at the taller male. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to people talk about Fushimi. He didn’t want to hear anything about Fushimi. No, not now, not yet.
When Yata kept quiet, Munakata spoke again. “He wanted you to have a good life, so he worked hard to get you two what you have now. He asked me for more work so that he could get the apartment and make sure that you two never ran into financial issues. He did all of that,” he waved his hand in an arc in front of him, “and more for you.”
Yata snapped.
“Shut up!” he nearly yelled, hands curling into fists. “Stop talking about him!”
Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stop talking as if he’s gone!
“He wants you to be happy, you know.” Munakata smiled again, but there was a hint of sadness in it this time. “Be careful which path you decide to tread from now on.”
“Fuck you!” Misaki screamed before he turned tail and ran. He ran, ran, ran until he couldn’t see that godforsaken building. Ran until he was so tired he couldn’t possibly think straight. Ran until he managed to figure out his way back to their – his – apartment.
It took him everything he had left in him not to slam the door shut, and the moment that door clicked and locked he pulled off the stupid suit he was forced to wear and jumped onto their – his – bed in nothing but his boxers. He hated, hated, hated this day. He hated the past two weeks of his life. He hated how everyone couldn’t just leave him alone.
Yata crawled under the covers, held one Fushimi's many pillows close, inhaled the faint scent that was his soulmate’s, and cried for the umpteenth time that day.