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It is only after Chishiya Shuntaro wakes up in a hospital and is told that his heart stopped beating for 63 seconds, that he can admit that he cares about you.
Before, he’d call it tolerating. The only one he’d tolerate, but still just tolerating. He tolerated you from the start, when in high school one of his teachers had paired the two of you up for a group project. You’d push back when he was methodically dismissive, but snickered when he’d muttered a sarcastic remark not meant for anyone’s ears. Even as a teenager, he’d known the image expected of him.
He’d tolerated when you’d join him at recess, where you didn't mind the few words your chatter would receive. “They might be few, but they’re clever.” You’d once told him. “They show you do listen.”
He hadn’t tolerated when you’d become anxious for college. He never asked you why, but with some subtle guiding of topics he still knew.
Money. For rent, specifically.
How tedious.
His own apartment would be bought by his parents, in a safe neighbourhood and close to university.
He didn’t ask you to move in. Instead, he took you to viewings of various apartments, each with a spare bedroom, prodding for your opinions and discarding any place when you dislike them. He’d ignored how uncomfortable you’d been each time.
You only called him out when he, purposefully careless, mentioned a park you liked being near the apartment they were viewing. It’d been quiet but direct. “I can’t afford your parent’s standards of living, Chishiya.”
“I’m not renting you a room.” He’d answered, his voice mocking but with a soft undernote he didn't realise was there.
You flinch before you realise the actual meaning of his words.
He’d definitely tolerated the relieved smile you gave him when you’d realised housing would be free. It’s still clear, dear, in his mind as he lays in the hospital bed.
He only tolerated you, so he never asked you to move in. You never confirmed. Just the way he likes it. Confirming would give the game away.
You were right next to him when he unpacked his few belongings, unpacking your own.
You’re still living with him now, years later, even though you’ve graduated, your study taking less time than that of a medical course. Neither of you have brought up moving out, just as neither of you have mentioned staying.
He especially tolerated each time you were unnecessarily prideful of him. You congratulated him after each and every perfect mark, even when they were expected. You were there with him when the both of you graduated high school. You waited for him late into the night after his first operation as an attending on a child’s heart.
While he doesn’t need gratification, he can appreciate it. You’re always there.
Except now.
It’s been a week since he woke up. A week where he hasn’t as much as heard from you. The lack of his parents had been expected, even if they both work in the hospital he’s currently a patient in.
But you’re supposed to be there when his parents aren’t. You’ve always been. So why not now? You’re not on the ever-growing list of victims.
He can admit to the slight sting he feels, reminiscent of when he was still a kid and hopeful for his parents to notice him.
The nurses are overworked with the disaster, so it’s only now that he gets his hand on a new phone, his old one broken.
You’re the first and only person he messages.
“‘Shiya!
Will you be alright?”
Your immediate response and the use of that ridiculous nickname soothe the sting slightly. There’s a pause before your next message.
“Sorry I’m not there. The hospital said spouses and family are the only ones allowed to visit.”
He can read between the lines. Recovering from the physical trauma he’d endured, he’d forgotten about his parents' disapproval of you. Your next message comes in, as if you want to distract him from those thoughts.
“Did you like the book I left you?”
There’s no book on his bedside table.
“Assume nothing through my parents reaches me.” He answers you. The sting is gone, replaced by a familiar and old numb feeling that he associates with his parents.
“I’ll be fine.
Did you get caught in the impact?”
He feels the week-long tension leaving his body when you respond you’re not. That you were at the apartment, safe from the blast.
You hug him in the lobby of the hospital when he’s released. It’s with quiet satisfaction that he awkwardly returns the gesture.
His parent’s colleagues will see. Exactly what they’d wanted to prevent by refusing you access to his bedside.
He’s been feeling off ever since he woke up from death. Off enough that he slips up and calls you by your given name.
The effect is immediate. You lit up, smiling brightly at him, while trying and failing to subtly call him by his given name. You beam when he doesn’t correct you.
You stay closer after that. While you refuse to admit you worry, he can see it in your eyes when you move a bit closer to him on the couch than you would before, the way your eyes are on him when he does his chores.
He’d died, but he came back. You seem more affected by his cardiac arrest than he does himself.
That's not entirely true. Something in him has... changed. His parents are on the forefront of his mind as he moves his internship to a different hospital, which his flawless record makes possible.
You, of course, support him completely. He knows you detest his parents.
You start to get touchy. It’s small at first, a ‘coincidental’ brush here and there, then your hand on his arm as you’re talking to your colleague at a work gathering, then leaning against him on the couch as you read your books in the evening.
He finds himself liking it, which interests him. He’s never enjoyed touch before. So he lets you, wondering if the excessive heat of your touch is supposed to be normal.
When at a fundraiser for his new hospital, he takes you so you can do the talking while he assesses. You’re thirsty, but when he returns with both of your drinks one of his peers is being a bit too friendly with an oblivious you. Something bitter curls in his gut, a new feeling he’ll analyse later, and he puts his hand on the small of your back after handing you your drink, leaning in slightly.
“I wasn’t aware you were taken.” Chishiya doesn’t correct his peer as the man is already walking away.
After that, rumours circulate his hospital that he has a girlfriend. He doesn’t correct those either, as he’s well aware denial will only stoke the flames.
It’s only after he hangs the certificate proclaiming him a doctor that he gets his parents' attention. From one of them, at least. And after years of perfect grades going all the way back to highschool, it's still not to congratulate him.
His father is sipping politely from his tea, eyes sharp in a way that betrays his anger. You’re stiff beside him, closer than you should be.
“Dr. Watanabe claims you have no intention of returning to our hospital.” He ignores your presence, as if you don’t exist.
His father isn’t the only one angry at this table. This is your home too. Yet his father shows you none of the respect expected in Japanese society. Chishiya remains silent, wondering if his father knows him well enough to catch it. If he does, he doesn't show.
“It’s expected that you wanted to stray off during your learning years.” His father continues. “It is even good for connections. But now that you have your license, it will look bad for the family if you don’t return. I’ve arranged an interview for a position that will allow growth into a cardiovascular paediatric surgeon. The interview is just for pleasantries, of course. You’ll be guaranteed to have the job.”
Chishiya takes a slow sip of his tea. His silence is seen as compliance.
“And you’ll have to get married.” His father pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Your mother and I will finance the wedding. The girl will have to be acceptable.” Next to Chishiya, you tense more.
“I’m aware of the rumours that you’re seeing someone.” Finally his father acknowledges you, even if it’s just with a short glance. Chishiya had wondered if he’d bring the rumours up. He doesn’t object, letting his father go on instead.
“I trust you know college trysts won’t make for a good future. You’ll need someone with connections.” The clink of your cup as you put it down is audible, but even though Chishiya knows how much you’ll rage about his father later, you’ll attempt to stay polite. Just because Chishiya had asked you to. His family is his burden to deal with.
His father hands him the paper. On it is a list of names. Female names. Presumably from ‘acceptable’ backgrounds.
Chishiya reads it emotionlessly.
Finally, flatly, like he has many times before, he says: “Of course, father.”
His father has a satisfied glance on his face as he leaves, not one to linger once he has reached his goal.
He really doesn't know him, does he?
Chishiya dumps the paper in the trash the moment the door closes behind him. He looks back at you, still stiff, fingers clenching around your cup. “This place has gotten impractical. How do you feel about moving?”
It’s direct in a way he’s never been before with you about major decisions, ignoring his preferred game of letting you figure things out.
It tells you everything you needed to know about his intention of removing his family from his life. So you smile back at him. “That sounds lovely.”
The new apartment has both of your names on it, and not a single yen is paid by his parents.
It’s truly yours.
For once, his parents blow up his phone. For once, they put energy in contacting him. But Chishiya has made his decision, and he doesn’t react to any of their messages. He certainly doesn’t give them his new address.
For once, there are no expectations on him. Not anymore. Even though he stays in the path of a surgeon, it's completely his choice. The unreachable shadow of his parent's approval doesn't matter anymore.
It's nice.
One day, he’s walking with you through Shibuya. Everywhere around them are building projects, with the few finished buildings clearly being brand new. But the ashes and debris are gone, as are the remains of the building which rebar pierced his chest.
You don’t like it here. You don’t like anything that reminds you that he died, even if it was just for 63 seconds. So when you put your hand in the pocket of his jacket to hold his hand, he doesn’t protest.
“Hey!” There is a tall woman on the other side of the street with dreadlocks. She seems faintly familiar. She’s also currently making her way towards them.
Does she know him? How awkward for her that he’s forgotten her.
It does bug him. She seems… important, somehow.
The woman stops in front of them. “Do I know you?” She asks brazenly. “You seem familiar.”
Chishiya lazily blinks at her as he takes her in. So she doesn’t remember him either. Then why-
You interrupt your thoughts by introducing yourself. “And this is my boyfriend, Chishiya. Maybe you’ve seen him in the hospital? People look different when not wearing their work attire.”
Boyfriend.
From the outside, his reaction is imperceptible. A quick glance at you to read your face and yes, you’re not lying. You mean it. He knows all of your tells.
You think you’re together?
With him?
It distracts him momentarily from the woman in front of him. It doesn’t make sense, does it? He’s not romantic. The handholding you’re currently doing is the most intimate you’ve ever been.
His attention is snapped back to the stranger as she speaks. “No, I don’t think so. I’m Kuina. Were you a victim of the meteorite?”
“I was.” Chishiya is amused at her directness.
Except you have been more intimate than holding hands, have you? You call each other by your given names. You’re always there for the other. He’ll just play along with you for now. He won’t embarrass you in front of a stranger. “But I largely remained in my hospital room for the duration of my stay. And you’re not burned enough to be my former roommate.”
You suggest going to a cafe nearby. He’s hyperaware of you now, of your warm hand still in his own, of each word you speak to Kuina, of the tenseness you’re trying to hide.
Kuina, he learns, had undergone cardiac arrest as well. She tells them that it is how she met her girlfriend, whose heart also stopped. Apparently they felt like they knew each other.
He’s well aware that she’s implying that the feeling of recognition comes from their near death experience.
It’d be idiotic, except that she does seem familiar, and Chishiya Shuntaro usually remembers more than that.
And, more significantly, she’s the second person in his life he tolerates.
Intriguing.
But what keeps his mind busy after exchanging phone numbers is you.
“Boyfriend?” He asks you, teasing, once you’ve put your jacket away.
You seem slightly confused at the question. “Yeah?”
He leans sideways against the wall. “Normally that’s a discussion people have.”
You frown uncertainty entering your face. “You’re the one who likes taking on these kinds of things indirectly.”
Ah. You’re right about that. And he truly can see why you think so: He’s never denied anyone making this assumption about the two of you. And he does treat you very differently than anyone else. Still. “We’ve never even attempted to kiss.”
You frown. “I figured you’re ace? Shuntaro, we are together, aren’t we?”
Chishiya Shuntaro always assumed that one day, he’d get married. It’s what's expected, after all. He imagined a loveless marriage, one like his parent’s, where the connections were what mattered, not the person itself.
He never once considered a relationship born from love.
Does he love you?
He dislikes the frown on your face. He dislikes the anxiety he can spot, and the way your bottom lip starts to quiver.
He remembers the relieved smile you gave him when you realised you could have a room in his apartment. How you’d beamed when he’d called you your given name for the first time.
He remembers how he relaxes in your presence. How you make him smile at times.
The bitter feeling when someone else flirts with you.
If you remove the romantics, the physical side, he has been treating you like his girlfriend, hasn’t he?
Chishiya Shuntaro might not know what actual love is like, but he does know he dislikes the emotions on your face right now.
He steps forwards, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
Your skin heats up his fingertips erroneously. Isn’t that a sign of attraction?
His eyes lower to your lips.
He enjoys how your breath stutters as he leans in.
He enjoys the warm, soft feeling of your lips against his more.
You’re still for moments as he kisses you, before coming responsive, easily letting him deepen the kiss.
You taste like that sweet drink you’d consumed earlier. And Chishiya’s mind, for once, is focussed solely on one thing: You.
The feeling of you. The taste of you. The noises you’re making.
It’s enthralling.
He takes his time breaking the kiss.
Love, huh?
“I suppose we are together.” He muses. “I didn’t consider it. When is our anniversary?” How long have you thought this was a thing?
You’re melted against his hand, your pupils overblown. Cute.
“Ever since we started using each other’s given names. You really didn’t realise?”
That was why you’d been so happy. “I suppose it does sound like me to start a relationship that way.”
“And then you didn’t correct anyone’s assumptions. Not your peers, not your fathers.” You point out.
“I didn’t consider myself one for a relationship.” He admits. “But you don’t need me to be romantic or physical, do you?”
Because you’d been happy these last few months. You wouldn’t be if you’d wanted that. You’d casually mentioned him being ace.
Is he ace?
He did enjoy kissing you.
“I don’t.” You agree, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. He finds himself leaning just a bit into your touch. “I just want you.”
“Hmm.” Your eyes are completely open and earnest. “Then you’ll have me.”
This smile of yours is his favourite yet. It’s open, honest and so genuinely, simply happy.
He leans in closer, his breath ghosting your ear. “And we’ll see about me being ace. I’ve never rejected your touch, have I?”
He sleeps in your bed that night. Your warm body against his as he sleeps? As you sleep? It’s tolerable.
Tolerable enough to make it a habit.
Not that he asks, of course. You are right. He does prefer to dance around talking about these subjects.
He certainly doesn’t ask you a year later when he slips a simple ring in the pocket of your jacket a year later. You don’t tell him ‘yes’ either, but your smile as you walk into the livingroom, wearing it?
Chishiya Shuntaro will treasure that one as well.