Chapter Text
Summer is cruel.
It creeps up on you, wraps around you like a vice, engulfs you. Warm nights and love so tangible it’s unreal. It holds endless possibilities and the storm of the youth—memories that cling to you akin to the way sweat clings to skin in the pulsing heat.
They speak about summer like it's something that just happens. As if it’s just a box of wistful memories that you keep to yourself to reminisce when you’re old and withered and can do nothing but yearn in the frigid cold. Yoichi has half a mind to agree and say that they’re right—summer is just that, the season of ephemeral love. It’s a season of no regrets, grabbing hold of you and twisting and turning until all is joy and joy is all. The thick, humid air settles down, accompanied with the closed, heated proximity against another that you’ll probably only ever recognize again in the veil of nostalgia.
Summer is such a beautiful season, Yoichi thinks. The loud sounds of cicadas and the noisy nights and bright party lights are all he sees when he thinks of the season. The smell of alcohol wisps past him, and he takes it all in. The bristles of the beach towel underneath him brush against his hand and he digs his toes into the warm sand. The night is young and so is Yoichi; so is this feeling he cannot quite identify in his heart.
He thinks he’d like to stay here. It’s a nice place. Muffled yet loud. Calm yet exciting.
He takes a deep breath. The air smells faintly of weed and nicotine. He exhales, grimacing. To Yoichi, summer is defined by lingering touches and late night calls and shared earbuds on a train to no perceived destination all the while living with the consciousness that it’ll all end. It’s tough shit, Yoichi knows, but the spirit of youth grabs him by the hand and wants to dance so he goes along. It’s reckless and free and consumes him so much that guilt leaves him and the heat of the moment takes its place. It’s unexplainable—that rush of adrenaline holds him tight—and now he wants to dance.
So he’ll dance, and dance and dance.
And then a tall boy, sitting by the bonfire, ignoring people’s lousy attempts to hit on him, looks up at him.
And their eyes meet.
He’s striking, Yoichi notes, blushing at his gaze. The man pushes up his deep green hair with a huff, bright teal eyes taking Yoichi in with such vigor that Yoichi almost feels on edge. It makes his stomach coil with an unfamiliar kind of heat, brewing inside him.
It makes him angry.
So now he’s angry and a little drunk and blabbers as he approaches the man, brows furrowed into what he hopes is a dangerous glare. Upon getting closer to the man and observing him, it appears he’s also had a few too many drinks. There’s a faint blush on his cheek and he’s holding an empty can of beer. As Yoichi arrives, he throws it into the recycling bin without looking back, keeping his gaze on Yoichi.
It’s as if something clicked.
He listens to Yoichi’s ramblings before deciding he’s had enough. Just when Yoichi jabs his finger into the boy’s chest, he grabs his wrist and pulls him into a kiss. It’s messy and their teeth clash and it’s awkward and unplanned. If Yoichi was to put it into words, it’s a very, “shut up”, kiss.
Which makes Yoichi even angrier. He kisses him back. It’s not nice, and it’s not supposed to be relished—for it’s all in the name of the heat of the moment.
It will only ever be the heat of the moment.
There’s something sweet about the man, Yoichi lets himself stay in that thought, biting the man’s earlobe. Too bad he’ll never really know what was so sweet about him. Instead, he grabs his hand and takes him to the lone beach spot that wouldn’t be so lonely anymore with the two of them. He shoves the man, hard, and snickers when he falls onto the beach towel. Yoichi follows suit, straddling his lap and tangling his fingers in the pretty boy’s hair. Their lips meet once more, and another wave of anger surges through both boys as they try to shove all their hatred and passion onto each other.
Yoichi doesn’t know how long this goes on for. He didn’t even know the man’s name. He felt the man’s hands grip his waist, so he retaliated by tugging the man's hair, pulling his face away.
“Yoichi,” he gasps, while the man narrows his eyes.
The sweet breeze sweeps by. Sand shifts while the sea behind them roars. Yoichi can taste the faint flavor of seasalt on his tongue. The seasalt and—
“Rin.” Pretty boy finally responds. Good. Yoichi sighs in relief, letting Rin push his head forward to meet his own.
Yoichi feels untethered.
Even as Rin’s hands ground him to his hips, he still feels like he’s flying. The sky's the limit, Yoichi believes. Alive and detached.
This is what summer's all about.
A body and mind driven by the nonsensical whims of the heart and starry-eyed Yoichi doesn’t care where the destination is. The greatest gift, as they say—Rin’s hands travel under Yoichi’s shirt, as Yoichi’s own hands trace Rin’s muscles—is the journey, not the destination. Isn’t it what you do to get there that makes it so memorable? Rin’s pinned down to the ground now. Isn’t the beauty of summer what you lose and what you gain? Isn’t it the next step?
It’s how you grow. How you change. And Yoichi understands. Summer is fleeting. Time does not wait for anyone. Rin’s arms loop around Yoichi’s neck.
Ephemeral.
Love is ephemeral.
Summer is ephemeral.
It’s spontaneous and unpredictable and now Yoichi’s hands rest on either side of Pretty Boy’s head. The music's muffled. The world has gone quiet. It’s just them now. Them and their lack of words—them and their silent ferocity, them and their untamed hearts that beg to run wild.
Yoichi’s moving on instinct now. He lifts his hand up and grabs Rin’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. The teal seems to say something Yoichi’s able to read. It’s like a dare. A challenge.
Yoichi’s going to take him up on this challenge.
ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚
If Yoichi was to explain summer to someone who had never heard of it, he’d speak about it as if it’s a fragment of memories collected through the long, sunny months. Lazying around under the Japanese sun, the heat unbearable. It’s fizzy and bubbly and sharp on the tongue. It hurts to swallow but you can’t help but continue drinking and drinking until the can is empty. The sweet flavor sizzles on the tongue, lingers, almost like a kiss you yearn for once more. Summer, Yoichi thinks, is for learning—understanding, and fall and winter and spring are for yearning for that understanding, for that fleeting connection—until it comes back in full swing. No matter how much you try and dig your nails into it, it’ll leave.
He pops open his can of soda, sitting by the beachside. The waves pull back and come forward, they give and they take. It’s nice, Yoichi takes a deep breath. He takes a sip of his soda. It’s sweet and bubbly, dripping down his lips and down his chin. He’s in the middle of wiping it off when he sees someone else sit down next to him. He narrows his eyes.
The person doesn’t look at him, doesn’t need to, only opens his ramune. They sip in silence, and Yoichi doesn’t comment when he feels his hand slide onto his thigh.
The sunset in front of them is beautiful, Yoichi reflects, taking another sip. When another drop escapes his lips, he doesn’t bother wiping it off. Instead, the hand that was on his thigh travels to his chin and wipes it off for him, before the person licks it off their own thumb.
Yoichi can’t help but laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you, Rin?”
Rin grumbles something incoherent, before kicking Yoichi.
“Ow—!” He exclaims, almost dropping his soda.
Rin only rolls his eyes. Yoichi would describe Rin as “annoying”, not necessarily in a bad way—moreso that Rin is someone he can’t figure out. He means one thing and does another. He’s angry and sharp yet nice and calm and so gentle and Yoichi can’t seem to wrap his head around it. It's as if Rin is the unpredictable tidal wave, roaring and crashing against the ever so patient shore. So instead he bothers Rin, pokes and prods like he’s some creation of Frankenstein, some imperceivable concept that somehow gained consciousness. Rin takes a deep breath and Yoichi turns to look at him.
“The sea is beautiful, isn’t it?” He’s saying, and if Yoichi wasn’t listening he’d think it was a confession of some sorts.
“Yeah,” Yoichi agrees. Rin is quiet for a bit longer, and now only the sound of the tides and the caws of the seagulls encapsulate them.
“My…brother,” he says with a hidden disdain—for what, Yoichi didn’t know. “We used to come here. All the time.”
“That’s cute.” Yoichi smiles, voice soft and quiet. He’s spinning his can, slowly, watching as the soda sloshes around. “I’m an only child. Never really had that kind of thing growing up.”
“Funny.” Rin says, humorless. He lets out a huff.
“Well,” Yoichi clasps his hands, “glad we can open up to each other.”
Rin glares at him. “Don’t get used to it.” He grumbles.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Yoichi thinks Rin’s the epitome of a dream. He’s soft and foolish and cruel; Yoichi seems to wake up a little mad when he spends the night—and he’s not sure whether it’s because of his presence or his lack thereof in the hot mornings. Just like a dream you couldn't seem to understand, he’d linger in your mind, your senses. Yoichi would sometimes wake up with Rin's shirt on—sometimes he'd wake up realizing Rin took his very own shirt. Sometimes his pillows smelled like Rin’s expensive cologne that he’d never give Yoichi the name of. Sometimes his clothes were torn and sometimes there were bruises on his neck and thighs and sometimes it was the other way around even though Rin would rather die than admit it. It’s absurd.
Summer is like that too.
An absurd dream.
It’s like looking at a picture through one of those old digi-cams. It’s swimmy and saturated. Rin rests his head on Yoichi’s lap. Yoichi threads his fingers through his hair. Summer is something to look back on. It thrives off nostalgia. That’s what this moment will be—Yoichi’s sure, nostalgia and nothing more. He wants nothing more out of Rin, and he’s sure Rin feels the same way. Rin exhales, shakily, gaze stuck on the sea.
It seems as though he’s stuck in this moment. The sea looks like a perfect picture—a salty, sweet memory to capture. Maybe that’s what Rin is trying to do. Capture this moment and store it in his head. Store it in a box, maybe? Yoichi doesn’t know. Doesn’t bother to know.
He yawns.
The atmosphere makes him tired. It feels cozy, and calm, and his heartbeat slows. It’s quite nice and Yoichi doesn’t feel like moving. So he doesn’t. There's something red on Rin's neck, covered by his shirt so Yoichi tugs on it, teasingly.
“Oh!” He gasps, “How scandalous! Is that a hickey?”
Rin swats his hand away. “You're the reason it's there.”
And then it's back to silence.
They sit and sit and sit without exchanging words for what feels like forever. Surprisingly—it’s not awkward, not stiff and motionless—they’re comfortable.
ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚
A wave of familiarity washes over him when he sees who sits next to him on the train ride.
“Hmph. Are you stalking me?” Rin asks, scoffing. He’s staring down at Yoichi, as if trying to consume him. Yoichi sticks out his tongue.
“Why would I waste my time doing that?”
Rin flicks him on the forehead and sits down beside him. Yoichi offers him an earbud with a sly smile, and Rin, slightly red in the face, accepts it with an annoyed huff. They sit like that, the music flowing through both of them. The train speeds by destinations and Yoichi just watches, leaning against the cool glass. He can make out lush trees and homes and lived-in places underneath the summer sun. It’s a blur as the train speeds by them, as if to prove all of it is short-lived in the wake of the world.
“Where’s your stop?” Yoichi asks. Rin looks at him as if he didn’t expect him to ask such a question. He hesitates for a moment.
“Saitama.”
Yoichi freezes. “No way! That’s my stop too!”
“Is it now.” Rin deadpans, not a question but rather an unamused remark.
“Guess we really were meant to be together.” Yoichi teases, and Rin huffs again, nudging him with his shoulder.
“Shut up with that lukewarm talk.”
ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚
The rains starting, Yoichi realizes, sticking out his hand to feel for the cool drops that grace his skin. He shudders and sighs. It seems he forgot his umbrella.
“What’re you moping around for?” Rin implores, raising an eyebrow.
“I forgot my umbrella.” Yoichi replies, shaking his head.
“Tch.” The sprinkles of rain Yoichi felt against his head disappears and he looks up to see Rin’s umbrella covering both of them.
“Awh,” he teases again—he’s been doing that a lot—“you really do care.”
Rin clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance. “I could also just leave you out here in the rain. I don’t care.” He’s already walking away—the same direction Yoichi usually walks. He looks at the older skeptically when he follows him, humming to himself. As if sensing his questioning gaze, Yoichi answers the unspoken question that hangs in the air.
“My house is in this direction too.”
“Ah.” Rin nods. Yoichi walks up to him, and now they’re walking at the same pace. He breathes in the dewy air, taking in the somber view. The clouds are grey. Thunder roars. Lightning flickers for a fleeting moment before disappearing entirely. They continue walking until Yoichi stops. This is his house. He turns around, to signal Rin, who understands and walks him to the door. Yoichi climbs the concrete steps to his house, and stands still on the porch. He turns around, and his eyes follow Rin as he does the same.
Rin looks like he’s trying to say something but the words are stuck in his throat. Yoichi’s feeling a bit brave, so he decides to throw him a bone. He moves closer, grabs Rin by the collar, and kisses him. It catches Rin offguard, clearly, with the way his cheeks turn red and his eyes widen. But that only hinders him for a second, and he quickly drops his umbrella and grabs Yoichi by the waist. He steps forward and Yoichi steps backwards until he hits the door. The rain drenches them but neither boy seems to care. Rin keeps pushing Yoichi to the door as if he’s trying to become one with him—and Yoichi’s letting him, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him flush against him. Yoichi lets himself melt into the kiss, eyes growing heavy and shoulders relaxing. Rin seems to be full of ambition today—he bites Yoichi’s lower lip. They only stop when Yoichi swears he hears something behind the door, shoving Rin away on reflex.
Rin groans in annoyance, before leaning in to kiss him again; Yoichi puts a hand on his face and shakes his head.
Rin rolls his eyes and grumbles. “Fine.” He scowls, but the scowl is soon wiped off his face when Yoichi’s mother opens the door. He quickly straightens up, the tip of his ears still pink. Yoichi laughs into his hand.
“Yo-chan!” His mother exclaims, “you’re soaking wet! Come inside, quick!”
Yoichi turns around and is about to head inside when she stops him. “Who’s this?” She inquires, tilting her head to the side and greeting Rin with a warm smile.
“Ah,” Yoichi answers, “my friend. He was just dropping me off.”
“I–uh,” Rin stammers, which, Yoichi notes, is very unlike the younger, “yeah, I was just on my way home.”
“Oh! Well you’re free to come insi—”
“I’m fine.” Rin’s voice is soft. Uncharacteristically soft. “I’ll be on my way now. Have a good night, Yoichi.” The way he says his name makes Yoichi’s heart flutter and his knees go wobbly, but he ignores it. Rin nods and picks up his umbrella, walking off.
“What a handsome guy!” His mother remarks, ushering Yoichi in. “Are you two…” She gestures vaguely to something Yoichi only realizes when she flat out says it.
“Ack!” It’s Yoichi’s turn to blush red. “No!”
ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚
Rin and Yoichi are sitting down on a picnic blanket. The wind is picking up, and it’s incredibly humid. The sun yawns above them. Yoichi yawns too. He has a can of cola in his hand—a habit he’s picked up from one of his roommates back in Madrid. He takes a sip, the cherry flavor enchanting in the summer heat.
“You like drawing?” Yoichi leans in to where Rin’s sitting. He’s scratching something onto a sketchpad, looking incredibly focused. So Yoichi might’ve been right about him capturing that image that day.
“Mhm, sometimes.” He says. His tongue is sticking out and his brows are furrowed. He looks like a cat.
“One of my…friends is a huge painter. Sometimes I give these to him so he can work his magic, or whatever.” He shrugs, seemingly done with the picture. It’s a picture of the view in front of them—lush trees and bright flowers all underneath the sun.
“It’s beautiful.” Yoichi awes.
“I know.” Rin says, and there’s a small smile on his face. Er—is there? Yoichi looks up again, to make sure he isn’t going crazy, and lo and behold, there is a small smile on his face. Rin raises an eyebrow.
“What are you looking at?”
“Oh—” Yoichi shakes his head with a smile, “nothing.”
Rin flicks his forehead. He then turns around and rummages around the picnic basket, pulling out one taiyaki. He splits it in half, and gives Yoichi the head.
“Thanks.” Yoichi mutters, taking it. Rin hums.
They eat in silence for a little longer. The red bean paste is sweet on his tongue, the waffle crunchy yet chewy. It’s comforting. Light on the tongue. Earthy. Herbal. Very grounded. Unlike how Yoichi feels.
Again, he feels light. The weight of his heart feels practically nonexistent. He’s growing accustomed to this arrangement. There’s a bittersweet succor in their relationship. But the consciousness does not push itself onto Yoichi’s back and pin him down to the ground, rendering him unable to move. It seems to only watch from the sidelines with some learned agony that Yoichi ignores and will continue to ignore.
ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚
The next time the two meet is purely by coincidence. Yoichi is walking down the street, soaking in the cool breeze that the night offers. A car speeds by and slows down beside him. His heart beats fast.
“Oi,” he hears from the car, against the heavy engine. “Get in.”
Yoichi stops in his tracks. The night is young—just like the night they first met, and the stars glimmer with memories of the past. History repeats itself, Yoichi supposes, and smiles. “Not even a hello?”
Rin rolls his eyes. “You coming or not?”
Yoichi makes his way to the passenger seat of the open hooded car. “Where are you headed?” He asks.
“Nowhere.” Rin responds. One time, maybe it was a few weeks ago—maybe a few days ago, Yoichi couldn't remember, he told him about how he liked to drive. It was calming, giving him much needed fresh air.
“Mhm.” Yoichi clicks his tongue like that makes sense. He sits down. Rin’s playing something on the radio. The song’s volume is low. Crickets and cicadas seem to make up for the muted noise, chirping and screeching to their hearts’ content.
“I got a place.” Yoichi suggests. Rin doesn’t say anything, just taps his fingers onto the center console as if to tell Yoichi to continue.
“It’s in the forest. I can…show you the way.”
“Sure.”
Yoichi guides him through the roads and into the walls of thick trees shrouded in the dark.
“You’re not trying to kidnap me, are you?” Rin jokes, but his tone is flat.
“No! Never. You’d probably kill me before I could do that.” Yoichi sighs.
“That’s true.”
They get out of the car, and Yoichi grabs his hand. It seems Rin has gotten used to it, because he doesn’t blush or get startled. He leads him deeper until they can hear the loud roars and crash of a waterfall. There's a small opening, where the trees make way for the water’s song. It flows from a top a hill, meeting with the pool of crystal clear water at the hilt. It’s breathtaking. Yoichi stops in front of the glassy water, and sits down at the edge, palms digging into the dirt.
Rin sits down beside him and pulls out a sketchbook from his pocket—the same one from the picnic.
“I found this place when I was a kid.”
“Is that so?” And it’s phrased like a question—like he wants to know more about Yoichi. Like he’s digging through his past with his own bare hands.
“Yeah. Uh—I don’t remember why…it had something to do with school, I think. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed and at the time I didn’t have a lot of friends.
Kids at school weren’t the nicest either and so I ran out here one day and…I guess this place just stuck with me.”
The flowers are a bright teal and baby blue and practically glow when hit by the moonlight. Rin’s sketching while Yoichi continues talking about nineteen years of history, rapidly flowing out of his mouth—something akin to the waterfall that rushes down. The mist hits them softly, a gentle reminder of where they are.
“My mom was so worried about me.” Yoichi says, reminiscing with a soft smile on his face. “Scolded me for what felt like hours after.”
Rin stays quiet, letting himself absorb Yoichi’s presence. Finally, when Yoichi seems about done talking, he opens his mouth.
“Never really had many friends either,” he says, and he looks at Yoichi. “People always considered me weird. Not that I care, anyway.”
That’s another thing with Rin—he says he doesn’t care but Yoichi can tell there's some kind of anguish on his face when he says it—like it’s a painful reminder to something. “My brother was the only one who was as weird as me. But I haven’t talked to him in a while, he’d probably think I’m weird now too.”
Yoichi cocks his head to the side. “Why do you say that?”
Rin clenches his jaw and furrows his brows. “Our parents divorced when I was like, nine? Ten, maybe. I went with my dad, and he went with our mom to the other side of Japan. Maybe even left the country.”
“And you guys never…talked? Communicated? Texted, called?”
Rin looks at Yoichi annoyed—at both him and the suggestion and maybe even at himself.
“Of course I tried that, idiot. But I’d wait and he’d never respond back and at some point I just assumed he hated me and I…I don’t know. I guess I started to hate him, too.” There’s something fragile in Rin’s voice; it pains him to admit.
Yoichi can’t think of anything comforting to say so he doesn’t—and instead, the question spills out of him—falls out of his mouth before he can consider what he’s asking.
“Do you still miss him?”
Rin’s breath hitches, and he looks at him—really looks at him. The pencil in his hand has gone still. His eyes are glassy.
Rin’s silence is different.
It’s not empty. It’s full and it’s almost too much. It overflows. When Yoichi looks at the waterfall in front of them, cascading down the rocks and crashing into the crystal pool below, he’s reminded of Rin.
In these few summer months, he seems to have learned a lot about the boy.
Finally, that shell of silence is broken.
“...I don’t know.” He admits. “I used to, all the time. But now…he feels more like a blank slate in my memory.
I don’t—I don’t like blank slates. It hurts to see something empty.” Rin’s voice yearns for something, Yoichi notices. He’s never been this vulnerable and something inside Yoichi hurts when he sees him like this. Rin sighs, leaving the page of his sketchbook, filled with marks of graphite on the ground beside him. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his head on them.
Yoichi dips his hands into the pond, watching his rippled reflection in the water and how it rushes past his fingers. Then, ever so brave, he flings his hands up and splashes Rin in the face, giggling to himself.
Rin sputters, shocked, hair clinging to his forehead. He grumbles, and then reaches into the water to splash Yoichi too. They go on like this for a while.
Yoichi laughs, and soon Rin lets out a laugh, albeit quiet and small, too.
It’s as if everything happens in a blur; suddenly, Yoichi’s pinned to the ground and Rin’s hands are on either side of him. He’s breathing hard, water dripping down his jaw, with a determined expression on his face. Yoichi’s breathless, eyes wide and heart racing.
Rin mutters something under his breath and leans in. Yoichi’s eyes flutter shut and he lifts his arms around Rin’s neck.
Rin tastes like summer. He tastes like fizzy soda and the quick summer rains. He tastes like the warm ray of sun that beats down on your skin. He tastes like heavy cologne and soft ice cream. He tastes like a lot of things and Yoichi can’t pick one so he’d rather list them all.
ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚
Summer is nearing it’s end, so Yoichi decides to grace himself with Rin’s presence one last time. They’re sitting by the beach, where it all started, and there's an unspoken goodbye between the two of them. The sand is shifty, again, but there's a cool autumn breeze starting to pave its way through, and the oceans are quiet. The days are shorter and the nights are growing longer. The moon makes itself cozy in the sky while the sun retreats. They’re sitting with a can of beer in each of their hands, the taste sweet and sharp.
Autumn’s calling, Yoichi discerns, and it wants him to return home.
Both Rin and him are aware this is their last time meeting each other—and Yoichi assumes there are no hard feelings involved. Rin takes a sip of his beer, throat bobbing. This summer has been such a memorable one. It’s golden and bright—green and dull, hopeful and dreamy.
He doesn’t ask Rin what his plans are for the future, for he knows he has no place in them. There is only the now. The present. What he can see and hold and feel.
“Where are you heading?” Rin finally asks, voice a mere whisper.
Yoichi feels like he’s drifting in the sea with no foreseeable destination at the question but he still tries to answer it, to pinpoint an exact destination.
“Going back to college, probably.”
“Out of country?”
“Yeah.” And Rin doesn’t try to digress further, just lets the words sink in. Yoichi thinks it's basic decency to reciprocate the question.
“And you?”
“Starting college.” He takes another sip of his beer. Yoichi takes another sip too and his stomach turns in a weird way. It feels like it’s sinking. He feels like he’s sinking. There’s a giant weight on his ankle dragging him down. The beer starts to taste like sandpaper. It’s harsh and rubs on his tongue wrong. He scrunches his face—for a mere second, and then rests it again, before Rin can turn and ask what’s wrong. Unfortunately, Rin is oddly perceptive and asks anyway.
“Something wrong?” He probes.
“Eh,” Yoichi tries to shrug it off, “just this beer. It tastes weird.”
Rin holds his out towards him. “Want mine?”
Yoichi looks a bit taken aback. Probably for the best that they got two different brands. “Are…you sure?”
“Mhm. Mine tastes a bit weird anyway too.”
And so they swap. Yoichi takes a sip, allows himself to savor it. He sighs into the cold metal and lets the cold liquid rest on his tongue. It tastes better than the one he originally had. It’s reassuring. It’s kind of flat now, but still feels alive in his mouth. It feels as though it’s offering him solace for a grief he can’t name. He turns to Rin and sees a solemn, yet relaxed expression on his face—and his heart flips in a weird way that tells him that Rin finds solace in his drink too.
They don’t say anything after that.
The ocean stretches endlessly in front of them, swallowing the last rays of sunlight until all that remains is the faint glow of the moon. The waves come forward and then retreat. Again and again.
Give and take.
Give and take.
Yoichi wonders if the sea ever gets tired of losing itself.
Crash and yield.
Crash and yield.
There's no loud music.
No bonfire.
No hum of cicadas or cheers of intoxicated people.
Yoichi can tell the season has changed.
ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚
The next day, Yoichi’s on the plane, traveling through the skies back to his little apartment with three other roommates in Madrid. The clouds drift lazily below the aircraft, soft and untethered to the world.
He should feel relieved.
The trip is over. He’s learned so much about himself the past three months. Thanks to his ambition, thanks to his drive, his heart, Rin—
He closes his eyes and sinks into the seat. Whatever weighed him down in Japan should have left the moment he stepped onto the plane. He opens his eyes and looks up. The seatbelt sign is on and it’s flashing green. The same green as Rin’s eyes. Ah, he should stop. The past stays in the past. He hears the food cart squeak down the aisle and stop beside him. The man next to him—he has blonde and pink hair (it kind of reminds him of his roommate’s hair)—puts his phone in his lap and quickly grabs his food. His phone screen was still on and the background was a painting of a sunset (it looks like a painting that another one of his roommates keeps in their living room) and it reminds Yoichi of his summer and he’s starting to feel a little sick. It's the turbulence, he thinks, as the flight attendant asks him what snack he’d like to have.
“Taiyaki,” he says, fighting through his headache. The attendant smiles and digs through the cart to find it. She hands it over to him and he takes it with a polite smile on his face.
He takes a bite of it when he’s suddenly reminded of his picnic with Rin and how he split the taiyaki down the middle perfectly. It’s starting to taste tangy and bitter instead of sweet like it’s supposed to be and it hurts to swallow it with the giant knot that’s forming in his stomach. God—airplane sickness was going to the death of him. He sighs and rests his head on the headrest.
The man next to him turns his head and asks, “You okay?”
Yoichi nods, weakly, and the man just laughs and pulls something from his backpack that rests under the seat in front of them. It’s a pill bottle of Tylenol. He shakes it at Yoichi.
“Want one?”
“Yeah…thank you.” Yoichi likes this guy.
He swallows the pill, seeking salvation but the knot in his stomach doesn’t dissolve, rather it stays. It’s annoying but Yoichi thinks it’ll pass by the time he gets off the plane. The best thing to do is just wait it out.
ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚
The knot in his stomach travels with him all the way to Japan. Him and the man talk a little while more before they say goodbye and go their separate ways at the baggage terminal. He was pretty energetic for someone stuck in a plane for twelve hours but Yoichi appreciated the positivity he kept up. He’s dragging his luggage through the apartment halls—halls that feel cold and sterile. He finally reaches his apartment and looks through his wallet for his keycard. He swipes it on the electronic door lock and clicks open the door.
When he opens it, he’s greeted with—
Nothing. The lights are off and he can hear faint snoring from the rooms farther from the door. He sighs, the familiarity and his college days all rushing back to him. He takes off his shoes and walks down the room and drags his luggage with him. The snoring becomes clearer as he walks to his room. Shaking his head, he opens the door to pitch darkness. There are two beds, one of them occupied. Yoichi tries his best to stay quiet and tip toes, almost stumbling over a can of cola or two. Yoichi rolls his eyes, picks up the can, and throws it at his roommate’s head. He doesn’t even wake up, just grumbles and mutters mean curses, flipping himself over, pulling his blanket over his head.
“Fuck you too.” Yoichi mutters, dropping his luggage at the feet of his bed. He makes his way to the bathroom and washes his face. His body aches with tiredness—fatigue etched into his bones. He wants to sleep. So sleep he goes, trying to get himself comfortable in his bed.
His pillow smells like fresh detergent, not expensive cologne. There’s a lack of another presence next to him. It’s just him. Alone. Tethered to something he can’t name and it’s gnawing at him.
His eyes are heavy, and he sighs, softly.
Sleep doesn’t come easily.