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All he ever wanted was to be known, Chishiya scoffed at his thought, his body laid on the side of a car, blood sputtering from his stomach. To think about this as if he wasn’t one wrong movement away from dying. He thought of his life, how he is literally nothing. How he never developed interests or a personality because why would it be needed? He’s meant for a life of complete and utter neglect and loneliness.
He thought of his childhood. One specific moment comes to his mind, when he asked his father if he’d miss him as he went to a summer camp. His father stammered and gave another bullshit patriarchal response to him, about how men don’t need to miss anyone, they should be strong instead. Chishiya was five. He soon after realised that the summer camp was a way to remove his presence. Probably to engage in some socialising parties, places to earn money. He wasn’t welcomed in his own home.
He thought of you.
Your smile.
That grin of yours.
That grin of yours reaching your eyes, closing both of them.
And God, you grinned a lot.
That smile of yours was the reason why he was still here, with two bullets in his body, barely breathing. Yet, still there.
This place made him realise that. It’s you. His will to live.
He couldn’t wait to see your face again, to see that smile. You would probably be crying, honestly. He remembers when he fell on his way to class. He remembers your eyes, your pain, your frown. That is to say, he’d only see you if this world is actually an ending nightmare. There is a big possibility this place never lets him go back to your arms, instead dies by bleeding out.
He took it for granted. Life never excited him. You did. He still took you for granted.
That’s his regret.
The Queen of Hearts blimp suddenly burst in flames. Arisu and Usagi did it. They finished the games. Well, it depends.
The silence was deafening. It didn’t take long before fireworks began to spread across the sky.
“All surviving players will be presented with two choices” The voice spoke, “The players must decide, whether to accept permanent residency in this country, or decline it.”
As if he’d think about his decision twice. He’s calculative and aware. Living in a place like this would mean endless ways to die. He thought. Isn’t that what the real world is too? Isn’t the real world corrupt, inhumane and selfish just like this one? He realised there wasn’t much difference. That only good thing about that world was that it had you.
“I decline.” He said to the wind, hoping it caught his response.
His eyes closed, perhaps for the last time. Perhaps for the last time in this world. All he knew was that it would be the last time nonetheless.
<3
His eyes opened. Was this heaven? He crooked his neck but an emergency nurse ushered him not to, with a smile on her face, as if she was grateful he was alive. Or relieved. Yeah, that makes more sense.
“Please don’t try to speak just yet, the doctor will be right with you!” She explained, bowing down in respect as a confused Chishiya frantically looked for an answer.
He saw some flowers beside his bed, tulips.
He sighed, more medical bills. More responsibilities. It seemed to him that a hospital was his true house. If not that, it has definitely been a quite repetitive figure in his life. One he can’t seem to lose control of. Maybe that’s why he liked it so much. Maybe he’s a masochist. He rolled his eyes at that thought.
A doctor came into his room, she calmly explained to him what injuries he had endured, yet no one answered why it happened in the first place. When he asked the respective question, the doctor grew quite uncomfortable in explaining it. Was it that bad?
“You were in a meteor strike. Like many others who were in Shibuya. I am sure your memory is still hazy, it will be back soon.” She kindly replied. Chishiya hesitantly nodded.
The doctor offered him multiple mental health professionals for the future. Right. As if Chishiya would go do that. Actually, he might. It’s free anyway. Experiments or whatever. He thought.
The doctor left as she exclaimed he required rest, alone. Alone. What does he not do alone? This surely would be a first, but it wouldn’t be new.
He closed his eyes.
“Shuntaro.” A voice spoke up.
He didn’t open his eyes just yet, he knew who this was. Of course he did. He would recognise this voice at any given moment. Why wouldn’t he? This voice had given him so much, yet taken everything away from him.
“Father.” He replied. Eyes slowly opening, still expressionless.
A mirror standing between the two.
“You’re… okay.” His father said. No remorse in his voice, rather a suggestion instead. As if he wanted his son to acknowledge that his presence was enough and that he can be sent on his own way. God knows how long it has been since they have even talked.
“I am okay, father.” He said. He’s not okay. His father seemed to buy into that lie, however.
His father nodded. “I will be on my way then.” He replied. Moving to the door as though staying in this room with his son on a hospital bed would kill him. Not because he’s heartbroken his son almost died, but because this conversation is slowly ending him. This is the longest they’ve spoken in two years. This is the only time they’ve spoken in two years.
He stopped himself at the door. Maybe he had something to say. Unimportant, probably, as his hesitance went away with his steps. His back towards his son. The only memory Chishiya had of his dad. He left.
Chishiya let out a huff. Great. Streak broken.
He looked at the bedside table again. At the tulips. Were you the one who left these?
God he’s pathetic. You’re not even here. Why would it be you who left them?
He gets the most underwhelming sleep of his lifetime in those hours. Maybe it’s because of his father. Although, it is probably because he is missing your presence. He would never say that out loud.
Your hair covered your face as you ran to class, evidently late for it. Chishiya waited for you near the college gate. He saw your silhouette pop out from afar. He still remembers that day. His hands were in his pockets, yours were waving at him, telling him to wait.
You were far enough for him to keep his distance, and close enough for him to exponentially let you in.
Then, you smiled.
He woke up to warm hands holding his. Yours. Of course they are yours. He recognises every line on your palm like it is present in the back of his head. Yet, you’re here, next to him. But you’re not smiling. He’s not smiling either.
“You’re next to me,” he said.
You gave him a look. What a raging statement, you thought. Where else could you be? Your heart still ached, but you had time to let it sink. You had time to let yourself think about the situation.
Because you didn’t get a call. You didn’t know he was a part of the strike. You had no clue that he was fighting for his life, struggling to stay alive. You had no clue he was doing it for you.
You found out from a doctor friend of yours, when he was in surgery. When he was fighting.
You sighed, “You’re alive.”
He nodded, as though he was scared that anything he said could be taken away from him, stripped from its real meaning and hurt you. He doesn’t want to hurt you at all. He’s afraid, but not afraid enough to not say something regardless. He’s afraid he’ll say something wrong, not that he's afraid he will regret saying nothing at all. He noticed this, but ever since he woke up from this strike, he is… different
Maybe you notice it too.
He hopes you notice it too.
“You weren’t here. When I woke up.” He admits, putting his heart and his emotions on his sleeves for you to pick up.
You scoffed.
“I kept those there.” You pointed at the tulips beside his bed, you thought of how smart yet incredibly dull he really is. You slowly let go of his hold on your hands, but before you could move, he sat up on his bed.
“You’re not supposed to move—” You explained, worried he will stretch his stitches.
He looked at you. Properly. With understanding. He stared at the circles under your eyes, your lips that didn’t quite seem right. You were next to him but you weren’t smiling. You weren’t you. He blames himself for that. How could he not? If he hadn’t put himself in this situation, you wouldn’t be in this situation. You would’ve taken better care of yourself.
He placed a strand of hair behind your ears, before he asked,
“Are you okay?”
“Shut up.” You stood up. How could he ask this? How can he have the audacity to ask you something he knew the answer to.
“You’re the one in the hospital gown.” You instead replied.
He chuckled at that. You didn’t.
“Hello?” You spoke up, your phone by your ears, waiting for Chishiya to respond.
He didn’t.
You wondered then, if he’s okay. Should you bombard him with questions? He usually never called. He was a big on text kind of guy. That is if he responded. You picked up some sounds from the other end. Maybe he butt-dialed.
He scares you, but his silence scares you more.
He huffed on the other end. Your eyes widened.
“I’m coming over.” You spoke with such certainty. Such profound trust and acclaim. Only for him.
You couldn’t leave. Not when he stares at you this way. What curse was this? His foot was down. He had nothing to say. Maybe he couldn’t, maybe he wouldn’t.
You sat back down. Hands on your thighs, crossed perfectly.
His hands reach for yours. For comfort. Definitely for comfort. Yeah, keep telling yourself that. You’re tired, and you’re sure he is too. Exhausted, probably.
“You’re different.” You raised a point, which was true. It had been one day since he had been awake and he was utterly and completely a different person. Not that you had any disdain for that. You were just… surprised.
He smirked at that, letting out a small huff, “Maybe I want you to pay attention to me.” He continued.
You scoffed at that, “I pay attention to you.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “Really?” He questioned. He didn’t think he was worthy of being paid attention to.
“I know you hate the smell of hospitals, it reminds you of your father. I know you secretly love tulips because your mind doesn’t tense around them unlike other flowers. I know you get irritated if you don’t get enough sleep. I know you only drink coffee with extreme amounts of sugar. I know you try to get energy from sugary foods. Which doesn’t work by the way, it is scientifically proven tha—” You stopped yourself.
Then, you continued, “That’s besides the point. I know you, Shun. Nothing is going to change that I have always known you. You just don’t realise that I do.” You explained. The use of the nickname for him made him jerk. It had been a while since you called him that.
“Do you not understand that I care?” You asked instead. Hurt glimmering in your eyes. How could he not know how much you felt for him? How deeply you cared?
“Feelings are unimportant.” He said, not looking in your direction. He can’t even face you while saying these things.
That enraged you, not because you are aware of his tendencies, but because you thought he wouldn’t be this way with you. Yet, here you were.
“Then why are you holding my hand?” You questioned. His hand still stayed on yours, nothing changed. He didn’t move it regardless of you pointing it out.
“Because you are important.” He stated. As though it was a matter-of-fact. As though you knew about it before he did. As though he was scared, that if he let your hand go, he will never be able to hold it again. And that is the pain he cannot endure. He cannot see you leave.
You looked frightened. Not from his declaration, more for his sudden expressive nature.
“My father came to visit me today. I realised what love is today. I know I am too late to this prerequisite. However, seeing you show up. I realised that is the true sight I want to wake up to.” He said, his eyes finally on yours. He was no longer trying to hurt you. Honestly, he never did.
“Did he leave?” You asked.
“Yes. He left.” He replied.
This meant that he truly accepted his father’s ghost. He wasn’t there anymore and Chishiya was absolutely alright with that. Chishiya spent the entirety of his emotionless childhood wanting to be known and to be loved, and here you were. His prized possession. Someone who did exactly that.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked, what he really meant by that is: Can I try giving you my soul? The first time I do it, it would be given to you. The first time I let my feelings free would be in the presence of you.
You nodded. He moved immediately as you gave him the sign to, patience leaving his broken body the second his other hand reaches your cheek. Eyes still on you.
His soft lips touched yours, and you let him take control. You were cautious for him, you wanted him to know that this was okay. Because it was. You were vulnerable. This was finally happening.
His lower lip sucked on yours as your hand made its way to his hair, there it was. He had done it. He had learnt to love. He had learnt that it was okay. And it was only possible because you were sitting on the hospital bed beside him.
He finally breathed into the air. Eyes, yet again, not leaving yours.
“Maybe I should’ve gotten into an accident sooner.” He started, smiling at you.
You smiled back before you hit his chest, before allowing yourself to laugh, letting the air around you get lighter.
He stared at your smile. That is what he first fell in love with. He might joke about the accident, but he would go through the accidents, pain, suffering. He would let all of his blood bleed out, if it meant he could experience the sweetness of her laughter again.
“I am still mad at you, you know.”