Chapter Text
He wasn't struck speechless, at least not figuratively, and not in that moment. It was a slow realization, one that drifted across his mind like smoke and down his throat like melting ice; he was, after all, seemingly fine. They all were, for a time.
Then Io screamed and En ignored it, and Yumoto shoved his way through the both of them to tackle the monster, and to shout sweet everythings into its ear. And Atsushi still doesn't understand how, but they managed to dredge up enough energy to attack, enough love to drown the loathing.
And it's not until later, when he's forced to swallow the words from his lips, that he notices his voice had been thrown away.
"Is there any way to fix it?"
Ryuu looks at Io, when he says this, the five of them gathered in the clubroom like usual, except it's not like usual, because Yumoto is sitting at the desks and Io on the windowsill, and Ryuu is pacing so violently he might as well be burning the soles of his shoes.
Wombat looks down, uncharacteristically solemn. "I'm sorry, Zaou-san. Everyone." His voice impossibly lowers. "There's nothing I can do."
"That's..." Yumoto's voice dies down. He looks around the room: at En, completely lost, and Io, who looks it. He looks at Ryuu's hands, laced tightly in front of him. He looks at Atsushi, and Atsushi doesn't know what Yumoto sees, but it must be something sad, or something weighty, because Yumoto's expression cracks, like a patch of too-cold ice. "That's – " he tries again, his voice broken, and his face downcast – "That's not okay. It shouldn't be okay. Not right now. But." He lifts his head and smiles. His eyes are watery. "We will be, right?"
After a moment, Atsushi nods, and Ryuu follows with an affirmative yeah. Io hums at the sound.
And En is still completely lost, but he watches Atsushi, and nods too.
En wears his hair down more often, now.
He had been keeping it in a ponytail, as it grew longer, but now he lets the blond strands brush his cheeks and grace his shoulders. Atsushi doesn't get why, at first; it's constantly falling in his face, or sticking to the back of his neck. Then he realizes, that's exactly why. It's the feeling En craves, however little it is, as if the loss of one sense left him desperate for the others. It probably has.
Atsushi can relate, somewhat. He's finally stopped opening his mouth to speak, waiting for the words to come out when he knows – somewhere, distantly – that they never will. He makes sure to tell En this, typing it out on the screen of his phone, as not to leave him hanging or hoping, wandering or alone. There's no reason for En to feel like there's something he's missing when Atsushi can't even make a sound.
There's no reason for Atsushi to feel like there's something he's missing, either, when En can't hear the sounds he can't make, but it's frustrating, having something to say and no way to say it. He's never been good at putting his thoughts on paper, because his pen moves slower than both his mind and his mouth, and he'll give up, and let the words drop down his throat and into his stomach, where they will never see the light of day.
They were probably unimportant, anyway.
Atsushi wonders what silence is like.
Not the silence he experiences – quiet rooms and endless fields, lukewarm mornings and starry nights – but the silence En experiences, the empty and the nothing that Atsushi can't begin to imagine or reach.
He wonders if it's lonely. It must be, with how often En tries to fill it. He talks, and talks, and talks, and if the sounds come out too fast or too slow or too desperate, En doesn't have to know. And if they become more incomprehensible as the days go on, En doesn't have to know that, either.
And Atsushi, well. Atsushi will always listen.
(Atsushi can only listen.)
En walks the second years home, sometimes, when Ryuu feels particularly shaky, or Io especially disoriented. Yumoto leaves early, on these days, and Atsushi goes to the student council room.
Arima and Akoya are usually gone by the time Atsushi enters, leaving Atsushi and Kinshirou alone to do nothing in particular. Kinshirou will complete his council work, papers spread out on his desk, and Atsushi will lounge on one of the couches, staring at the ceiling. They don't talk.
(There have been times, though, when Atsushi will catch Kinshirou staring out the window, expression far-away and blank, and sometimes at him, and for a moment Atsushi will be blown back by the emotions swirling in his eyes, increasingly contemplative and endlessly unsure. And Atsushi will wonder if his own emotions are that loud, or if they ever were. He wonders if they need to be.)
En's also been holding his ears more often.
Sometimes it's just a touch, the graze of fingers against the shell of his ear, almost like he's brushing back the loose blond strands, but Atsushi knows better. Sometimes he tugs on the lobes, akin to the way someone taps their foot. Those movements are small movements, quiet movements.
But there are other times, too. Times when En presses his palms to his ears, screws his eyes shut. Movements so big, so dramatic, so loud that Atsushi wonders how the whole world doesn't hear them, doesn't hear the way En keels over, or the way Atsushi's heart shatters at the sight; doesn't feel the way the pieces cut up his insides like broken glass.
And he hates hates hates it, hates that all he can do is hold his hands over En's and put his forehead on his and wait, because he can't even tell En to open your eyes, look at me, I'm right here, can't hum reassurance even if he wanted to, even if En could hear it. Hates that all he has in those moments are touch – running his fingers through En's hair and skating his thumbs over En's eyelids – and the ghost of his breath, fanning across En's face.
Atsushi feels like silence, in those moments; like he's somehow closer to the empty and the nothing that En has been swimming in.
(Maybe he is.)
Atsushi's never been one to fade into the background, but there are times when he'd like to, and times when he thinks he does. He's usually wrong, but it's the principle of the thing, that if he feels like he's disappeared he won't worry about being seen.
He's not sure when worrying became wanting, or when like became hate; all he knows is that it has, and there's no point in denying it. The times when he feels invisible still remain, except now they're suffocating, like his lungs are freezing over, his breath stuttering and soundless and stopping. His mouth will open and close over nothing, and something weighty will grow in the back of his throat, like he's about to cry, but no tears ever spill.
En will come over and hug him, then, and spout too-loud nonsense against his hair, at least until Atsushi's breaths have evened out again, and a little while after.
But he isn't with En right now; he's in the student council room, and it's Kinshirou standing in front of him, hands poised in the air above Atsushi, expression a mix between panic and confusion. And Kinshirou's emotions are less of a hit and more of a stream, steadily leaking from the seams and through his fingers, rather than concentrating themselves in his eyes. They're still loud, louder than Atsushi's emotions could ever be, and it's too much, right now, so he wraps Kinshirou in his arms as if he could physically contain them.
Kinshirou stills, but only for a moment, before laying his hands on his back, and rubbing slow circles across his shoulder blades. It isn't the same feeling he gets with En, but it's still a good feeling, like feather-light sunshine seeping into his frozen lungs.
Atsushi knows that Kinshirou's never been one for touch without warning, so once his lungs have thawed, he moves to pull away, and blinks in shock when Kinshirou's arms wrap around him fully to instead pull him closer.
"At-chan," he mumbles, voice further muffled by the fabric at Atsushi's shoulder, "Are you okay?"
Atsushi nods as best he can into Kinshirou's chest.
Kinshirou's arms tighten momentarily. "Meet me after school tomorrow?" Then a moment after, "Yufuin, too."
Atsushi tightens his own hold in response. Anything, he thinks, though he's not quite sure why. Anything.
He hates that the words won't leave his mouth.
Atsushi takes En's wrist and drags him through the connecting door, the next day, and finds Kinshirou hunched over his desk, hands moving methodically in front of him. There's a rhythm, to his movements, and Atsushi finds himself gravitating toward the desk, En's wrist still in his grasp.
Kinshirou doesn't look up, eyes heavy on the book in front of him. He eventually turns it around for Atsushi and En to see. Atsushi blinks down at it for a moment too long, En pulling it closer to himself before Atsushi can truly process it.
Kinshirou leaves him to it, and grabs a piece of paper and pen from one of the drawers in his desk. I thought, he writes, painfully neat, that this might help a bit. Then, with some effort, he spells out the words on the page, hands floating in the same rhythmic way.
En makes a noise to get their attention, eyes scanning the page again briefly before sliding it over for Atsushi to read.
Atsushi wonders what silence feels like, and finds that he doesn't know.
(En raises his hands, sometime later, his fingers unsure but his expression certain. Thank you, he spells out, slowly. Atsushi.
Atsushi cracks a smile. Kinshirou too.
And Kinchan.
Kinshirou's expression scrunches. Did you, he starts, before looking at the book in front of him, and grabbing a piece of paper instead. Did you just call me Kin-chan?
Is that a problem, En signs, then says out loud, "Kin-chan?"
The sound is a bit too drawn out, and a bit too quiet, but Kinshirou blushes all the same.
Atsushi's smile widens.)