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It had taken so long.
There was the first year, a lost one. Questions and doubts, and fear everywhere. Minato was in the midst of it all, Seiya tearing apart trying to reach him. Whether it was envy or jealousy, he doesn’t know nor care, because it ran deep regardless.
The second year was, unexpectedly, worse. This time it was Seiya in the middle. Around, little else but pandemonium. The fragile balance of the previous year was breaking and few were more capable of saving whatever was left of it and making the glue stronger than Seiya. He had little time to breathe.
And a frustrating symbiosis was what came to be of the third one. Three hundred sixty-five days of knowing, going through five stages of grief, with denial lasting by far the longest, resisting it, for, to be entirely truthful, everyone’s sake.
University was bittersweet, at least the first few months of it. A new town, new people, new nights twinkling with lights of a foreign street. A soft, cold autumn breeze. Seiya hid his face in the scarf wrapped warmly around him and started learning his life anew. The boys managed to gather every now and then still, and to his displeasure and demise, it was much easier to do this with them than all on his own.
Everything up to his fourth year went by in the blink of an eye, with its ups and downs. So now, in the latter half of his fourth year, Seiya was starting to wonder if the cycle had been broken and the up was never happening again.
It is not that things are going badly for him, no. Seiya is – has always been – a model student at the top of his class, his relationships with both classmates and professors all in order, his job-hunting activities fruitful, kyudo practice somehow squeezed tightly in his schedule, hobbies present.
So no, it is not as if things are going badly for Seiya.
It is something far, far worse than that.
It is going entirely too well.
So Seiya, sitting on the sofa since he came back to his apartment almost an hour ago, is staring into nothingness, sometimes known as ceiling, and thinks that if he doesn’t get some rest immediately, he will crumble. Dissolve into particles and cease to exist.
He enjoys doing well, he really does. He does not even deny the tinge of smugness that comes with it. Studying comes easy and he manages his time well. But this has nothing to do with it.
If Seiya has to attend another hangout that had been rescheduled six times, and by proxy all his other plans too. If all interviewers keep, he guesses, secretly communicating so Seiya has to run from one place to another hour after hour. If his bow-worn fingers don’t stop hurting during this god-forsaken December winter. If he doesn’t get a day to spend away from people and this madness that has been going on for at least four months doesn’t stop soon, Seiya will lose it.
He is too tired to blink, so he keeps staring at the ceiling of the apartment he accidentally calls home when he forgets himself.
“Seiya.”
Masaki chuckles, because Seiya, predictably, doesn't acknowledge him in the slightest.
“I'm sorry, the meeting ran late. Have you missed me that much?”
“I am not in the mood, Takigawa-san.”
Seiya sees blurry. For the most part, it is the dry air and his incessant staring. They have both forgotten to turn the humidifier on.
“Oh dear, that bad?”
“Masaki, shut up.”
“Seiya.”
Fingertips rest on the young man's shoulder.
“None of that, hm?”
He knows by now how to keep his lip from trembling, but Seiya doesn't try to prevent it this time. Masaki's knuckles touch his cheek and when Seiya finally looks at him, Masaki nods approvingly.
“Are you tired?”
“Do I look like I'm not?”
Masaki smiles. “I said none of that, Seiya.” With a tuck of Seiya's hair behind his ear, Masaki leaves to sit on the armchair opposite of him. “Close your eyes.”
“I don't see how that's going to help.”
Masaki smiles and says nothing. He appears perfectly at ease in his seat. Seiya glares, and the smiling Masaki still does nothing. Seiya bites his nail and closes his eyes. They burn worse than before the tingling ceases and only a dull, tense pain remains.
“Good.” Before Seiya can breathe normally, Masaki continues. “What's wrong?”
Seiya thinks. And there is the same problem again, he thinks too much. There are so many problems, with so many explanations, and he can't list them all at once, nor has the energy to explain in detail, in a way that would be coherent to anyone outside himself. He can't answer what is being asked of him and he is not capable of taking it for the nth time this day.
“Masaki, I can't-”
Masaki doesn't stop him. Seiya's voice hitches on its own, because whatever sentence he could have chosen to utter next wouldn't have been the right one.
Masaki instead waits to see him exhale, and gently pushes. “You can.”
No. There is no universe where he can make sense of it. Seiya is going to combust if this doesn't end, so he tells the only thing that encompasses his current state of being. “Everything.”
“Mm, I see. Classes?”
No, it’s not the fucking classes. Seiya does well in all classes. But it also is the classes, and he hates finding himself weak for feeling like this. He doesn’t know what to say. He presses fingers over his shut eyes in frustration.
“Okay, I’ll take that as partly classes. And a lot of everything else.” Masaki walks over to Seiya quietly. You’re alright, he murmurs and takes the pair of glasses off a nose he loves pressing a single kiss on in the morning. “Think you can tell me more now?”
“No,” the answer is instantaneous. The pair of delicate lips Masaki loves to kiss at any time of the day press together tightly. “Not today.”
Masaki nods and kneels and leans on Seiya’s knees. One of his hands reaches up to lightly tap Seiya’s. The younger one inhales deeply and lets them fall from his eyes to a pair of stronger, bigger ones. They hold his almost as tenderly as the kiss that lands on them.
“Are you still free tomorrow?”
Seiya doesn’t have to open his eyes to know exactly how his lover looks right at that moment, right where he is. It’s burned behind his eyelids even when he is leaning all scrunched up against the sofa’s backrest. He sees him regardless and the warm voice and hands are the only other thing that is there.
“I don’t know.”
“Saturday, seventeenth.”
Seiya sighs. “I think I saw a message about a study group. Haven’t opened it yet.”
“Would you prefer to ignore it or refuse?”
“I’d prefer to throw my phone away.”
Masaki’s hands let go and land on Seiya’s waist, pulling him imperceptibly closer. Seiya lets him, lets him fit a tiny bit better between his legs, lets him run his thumbs over his sides.
“We’re going for a drive tomorrow.”
Seiya breathes.
“How’s Sunday?”
“No plans yet.”
Masaki hums. “Then we’re going to the mountains. I know a nice place, there shouldn’t be many people at this time of the year. I promise you the rooms are warm.”
“And they don’t forget to turn on the air humidifier?” Seiya asks quietly.
“No, they don’t. You don’t need to worry about eyedrops there. Sorry, I said I’d do it before going to work. I forgot.”
Seiya pulls his legs up, not to hide, but because he wants to be smaller, small enough to fit completely and entirely between the arms that are about to wrap around him. “What do I have to pack?”
“You, little owl, nothing. You don’t have to think about anything, I’ll take care of it.”
Seiya tries to keep himself together, he really does. He knows he’ll fail, he wishes it was harder to feel safe, that all those down before the ups had been in vain and he hadn’t learned anything, but they weren’t, and he was too smart.
Masaki sits down and tucks him to his chest and Seiya crumbles.
It had taken so long.
For Seiya to let Masa in, to move past the version of himself that didn’t know what to make of touches and care, to admit he was beginning to feel different and push through the stubborn pride of it. It was as if admitting he had been wrong, and that was not an easy feat, not for Seiya.
During a tipsy evening it slipped out of him, and a tired Masaki with his hair grown out again smiled and kissed his temple and said that he could have told him that he wasn’t wrong at all.
“Why didn’t you?”
“You wouldn’t have wanted me to- ouch!”
Seiya kicked his shin lightly. “Don’t speak for me.”
“So you wouldn’t have got mad?”
Seiya stole Masaki’s drink and downed it. “I would’ve.”
It was frustrating changing their dynamic, it was hard letting Masaki in, it was uncomfortable to trust someone and let him see something more intimate.
He still struggles with it, but there are times like these, when he can’t do it anymore, and Masaki is there to let him be raw, defenceless, whole.
Seiya is not weak, at his core. Finding himself in a state of sorts feels ugly. He does not like to rely, nor show it to anyone, and if he had his way this would never, ever happen. But somewhere on his way stood life, and the only person capable of making it move being Masaki was a shock that still comes in waves.
But even then, Seiya refuses to be helpless, so he starts to learn how to swim.
He just has to get used to Masaki being the one to keep him afloat on those rare, drowning days.
“We start tomorrow morning. You can sleep in the car, the blanket should still be in it. I’ll call if we can get breakfast there. Then you can sleep for the entire weekend, if you want your own room, you have it. We can go to the baths or not move outside the room at all. Anything you want, I’ll do.”
Seiya almost shivers in relief. He lets his brain shut down.
“What else?”
“Mm, let’s see.” Masaki plays with Seiya’s hair. “I’d like to eat and go to sleep, and we sleep in late. We’ll wake an hour before lunch, it’ll be snowing and bright enough outside that we won’t need to turn on the lights. You’ll be so tired you’ll let me keep you warm even if we mess up the futons, and I’ll check your fingers because I know they’re hurting. Maybe tape them later.
After we eat, you’ll read that novel I’ll secretly pack, while I won’t let you go and do nothing but look at you. Sleep more. Eventually you’ll tell me what’s wrong and which idiot is at fault this time around, and then we’ll take a hot bath and forget about it.
We’ll go through dinner by miraculously not falling asleep, and I’ll want to hold your hand, but probably won’t. At least not until we’re back on our hallway, if no one’s around, because you won’t, nor shouldn’t be, dealing with other people during the next forty-eight hours.
Back in the room we’ll have to turn on the lights, because it’ll be dark, and everything will be golden and I won’t be able to take my eyes off you. And then I will see what I think will let you rest easy the most. And on Sunday…”
Seiya smashes their lips together. “We’re going now.”
“I’m sorry?” Masaki blinks after Seiya walking towards his room. “I’ve only come from work now.”
Seiya stops and turns around with his neutral, or so it seems until you get to know him and his mischiefs better, expression on his face. “How does that affect your inability to tell me no?”
Masaki sighs. “Here it is, Seiya’s back.”
“Are you too tired to drive?”
“Mm, no, I think I can. Where's my welcome home kiss? That would help.”
Seiya answers from another room. “I’ve just given you one.”
Masaki gives up and gets a small suitcase, good enough for a presumably sleepy weekend. He is starting to put clothes in when Seiya emerges from the bedroom in one of Masaki’s few hoodies. They used to be longer on him, but Seiya’s height is now almost matching his own. Still, too big. He will probably sleep through the ride.
“Know the road?”
“Yeah. We’ll stop at a convenience store first, just in case we need anything.”
Seiya stares at the preparations Masaki is making. “A bigger suitcase. From tomorrow you handle everything; until then I’ll give you my thanks before I pass out completely. Bring another change of clothes.”
Seiya leaves and Masaki stares at the smart, bold, caring young man he would do anything for.
When he is sitting in the car fifteen minutes later and Seiya is cocooned and leaning against the window prepared to nap and restore some energy during the hour ahead of them, he thinks so again.
Seiya’s fingertips, only minutely peeking out of a sleeve, brush Masaki’s hand lightly.
The smallest concession worth years of work.
Masaki takes it and waits until Seiya falls asleep shortly after, his even breath leaving traces of his existence on the window glass.
Only then does Masaki let go, adjusts the blanket to cover his most precious one fully, and starts the car.