Chapter Text
First, the fact you always know how to make me feel better when I’m down.
I knew I didn’t have a chance with the chief, of course I didn’t. I’m stupid, reckless, too young and way out of the chief’s league—or at least, that’s what I think. It was obvious from the start, and it’s been obvious every time since. All the relationships I’ve tried to enter have failed. Every single one. I swore to myself I’d stop. After the first heartbreak, I told myself I’d avoid falling in love entirely. That I’d keep my head down, keep my hands busy, keep my heart locked up where it couldn’t get cracked open again.
But it never works.
Every time my heart beats abnormally, like it’s trying to escape my ribs, I can’t help it. The urge hits me like a fever. I reach for a pen before I even realize what I’m doing. I write. I pour everything out onto paper until my hand cramps and the ink blurs from my tears. It’s pathetic. I know it is. But it’s the only thing that makes the pressure in my chest let up for a second.
Here I am now, in the HAMA house’s living room while everyone's asleep, sitting on the couch with my back against the pillows. Papers everywhere. Some crumpled, some half-torn, all of them full of things I’d never say out loud. I’m crying about it like it could change anything. Like if I just write it enough, the chief will look at me and see something other than a kid who’s always running his mouth.
It’s my worst fear, honestly.
Choosing between confessing and watching it blow up in my face, or keeping it all inside until I go insane wondering what could’ve been. Both options end the same way. I lose.
I’ve never felt more miserable than I do right now. It’s taking a toll on me physically. My chest feels tight, like someone’s got a hand wrapped around my lungs. I clench my shirt, try to breathe, let the tears out—because if I don’t, I’ll choke on them.
Then the door opens.
“Oi, Panda. What're you doing here late at night?”
I flinch at the sound of the nickname. My hand flies away from my chest like I got caught doing something illegal. My eyes are red, cheeks are blotched, and there’s a half-crumpled page of ink-stained confessions clutched in my fist like it’s the only thing keeping me together.
You stop dead in the doorway.
The look on your face twists into something indescribable. You look almost pissed off. Like you’re mad at me for looking like this. Like it’s an inconvenience you didn’t sign up for.
“Nanaki,” you say my name. Slower this time, stepping down the stairs and looking behind you. You looked a bit hesitant to say what you wanted to say next. The sound echoes too loud in the quiet room. “You’ve been doing this again, haven’t you?”
Your eyes flick to the abandoned pieces of paper surrounding me. To the mess I made. To the evidence that I’m still stupid enough to hope.
I laugh, but it cracks halfway through. “Doing what? Breathing wrong? Being pathetic? Yeah, sorry. I’ll try to be less me next time.”
You stop two steps into the room. You don’t come closer. You never do. I don’t know why. You just stop, like crossing that line would be too much. But you also don’t leave. You never leave.
“Don’t start with that,” you say low. Your voice has that edge it gets when you’re pissed off at yourself more than at me. “Don’t give me that ‘less me’ bullshit.”
I go quiet for a moment. Because what am I supposed to say to that?
“You think I spent those few minutes back then dragging your ass back to the group just so you could sit here and do this alone again?” Your voice gets sharp at the end, like you’re mad you said it out loud. Like you didn’t mean to admit you cared enough to drag me back in the first place.
“Tch. You’re exhausting, Panda. You know that?”
You say exhausting like it’s an insult. Like it’s a reason to leave.
But you’re still here. Still blocking the door. Still standing between me and the outside world.
You don’t say anything for a second. You just stare. At my red eyes. At my blotched cheeks. At the way my knuckles are white around that stupid page, like letting go would make me fall apart completely.
“...Don’t cry over someone who isn’t worth it, Panda.”
Your voice is lower than usual. Not sharp, not teasing. Just flat. Like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as you're trying to convince me.
Then you catch yourself. You clear your throat, too loud in the quiet room. It cracks the silence like glass falling to the floor.
“Not that I care if you do,” you add fast, words tripping over each other. “Just—shut up and go to bed. You look like hell.”
I blink. The laugh that comes out this time is wet and shaky. “Wow. Best bedtime story I’ve ever heard.”
You scowl, but you don’t leave. Your eyes flick to the table, to the distance between us, like you’re measuring it and losing. The way you stare almost looks like you’re calculating how many steps it would take to reach me and how many reasons you have not to.
“Tch. If you’re gonna sit here and rot, at least stop making that face. It’s annoying.”
“Can’t help it,” I mutter, thumb smoothing over the ink-stained corner without meaning to. The paper’s soft from tears and sweat. “You’re the one who walked in.”
“Regretting it already.”
Silence again. The kind that feels too big for the room. The kind that presses down on my chest and makes it hard to breathe.
You shift your weight, hand flexing at your side like you want to do something and stop yourself every time. I don’t know what. I don’t ask.
Finally, you mutter: “...If you fall asleep here, I’m not carrying you back nor am I asking someone to carry you to your dorm. Don’t make me regret this, Panda.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to.”
“I mean it.”
“Sure you do, Ushio.” I say it soft. Not mocking. Just tired. Too tired to fight it.
You don’t answer. You just stay for a while longer. Long enough that my breathing evens out. Long enough that the tightness in my chest eases up a notch.
Then you leave. Back to your dorm with Muneuji, probably complaining the whole way about how annoying I am.
You never told me why you were awake at this time of the night, but you probably heard some noise in the living room and decided to check.
I let out a small smile behind your back.
But to be honest, I hate that.
I hate that you always know how to make me feel better, even when you’re not trying to. Even when you’re mad about it. Even when you won’t admit it out loud.
You’re exhausting, Ushio.
But I’d be worse without you.