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“If I died right now,” Tanizaki started, his voice half-swallowed by the gentle hum of the rain outside, “what would you do?”
He turned his head lazily to look at the amber-eyed boy sitting beside him, his auburn hair slightly damp from their walk home. The words hung in the air between them like cigarette smoke—thin, fragile, and strangely intimate.
Tachihara didn’t answer immediately. He was leaning back against the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, his long fingers drumming an idle rhythm against the worn fabric. The storm outside cast soft, shifting shadows across his face.
Tanizaki giggled—a quiet, airy sound that somehow felt more like defiance than amusement. “C’mon,” he teased. “Don’t make that face. I’m just asking a question.”
“You say the creepiest shit sometimes,” Tachihara muttered, though his tone wasn’t harsh. He turned his head to look at him fully now, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Why the hell would you even say that?”
Tanizaki shrugged, still smiling. He was sitting cross-legged, knees drawn to his chest, wearing an oversized hoodie that was far too big for him—probably Tachihara’s. The sleeves pooled around his wrists as he absentmindedly tugged at the strings. “It’s just a thought. I mean, if I suddenly—poof!—died, would you cry? Would you visit my grave every day and bring me those ugly orange flowers you like so much?”
Tachihara rolled his eyes, a small smile betraying his irritation. “They’re marigolds, you idiot. And no, I wouldn’t bring you any. I’d be too busy haunting your murderer.”
“Oh?” Tanizaki tilted his head, grin widening. “So you’d avenge me?”
“I’d make it personal,” Tachihara replied, and the words came out too easily—too real.
For a moment, silence. The only sound was the soft tapping of rain against the window.
Tanizaki watched him carefully, the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, the way his fingers stilled against the couch. He’s serious, Tanizaki thought, and something inside him fluttered uneasily.
“You know,” Tanizaki said softly, breaking the silence again, “you scare me a little when you talk like that.”
“Good,” Tachihara murmured. “Maybe you’ll stop saying weird shit like ‘what if I died.’”
Tanizaki’s eyes softened. He reached out, brushing his fingers against Tachihara’s sleeve. “I can’t help it. You’re… intense. Makes me want to poke at you and see what happens.”
Tachihara huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re gonna get yourself hurt one day.”
“Would you save me?”
Tachihara turned to him, amber eyes flickering like candlelight. “You really wanna know?”
Tanizaki nodded.
“I’d drag you back,” Tachihara said, his voice low and steady, “whether you wanted to come or not. You’d probably hate me for it, but I’d still do it.”
Tanizaki blinked, startled by the sincerity in his tone. For all his rough edges—his sharp tongue, his arrogance, his way of pretending he didn’t care—Tachihara looked deadly serious.
Something in Tanizaki’s chest twisted, a knot of warmth and ache tangled together. He laughed again, though it came out more like a sigh. “You’re awful at making things less heavy, you know that?”
“Not my job,” Tachihara muttered.
“Oh? What’s your job then?”
“Keeping you alive, apparently.”
Tanizaki snorted, leaning back into the couch. The warmth of Tachihara’s arm was dangerously close; his heartbeat thrummed steady and loud, grounding him in a way that words couldn’t.
“I think I’d still haunt you,” Tanizaki said after a moment, almost absently. “If I died.”
Tachihara raised an eyebrow. “You’d haunt me? Not your sister? Not anyone else?”
"Nope. Just you."
“Why?”
Tanizaki smiled faintly, his eyes soft but unreadable. “Because you’d actually notice.”
Tachihara stared at him, the faintest tremor of something unspoken passing between them. Then, with a quiet groan, he reached forward and ruffled Tanizaki’s hair roughly.
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he muttered.
Tanizaki laughed again, eyes closing as his head tilted against Tachihara’s shoulder. “You love it.”
The rain softened to a drizzle, the smell of wet pavement seeping through the slightly open window. In the dim light of the room, their breathing synchronised—slow, calm, familiar.
Tachihara looked down at the boy leaning against him, and for the briefest moment, something raw crossed his face. He wanted to tell him not to say things like that, that he couldn’t handle the thought of him disappearing. But instead, he just said—
“If you die, I’m coming with you.”
Tanizaki’s eyes fluttered open, catching the ghost of a smile playing on Tachihara’s lips.
“That’s… so dramatic.”
“Yeah, well,” Tachihara said, voice soft now, “you started it.”
And for once, Tanizaki didn’t laugh. He just leaned closer, his hand finding Tachihara’s, their fingers intertwining quietly between them.
Outside, the storm finally passed. But inside, neither moved—both afraid, perhaps, that if they did, the fragile warmth between them might vanish too.