Work Text:
Yuuji's heart was bruised all over, with wounds shaped like familiar knuckles, which belonged to the hands that were supposed to console him. Nostalgia was a deceitful thing. It slipped into the cracks of his guard when he was too tired to see past its disguise, let alone fight it, then made weapons out of memories, ammunition out of love. It was nothing but a mind trick, here not to comfort but to inflict pain. And, because of it, Yuuji was constantly losing people he had already lost. People he had already mourned.
The only way out of this grief was to look ahead instead, with his feet firmly planted on the ground, completely immersed in the present. He had no other choice. The slightest glance at the rearview mirror could derail him completely, put him a thousand miles behind, back to the abyss he had crawled out from.
When the grief was too much, Yuuji could easily accept this lie.
But as time stretched and the distance between him and the past grew, it became clearer and clearer that this conviction, initially made to lead a diligent life, had been the fruit of his cowardice. The truth was that people he cherished were stuck in that fragment of time, and most of them were paying a price that was supposed to be his.
They sure deserved a glimpse every once in a while.
The guilt of living a proper life was a good reminder of that.
Perhaps Yuuji was simply not the kind of person meant to find solace in nostalgia. If there were conditions to earn its compassion, he probably didn't meet any. In his case, nostalgia was meant to comfort the ones who were gone, the pain of remembering serving as his final act of kindness. No matter how far he wandered, he always came to the same conclusion. But that didn't stop him from repeating the same cycle of thoughts, hoping to find an easier answer each time.
The last few days, however, had been different.
This time, Yuuji was missing something he hadn't even said goodbye to yet. Something that was still rooted in the present, still reachable. That reminded him of the reason that had driven him to this apartment, years ago. In hindsight, he should have known right there and then, at the very moment he'd stepped through that door, he should have felt the subtle shift in his guts, should have looked up at the sky and noticed the clouds parting, letting the sun through after an eternity of darkness.
But, well, life worked in mysterious ways. Misery was very loud while happiness cowered in a corner, reluctant to make its presence known.
Now Yuuji had to walk through that door for one last time and pretend that it didn't absolutely frighten him. He feared that leaving would break the fragile happiness he'd managed to steal for himself. Any change, no matter how small or futile, threatened to disrupt the balance. He was sure of it. The four years spent here had been the kindest so far. They had given him Megumi. All of him. And how wonderful it was to know someone so intimately, to lay your soul bare with such volition, so uncaring of having it broken as long as the other had it.
How terrifying.
It was impossible to imagine how life could be better than this. And if it could not, then it only meant that a storm was gathering on the other side of the threshold, waiting for him to come out. If it had only depended on him, under no circumstances would Yuuji have left. But it had not, and the landlord had called them three months prior, informing them that he needed the place back.
“It's fine. Change can be good too,” a more rational Megumi had said, just a second after hanging up. When he spoke like this, with his voice so steady and low, unblinking and beautiful, it was incredibly easy for Yuuji to abandon his own judgment and swap his worries for Megumi's unshakable calmness.
That did wonders for his anxiety, though there was still that annoyingly persistent ache.
Silly nostalgia. Cruel and early. Painting his every thought blue.
Yuuji hadn't expected the last week before moving out to be so bittersweet. His inner voice had been hijacked, his every move followed by a sickening type of longing.
This is the last meal that I'll cook in this kitchen. I won't look out this window ever again. Soon, I won't even be able to recall this view, and it'll become an inharmonious ensemble of colors and sloppy shapes. I should remember it. I should remember the texture of the carpet under my feet, how it soaked up my tears the first time I told someone that I loved them.
Other people will do these things now. Their memories will overlap ours.
I hope they'll have a good life here.
I sure did.
Yuuji grabbed the final box and left his bedroom. He walked down the narrow corridor, his free hand gently skimming the wall, trying to commit to memory the feeling of the smooth, cold surface under his touch.
The afternoon sun spilled through the windows, bathing the living room in its golden hue. Specks of dust floated in the air. The place looked strangely empty, but as he stood in the middle of it, Yuuji hardly noticed. His attention was on the dark-haired boy sitting cross-legged on the carpet, an open cardboard box half-filled with books placed at his feet. Megumi had the extraordinary ability to make everything feel complete.
He turned around and met Yuuji's gaze, alerted by the sound of footsteps, or rather by the way it had abruptly stopped. “You done?”
Yuuji bent down to put the box with the others. He let it slip from his grip, the cardboard lightly burning his fingertips as it went down. “Yup. That was the last one. Kugisaki texted me, by the way. She said she'll be here soon.” He paused, nodding at the box Megumi was currently filling. “Do you need help with that?”
“No, I'm fine,” Megumi replied as he returned to his duties. “It's my last one, too.”
“Okay.”
Yuuji crossed the room and joined Megumi on the floor. He spread his legs across the green carpet, his back against the couch. Megumi's hands were going back and forth between the bottom shelf and the moving box, each motion followed by a pair of intrigued brown eyes. For someone like Yuuji, who was well acquainted with boredom, it was almost embarrassing how easily Megumi captured his attention—sometimes, like now, by completing the most mundane task, and other times by just being here, his gaze settled on the ceiling, a hand scratching his face, lost in thought.
Yuuji was about to reach out—for what, he didn't even know—when Megumi turned around, his gaze scanning Yuuji's face with purpose. The sudden attention tickled Yuuji's skin and, soon after, he came up with a perfect reason to lean closer.
“Are you okay?” Megumi asked.
The question tore Yuuji away from his trance. He hadn't expected it.
He blinked slowly, his head tilted to the side. “Huh?”
“You've been very quiet,” Megumi explained.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” Yuuji asked with a light grin. His fingers brushed the threads of the carpet, then went up to scratch his undercut instead. “Am I usually too loud for you, Megumi?”
“Not at all.” Megumi was quick to reply, but the words didn't rush out of his mouth. There was something quite addictive in the way he spoke, some earnest quality to it.
Silence, not uncomfortable but kind and patient, fell between them. Megumi was waiting for a real answer, and Yuuji was still trying to put words on a feeling he couldn't even properly name. He wasn't good at this. He usually deflected with a bad joke, said something shallow and distracting. It was a habit that kicked in at the sight of vulnerability, hard to unlearn.
A sigh escaped Yuuji's lips. The unscarred corner of his mouth lifted into a smile, mechanical at first, then soft at the edge. “We have so many memories here. Doesn't leaving make you a little sad, too?”
Megumi played with the book in his lap, tracing its sharp corners as he tried to form a coherent thought. His compassion for Yuuji was never hasty. He always chose his words with utmost care, especially when they aimed to soothe.
The seconds dragged. Yuuji's heartbeat adapted its rhythm to the newfound peace.
“It does make me sad,” Megumi said. “But you're the reason why this place is special. So, it doesn't really matter where I live. Just don't go anywhere I can't follow and we'll be fine. Right?”
Well, that sounded pretty easy since that was the last thing Yuuji planned on doing.
“Yeah, of course. I won't,” he promised, his voice slightly more upbeat, his gaze reverent.
“Good. Then we have nothing to worry about.”
It was as simple as that.
Only a couple of books were left on the shelf, and Megumi immediately went back to his previous chore. It was so very like him to show such abrupt kindness, only to pretend the next moment that it hadn't happened at all. Yuuji swore he could feel the love grow inside his body like a misplaced bone. It had grown so much, so fast, that it would probably not fit much longer.
His arms moved on their own volition, grabbed the disposable camera placed on the coffee table. The viewfinder was a bit dusty, and through it, Megumi appeared as if he belonged to a childhood memory, someplace far away, out of reach. Unaffected by time.
There would never be another instance where Megumi looked this exact way, with his head bent low, checking the spine of the book he was holding, the light perfectly hitting the scar around his eyes. Because love might have been steady, but Megumi was forever undetermined.
Luckily, photography allowed Yuuji to freeze and collect his own little scattered fragments of Megumi, otherwise they'd just be lost in the current of time, and he simply couldn't accept that. He wished he could keep every single piece, especially the rejected ones. Wished it was possible to tear a chunk of his heart so he could say it without putting words on it, keeping it raw and unaltered. All he could come up with was, “I love everything that you are, everything that you were, and everything you could be. I love you.” It lacked all the complexity that resided inside him.
A click, and then the burst of a flash.
Megumi peeked over his shoulder, startled.
“Don't even complain if it comes out blurry,” he muttered with a frown. “It'll look terrible.”
The camera regained its previous spot on the table.
Yuuji, on the other hand, was far closer than he had been a minute before.
“How could it look bad? You're so pretty.”
He'd meant it as a tease, but his voice came out thick with sincerity, earning him a light groan. He could easily picture Megumi rolling his eyes, though not very committed to the act, and might have actually seen it if his gaze hadn't been so low, stuck on the way Megumi bit the inside of his cheek, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Whatever,” Megumi mumbled, flustered but hiding it under a mask of exasperation.
Ah.
Wouldn't it be so childish to push a bit harder? Just enough to make that smile grow and remove any trace of pretense? Yuuji couldn't help but take it as a challenge.
He lifted a finger and pointed at the side of Megumi's face. “When you blush, it always starts with your ears. Did you know that? In fact, it's happening right now. It'll probably reach your neck soon.”
“For your information,” Megumi began to say, eyes narrowed, “I also get red when I'm annoyed.”
Yuuji laughed. “Well, it is easy to rile you up.”
“I think it's just you, though.”
“Really?” Yuuji shook his head fondly. “Ah, man, lucky me.”
Megumi's surrender was a fascinating thing to witness—the sudden slumped shoulders at first, then the hint of tenderness creeping into his gaze, followed by the sweet curve of his mouth, almost indiscernible, meant for only one person.
Had Yuuji pointed out how thrilling everything was now?
An eye roll one moment, then the crash of lips the next.
Here you are.
Yuuji pulled Megumi closer, one hand wrapped around his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. This way, he could feel Megumi's rattling heartbeat against his own, feel every rise of Megumi's chest as his lungs filled with much-needed oxygen. And, when that still didn't satisfy Yuuji, he leaned back, eager to be pinned down by the weight of Megumi's body, and successfully pulled the other down with him.
“You good? Wanna move to the couch?” Megumi asked.
Yuuji flashed him a grin. “Nah, I'm fine.”
In truth, the position was uncomfortable, the carpet rough behind Yuuji's skull, but he was too far gone already. Being consistently on his guard drained him. Now that he was in such an utterly defenseless state, he nearly wished for injuries.
Megumi's lashes tickled the skin under his eyes, his mouth soft and warm, opening wider as an invitation.
Everything that happened after was a blur. Yuuji's body had grown its own will and, in that daze, his brain became incapable of keeping up. His rebellious fingers made a mess of Megumi's hair, then captured the other's jaw so he could lift it, revealing the hot skin of his neck.
“Ah. See? It's red,” Yuuji pointed out. And Megumi might have been just as far gone, because he only let out a soft, annoyed groan.
Yuuji put his mouth around that blush, right above the carotid, Megumi's pulse beating directly against his parted lips. His teeth grazed along, interrupted by a few kisses, trying very hard not to bite. He probably wouldn't have noticed the knocks on the door if it weren't for Megumi pulling away, one hand pushing Yuuji flat against the carpet, preventing him from chasing Megumi with his mouth as he'd clearly intended to.
Yuuji nearly whined, the sudden lack of warmth deemed an absolute tragedy.
Kugisaki's voice carried easily through the walls. “Can you guys hurry up and let me in?”
Once again, Yuuji barely heard her. His thoughts were still paralyzed, drowned out by the sultry darkness that had gathered in Megumi's eyes, his heaving chest and the mess in his hair. So unkempt, yet so lovely.
Megumi got up, slipping away from Yuuji's greedy hands, plunging him into deeper misery. With his hands in his pockets, he looked down at Yuuji with a single raised eyebrow. Curiously, he seemed absolutely delighted. “Don't be such a baby. You'll be fine.”
Yuuji reached for Megumi's ankle, the touch so light it was more of a brush. His fingers burned with want, the warmth quickly spreading across Megumi's skin.
“What if I won't?” Yuuji lamented in a way that came quite naturally, only half-joking. “Will you come back, then?”
Megumi didn't reply. Instead, he let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. The grin he offered Yuuji was one of the rare ones, the kind that tugged at his heartstrings.
Time, Yuuji thought as he watched Megumi walk away.
Time was his worst enemy.
There was too much of it when he was bored and lonely, and not nearly enough in moments like these.
The apartment looked awfully bare without Megumi's things in it.
When Yuuji walked out the door for the last time, welcomed by the summer heat, he didn't linger to spare it a glance, didn't look over his shoulder when he reached the end of the hallway. Instead, he raced down the stairs, fire on his heels, only to abruptly stop at the bottom step, stalling long enough for Megumi to catch up and ruffle the back of his hair, urging him to go forward with a slight pressure of the hand.
The cycle. Again.
It was inevitable.
Maybe he was just that kind of person.
___
Yuuji's silhouette was reflected on the television's screen, a dark shape blending with the furniture, holding another. The head resting on his thighs was a warm, comforting weight. Raven hair spilled all over his pants, soft to the touch, awakening the need to close his fingers around that skull, to delve beneath that wall of bones and reach for what was out of sight. These thoughts couldn't possibly be reasonable. The amount of times they crossed his mind couldn't either.
The credits were no longer rolling. Silence fell in the living room, only disturbed by the turbulence within his body. The pounding of his heart was very loud, and everything else so quiet. It made the missed beats impossible to miss.
Yuuji leaned forward and placed his forehead against Megumi's.
“How can someone sleep so much? Are your dreams that nice?” Yuuji asked tenderly, careful not to wake him. “Man, I envy you. Lend me some, yeah?”
Megumi dozing off in the middle of a movie had become something to expect. It usually started with the quietest yawn, shortly followed by a head resting on Yuuji's shoulder and spiky hair tickling the side of his neck. Then the weight shifted to his lap instead, making it hard to focus.
“You still have nightmares?”
Yuuji straightened up, startled by the deepness of Megumi's voice at first, only to relax at the sight of his eyes—sharp, even when heavy with sleep.
“Shit, did I wake you? Sorry, I didn't mean to.”
“It's fine. I wasn't really sleeping.”
Yuuji huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I'm not so sure about that.”
“What, so you were looking at me instead of watching the movie?” Megumi teased, eyebrows raised. “Why would you admit something like that? It's embarrassing, Itadori.”
Megumi rarely used Yuuji's last name. It was solely reserved for bickering, a way for him to add a final bite to his words, to destabilize—and it did, but for secret, unsuspected reasons.
You're a pretty sleeper, Yuuji thought. I can't help it.
“You snore a bit. So…” he joked instead, his smirk growing wide.
Megumi gently pressed his hand against Yuuji's eyes. Strings of light slithered in the holes between his fingers; the rest was just shadows. When he spoke, the amusement in his voice was poorly concealed: “You're so full of shit.”
“Okay, okay,” Yuuji chuckled. “You want the truth, then? Fine. Maybe I'm a masochist. I kinda love it when you laugh at me.”
“God, that's even more embarrassing.”
“Yup. Pretty sure that's the point.”
Yuuji regained his previous position, his curved mouth placed somewhere above Megumi's face. Momentarily blinded, he hoped it was the lower half, but when he closed the distance between them, he accidentally pressed his lips against a chin.
So close.
Megumi's hand fell against his chest. Light and colors came back into view.
This time, when Yuuji bent down, he knew exactly where to aim.
Familiar warmth pooled in his stomach, lingering even as he leaned back against the couch. It seemed like his body would never get used to the thrill of kissing the person he loved, and, luckily, neither would Megumi's. Seized by a rare fit of cruelty, Yuuji licked his lips, utterly satisfied by the suggestive shade of red spreading across Megumi's ears.
Perhaps he was more of a sadist.
“You didn't answer me, by the way,” Megumi said.
“Answer what?”
“Do you still have nightmares?”
Yuuji scratched the side of his face, gaze fleeting. “Sometimes, yeah. I mean, like everyone.”
“And do you want to talk about it?”
“Er, honestly? Not really,” Yuuji admitted with an apologetic wince. “These nightmares, they are different from the ones I used to have. They're not about the past. So if I talk about them…” The words lodged in his throat. He didn't even know where he was going with this. That was the problem with vocalizing everything that went through his mind: sometimes, his brain abandoned him in the middle of a sentence, then he was forced to untangle the mess inside his head and put the right words on his tongue. Right now, he really didn't want to do that. He was terrified by the idea of letting the nightmares out of the secure confines of his skull, as if, once out in the world, they could entertain the wrong kind of deity. So, instead, he said with a self-deprecating grin: “Ugh, I sound rather superstitious, don't I?”
The expression on Megumi's face remained serious. “It's fine. I get it. We don't have to talk about it, not if you don't want to.” He paused before wrapping his fingers around Yuuji's wrist, eyes kind and reassuring. “But… Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. You know that, right?”
“Yeah! Totally,” Yuuji nodded fervently. “I want to believe that.”
Megumi scanned his face, probably trying to determine just how much Yuuji meant it. “Okay,” he said after a beat, strangely not pointing out the fact that knowing and believing were, in fact, two distinct things. Yuuji was grateful for it.
The rest of the evening was spent discussing the movie, or at least the bits they hadn't missed. As expected, Megumi didn't seem to remember much, so Yuuji had to fill in a few gaps. He was a poor storyteller, though. It had something to do with the way his brain was wired—all over the place, spitting out random bits of information either a minute too early or two minutes too late.
By some miracle, Megumi seemed entranced by Yuuji's disrupted sequence of events. Yuuji would even go as far as to say that Megumi looked like he enjoyed movies more when he was the one describing them. He couldn't fathom why, but didn't ask for a reason. He didn't need any. He talked until the sky turned black and his voice became raspy.
Dinner was birthday cake leftovers eaten on the kitchen counter. The streetlights bled in. The fridge buzzed. The whole town felt drowsy. Slow and muted.
“How is it so far, being thirty?” Yuuji asked, swallowing a yawn.
“Like being twenty-nine,” Megumi replied flatly.
Yuuji put another spoonful of chocolate cake inside his mouth. Nearly pouted. “You're no fun. Did you at least make a nice wish yesterday?” he asked, before holding out his hand in horror. “Wait! No, don't tell me. I don't want to ruin it.”
The metal of Megumi's spoon clanged against the yellow plate as he dug for another bite.
“I don't think you could, since I didn't wish for anything.”
“What? Why?”
Yuuji expected Megumi to scoff and rant about how he didn't believe in something as silly and childish as wishing on birthday candles. He expected teasing, perhaps a fun little squabble. What he didn't expect, on the other hand, was for Megumi to smile fondly, leaning in as he whispered, “Guess.”
It only took a second for Yuuji to understand. After all, kissing Megumi was not so different from pressing his lips against an altar, and he always shut his eyes very slowly when he did, with a lot of intent, as one would before wishing on a shooting star or praying to a god. So, yes, of course he understood.
But still.
Don't put all your faith in me, Yuuji wanted to say. Put some of it in your birthday candles, in the ladybug that lands on your arm, the eyelash stuck on your cheek. Don't waste any wishes. Don't ever run out of luck.
___
It happened in a matter of seconds.
Yuuji blinked, and the next thing he knew, wide, horrified eyes met his own. Megumi was paler than usual. The blood had completely left his face and, instead, it was now leaking all over his hands, hitting the floor drop by drop until he was standing in a pool of red.
“Yuuji,” Megumi said, his voice strained. He forced out a smile that wavered at the edges. “Don't be lonesome, okay?”
The air didn't move and neither did Yuuji.
Moving implied the passage of time.
He didn't want time to pass.
But it did. It always did.
Megumi's knees hit the floor.
When Yuuji woke up, his gaze stayed stuck on the ceiling for a while before he managed to breathe, let alone move. Surely he should have been used to it by now. Dreaming of Megumi was a daily occurrence, though not a nice one. His subconscious seemed keen on torturing him, and it used the vilest devices to do so.
It was still dark outside. Reaching for the other side of the bed was instinctive, but no one was lying there. Yuuji's palm fell flat against the mattress.
Right.
Megumi was away on a mission for the rest of the week.
Everything was fine.
His absence didn't mean anything.
Yuuji knew that.
He knew that, so he couldn't comprehend why he felt so sick, or why he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and dialed a very familiar number instead of getting more rest. He realized how selfish he was being at the first ring, regretted the whole thing at the second one, and, by the third, his thumb was hovering over the red hang-up button, but it was already too late. Megumi had just picked up.
A voice came out of the speaker, far and crackling. “Yuuji? Is everything okay?”
Yuuji pressed the phone against his ear, a nervous hand in his hair. “Yeah, I'm fine. It's just— Fuck, I'm so sorry. It's really late, I shouldn't have called. Did I wake you?”
“Don't apologize. It's all good. I wasn't sleeping anyway.”
“Ah. Good. That's good,” Yuuji sighed, his hand flopping back against his thigh, pink hair still a mess. “It's just— Ugh. I'm a bit over the place right now. I dreamed of you. It wasn't— I guess you could say it wasn't the nice kind. Whatever. It doesn't matter. I'm glad I didn't wake you. You must be pretty tired. Why aren't you sleeping?”
On the other end of the line, the wind whistled. An ambulance drove by, its sirens on. If Yuuji closed his eyes, he could see Megumi on a balcony somewhere, or maybe leaning against an open window, the cold air slipping inside his hotel room. Was he looking at the stars above? Or was his gaze stuck on the ground, following every passerby?
“You do know that you can call anytime, right?” Megumi said. “I don't care how late it is. If you need to call, then just do it.”
Yuuji chuckled. “I know you don't, but, well, I care.”
“And I care that you don't keep things to yourself.”
For Yuuji, it was an impossible ask. Megumi didn't realize what he was wishing for. The amount of anxiety he'd have to deal with if Yuuji decided to let it all out.
“I can keep them until you wake up. That seems more fair,” Yuuji said, his tone deceptively light.
Megumi let out a sigh, or maybe it was the wind again. “That doesn't mean anything to me and you know it. Just call me when you need to. Seriously.” He paused. Foreign voices came out of Yuuji's phone—a random bit of conversation, something about work. Yuuji's mind's eye quickly adapted to the new information. The imagined hotel room dissolved, replaced by gray sidewalks and closed stores. Megumi was out on a walk, apparently. “So, do you want to talk about it? Your nightmare?”
Unwelcome flashes of spilled blood and stained clothes ran through Yuuji's memories.
“No. Not really. I just wanted to hear your voice,” he replied, the words rushing out of his mouth. He scratched the skin between his eyebrows, slightly embarrassed. “Or something like that.”
At least it had the merit to amuse Megumi. He let out a laugh so quiet that Yuuji nearly missed it. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Do you have something to rant about?”
“Er, let's see…” Megumi hummed, unsure of what to say. The familiar sound of his boots stomping on the ground was an immense comfort. And although Yuuji had initially called to listen to Megumi's voice, this kind of silence didn't exactly bother him. It was more the opposite. It soothed him. “The only book I brought here is a bore. The hotel room is too cold. It's actually colder inside than outside, if you can believe it. And I can hear the cars driving by even when the windows are closed. It's really annoying. It keeps waking me up.”
“Ah, shit,” Yuuji said, smiling, though no one could witness it at the moment. “Should I come pick you up? Maybe drop a better book and go?”
“I mean, that would solve the biggest issue here, actually.”
“Which is?”
“I really miss my boyfriend.”
Yuuji laughed, absolutely delighted. “Really? I'm sure the feeling is reciprocated.”
“It better be.”
The entrance creaked open. This time, the sound didn't come from the speakers. Someone had just entered Yuuji's apartment.
“Huh?” Yuuji said dumbly, glancing at the closed door of the bedroom. “I think someone just broke in?”
Light spilled underneath the door. Feet struck the wooden floor. The intruder was getting closer.
“Okay. Now I'm sure. They just lit up the corridor.” Yuuji ran a hand over his face. “Ugh, I'm too lazy to deal with this. Do you think it's a burglar? I really don't want to get up.”
The handle turned at the exact moment Yuuji's feet met the floor.
Megumi stood at the threshold, his smiling mouth hidden behind a hand. “You're such an idiot. I actually can't believe you.”
Yuuji blinked very quickly. Nearly pinched himself. Had he been dreaming this entire time?
“Eh? What are you doing here?”
“What? Are you not happy to see me?” Megumi put his phone back into the pocket of his pants, then looked at Yuuji with his head cocked to the side. “I finished early, so I took the last train. Stop looking at me like I'm a ghost.”
But you kind of are, Yuuji immediately thought. You always die in my dreams.
He didn't dwell on it any longer; instead, he left the bed and crossed the distance between them. Megumi was warm and solid in his arms, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, heartbeat pulsing strongly, undeniable proof that he was perfectly well and not bleeding out somewhere. Not even in Yuuji's twisted imagination.
“Welcome home.”
A hand came to stroke Yuuji's prickly undercut. “Thanks. It's good to be back.”
That moment took Yuuji back years, to when he was still living in their first apartment and Megumi had surprised him at the train station. It seemed like Yuuji was rather fond of surprises, and Megumi was pretty good at executing them. The other way around, not so much.
Ah.
Shit.
Now he found himself deeper in the past.
Before, they used to surprise each other by showing up alive. Now, things were so different. Much more was promised to them.
That was exactly the problem.
The luckier Yuuji felt and the more scared he became.
___
Yuuji's head thumped against the window glass, probably from a bump on the road or an irresponsible driver. The hit tore him away from his unplanned nap, and he woke up at the back of a very busy, very noisy bus. He rubbed his sore temple with a groan, began to straighten up, but quickly noticed the weight pressed against his side.
Megumi had also fallen asleep. He was leaning against Yuuji, both his arms and legs crossed, the lines on his face surprisingly unguarded. The right side of the earphones slipped out of Yuuji's ear, the left one still in Megumi's. He hadn't even noticed when he'd bent forward, his head tilted to the side in a way that allowed him to steal a proper glance at his sleepy boyfriend. Hadn't even noticed the music that had been playing, until it had stopped.
A fog, thick and dense, had settled in his brain.
Yuuji had no idea where they were heading, had no recollection of stepping on the bus at all, and couldn't even tell which line they were on. The only thing that was familiar here was Megumi.
Yuuji hesitated an entire minute before waking him.
“This is going to sound a bit weird, but do you remember where we're supposed to go?” he asked.
Megumi rubbed his eyes, his back now flat against his seat. Blood was slowly returning to Yuuji's left arm, leaving a prickling sensation underneath his skin.
Megumi's lips parted, revealing the bend of his tongue and the whiteness of his teeth. His Adam's apple moved with every few words, easily catching Yuuji's attention. His body was clearly indicating that an answer was being given, and yet no sound came out of his mouth. There was only the chatter of the other passengers and the chaos of the traffic outside.
Yuuji frowned. “Sorry, I didn't hear you. Can you repeat that?”
Megumi leaned closer. Spoke again. Silence again.
“I don't get it,” Yuuji said with a nervous laugh. “Are you joking around? I still can't hear you.”
Then, suddenly, the atmosphere grew heavy. The voices around them subsided and the bus slowed down, stopping for the red light. The city was plunged into sudden stillness; even the wind stopped whistling and the cicadas stopped crying, the entire world coming to a halt so it could heed Megumi's answer.
Megumi, who was a lot closer now, with his lips brushing Yuuji's left ear, his breath tickling the side of Yuuji's neck. This time, when he spoke, Yuuji heard him perfectly. “Don't be lonesome, okay?”
Yuuji's head was resting against the window glass. The left side of his body was sore, the sun burned his retina. He woke up inside a very quiet, very empty bus.
A man in uniform, certainly the driver, was standing in the narrow corridor, leaning against one of the vacant seats. “Ah, good, you're awake. This is the last stop. You have to get off the bus, please,” he said with a polite smile.
Yuuji stood up and pulled the white hood over his head, which must have slipped off during the ride. “Sorry. Have a good day, sir.”
The driver chuckled, stepping back so he could let Yuuji through. “It's alright. Must have been a nice dream, huh? At some point, I really thought you wouldn't wake up. I even tried horning, if you can believe me.”
Pain, rooted in Yuuji's heart, spread inside his body, contaminating every drop of blood.
“It wasn't too bad, yeah.”
___
10:43 AM
Pick up the phone when I call you, idiot.
___
Tokyo, although buzzing with activity, had never felt so empty before. Yuuji followed the cracks on the floor and the dead-eyed men in suits. He walked blind in a city that had changed without him, with no clear destination and no one waiting for him at the end of the road, led only by the echoing sound of life, which was drifting further and further away from him. The cicadas cried. Hot air slipped inside his white hood, almost pulling it down. The floor beneath Yuuji's feet trembled, followed by a steadily increasing chugging sound. He looked over his shoulder just in time to watch the train escape this cursed city, saving many from its claws. He hadn't even noticed how close he'd been to the train station. It should have been obvious—these people dragging their suitcases along the sidewalk, some excited, others bidding early goodbyes with unshed tears. Perhaps Yuuji would have noticed if he didn't walk with his head hung so low.
Train stations were a very special place for him, especially this one. Sometimes, he daydreamed about coming here, comforted by the possibility of buying a ticket to some random place and rebuilding his life from scratch. He was tempted to do it, right this moment, but there wasn't a corner on Earth that would hide him from this grief anyway, so he didn't.
Instead, Yuuji removed his left hand from his pocket and stared down at his missing fingers.
When he spoke, his voice was barely audible, cracked from rarely being used, “You didn't leave any clues. How am I supposed to know which way to go now?”
How can you just be gone?
No one answered. There was no one left to.
Perhaps Yuuji was slowly growing insane. He always expected an answer, some kind of sign: a cloud parting away to let the sunshine in, a bird waiting at his window, a butterfly resting in the palm of his hand, the sound of a name he could no longer say. Just… something. It seemed too cruel that someone's absence could be felt so deeply, that its weight could grow every day, pulling apart the lie people had told for years and years.
It was not going to get better. How could Yuuji ever get used to such hollowness? He couldn't. He simply couldn't.
He turned away, put some needed distance between himself and the train station, afraid of the burn of the memories. That was all he was good for these days. He'd never been one to shy away from pain before, but when Kugisaki called, he did not answer. He slept on the couch, on the bus, in abandoned houses, in the middle of nowhere, but never on the bed. He couldn't stand the constant buzz of the fridge, despised it more than anything when the neighbors' conversations seeped through the walls, but music never filled the silence and movies were a perfidious, jading succession of images. The apartment was too dark and lonely for him, and he was too dark and lonely for the rest of the world.
Because yes, it turned out, years later, that Yuuji had been right.
There had been a storm waiting for him at the other side of the threshold. Or maybe the storm had come from within. Maybe his undying fears and hideous guilt had given birth to it.
It only took a second to lose it all. So little time to tear one's life apart, yet so much needed to make something out of it.
Yuuji's past had been stained with sorrow, so much of it that he'd nearly gouged his eyes out, incapable of facing the aftermath. If anything, this anguish should have felt familiar, like meeting an old friend. He wasn't sure why it hadn't. Why it still managed to surprise him.
Everything was stale and out of place. Nothing filled the void. If there was a meaning in all this, something that would make sense out of this pain, give it a purpose, well, he couldn't find it. Faith had crawled out of his body, leaving it so dry and vapid that it became impossible to remember if he had ever believed in anything before.
Nothing mattered anymore.
The world was a flat, barren land. Every soil was rotten. Every body of water had dried out. Nothing moved, nor breathed.
All things died with you.
I died with you.
___
Kugisaki left a voicemail.
Transcription
“You know what? Fuck it. It doesn't matter whether you pick up the phone or not, because I can't hold it back anymore, so I'll just say it. I miss him too, you know? I lost him, too. And you are the only person who understands just how much it hurts, so for the love of God, stop shutting me out, okay? Answer the phone when I call you. You can't… You can't keep isolating yourself like this. He wouldn't… I know you don't want to hear this right now, but you know that he wouldn't want you to live like this. I sure don't. So reach out if you need. We still have each other, remember? You still have me… Right… Well… I'll wait for your call then. Don't ignore this message as well. I hope you're well. Goodbye. Idiot.”
___
Night fell over Tokyo like a shroud of darkness. The lamp post above Yuuji's head flickered, swarmed by tiny insects trying to escape the night. This neighborhood was a safe one, its tranquility only disrupted by the whoosh of a bicycle driving by, or the chatter of students returning home. Years ago, Yuuji had the pleasure of observing these tiny disturbances as he waited for his own—a tall one with stormy eyes and cold fingers, never out of snarky comments, honest to a fault, yet the warmest person Yuuji had ever met.
Memories were weapons, splitting him open.
It should have been predictable. After all, Yuuji had known that grief was a moving thing, that it was always a step ahead, lurking in a corner. Tonight, it had been waiting for him to return to the vestiges of his first home, the place in which he had buried his loneliness, naive enough to believe that it wouldn't claw out of the earth and sneak back inside his body later, heavier than ever.
The bottom step of the stairs was achingly familiar. Yuuji leaned on his bent-up knees without even thinking, driven by the simple force of habits, no matter how old.
He hadn't come here in a while.
A strange dream had led him back to this place. He'd woken up on the bus with an all-consuming longing for the home that had been promised to him, the home he used to have, but had since lost. It was impossible to sit here, at the spot where his life had begun again, without acknowledging the ruins of the present.
Megumi was dead. Gone forever. There was nothing Yuuji could do about it except accept it, and he couldn't do that either. His love did not waver. He hadn't felt any rupture, any significant change inside his body. The thread that bound him to Megumi's soul was still intact; the only difference was that, now, he couldn't see the other end of it.
How could he accept something that he didn't feel profoundly in his heart?
“Ah, don't cry,” Yuuji whispered to himself, a nonsensical smile on his lips. His eyes started to burn and, soon enough, his hands were tugging at his hair, driven by the need to make the pain physical, to transform it into something he could finally control. “Don't you dare cry.”
Tears ran down his cheeks and neck, hot and salty. After that, the illusion of detachment quickly fell apart. It felt like his chest was about to crack open, so it could let go of all the neglected pain he'd been accumulating, a reminder that feelings couldn't be thrown away, only delayed.
The truth was becoming very clear.
In a desperate attempt to protect himself, Yuuji had forsaken the very thing he used to worship. That betrayal had spoiled something inside him, and now worms and flies crawled under his skin, invited by the smell of decay.
I'm sorry, he thought nonsensically. I made a mess of the heart I gave to you.
Yuuji's face cracked open, his dull, brown eyes widening with anguish, and the unmistakable, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He hadn't even realized when he'd started biting the inside of his cheek—but there was a hole now, in the shape of his teeth.
It took more than an hour for him to calm down, and when he finally did, the first thing he decided to do was to call Kugisaki. He hadn't spoken to her in a very long time, for reasons he hadn't even bothered to share, though he was sure she had figured it out on her own—life was an unending cycle of grief, and he wanted to be locked out of it.
At the very last ring, as he'd lost all hope of talking to his best friend tonight, a click resonated, followed by a sharp intake of breath.
Relief flooded Yuuji.
He pressed the phone tightly against his ear, nearly breaking his cartilage.
“Hey, Kugisaki.” A shaky laugh followed suit, and, with much surprise, he realized that it was coming out of his mouth. “I've been kind of an asshole, haven't I?”
He still remembered how, on the day Megumi had died, Kugisaki's tears had soaked up his shirt. In all these years of friendship, Yuuji had never seen her cry like that. Not with her whole body, with her arms wrapped tightly around him in a weak attempt to hold him together, a child cupping water, praying that it wouldn't slip through her fingers. By being so close, Yuuji had felt the strength of her heartbeat against his chest, wild and broken, sharing the same pain—his had been a second off-beat, as though he'd fallen out of rhythm with the rest of the world.
Silence stretched a bit longer. Then, with the usual nonchalance, Kugisaki replied, “You think?”
It was pretty easy to picture her sitting on her couch, her arms crossed and her gaze fleeting, trying very hard not to soften too quickly and let the cracks of vulnerability show on her face, but ultimately failing. Although Yuuji couldn't see her, the mental picture he made of her was a great comfort.
“I'm sorry. I should have called earlier.”
“I don't need an apology from you. I only need you to be okay.”
“Then I'm sorry about that, too,” Yuuji said, incapable of hiding the thickness in his voice. “Because I don't think I am. I just—” His gaze dropped to the pebbles on the floor, to the shadow looking back at him, always reminding him of someone else's. I told you it would be lonely without you, didn't I?
Yuuji didn't want to love a memory. He wanted the real thing. But if thinking about Megumi was the only way to keep his spirit alive in this world, then Yuuji would make it last a few more hundred years. And once he could no longer do that, he could only foolishly hope that, when people remembered him, their minds would first conjure the image of the face he'd loved this entire time, way before his own.
“I really miss him. I miss Megumi.”