Archive of Our Own

Yuuji’s steps were heavy as he walked the beach alone. 

It was emptier than he expected. The air was cool, brushing his hair gently, ruffling the longer strands, blowing in his eyes and clouding the view of the water ahead of him. It’s cold, the kind of chill that settles into the sand and stays there. The sky is pale, with dark, hazy swirls of blue, darker clouds spiraling around the sky, and the moon casts a shine on the dark water. 

The blue reminds him. 

Pigments of a bluish green come to mind. Framed by hooded eyes and long eyelashes. So long the shadows dance on his face. His eyes soften, lips quirking slightly crookedly. Cool hands cup Yuuji’s jaw, thumbs ghosting over his cheekbones, then linger on his scarred lips. His face is close, a hot breath against Yuuji’s face. His lips part, eyes flickering to his lips where his fingers trace his mouth and gently run across the jagged skin of his scar. His eyes return to Yuuji, darker than they were before. 

“I love you.” He says, voice soft and low. 

Yuuji feels his eyes burn as tears prick. He doesn’t stop himself from closing the distance. His lips press gently against Megumi’s, then with more insistence. Megumi tilts his head, tightening his grip on Yuuji’s cheeks. Their lips slot together messily, Yuuji sighing as he presses even further. Megumi gives a pleased hum as he wraps his arms around broad shoulders. Yuuji’s arms encircle his waist, pulling him forward so their chests bump. 

Megumi kisses him like it’s his last chance. Passionate and sure, his hands ghost over his nape and cards through his short pink locks. He holds him tightly, as if worried he would disappear any moment now. His lips were soft as they moved against Yuuji’s, tongue peeking out to run across his bottom lip. Yuuji wastes no time parting his lips, letting their tongues meet and curl. 

Yuuji isn’t sure how long they stay like that, slowly exploring each other’s mouths, savoring the moment as the waves of the water move and pass through them, drenching their ankles and making shivers run through Yuuji’s spine. 

Megumi pulls back, catching his breath. He looks wrecked, breathing heavily, lips swollen, and his eyes, dark and hazy, still shine in the moonlight. Yuuji can’t look away; he could never figure out the color in his eyes. They enamored him completely, swirls of dark forest green colliding with dark, hazy blue. When the morning light would rest upon his face in the mornings, when he would lie entangled with Yuuji, eyes so soft with affection. Their arms would curl around each other’s waists, hands exploring naked skin in a soft, knowing gesture. 

Yuuji knew he’d never grow tired of it. 

He let his head fall forward, nestled in the junction between Megumi’s neck and shoulder, nose brushing his neck as he inhaled deeply. 

“I love you too.” He whispered against his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to his pulse. 

Yuuji felt a hand brush through his hair, another trailing down his arm to wrap around his back. They stayed like that, simply embracing each other on the beach as the cold water ran across their bare feet. 

“We’re gonna get sick,” Megumi mumbled, lips pressing into Yuuji’s hair. 

Yuuji tightened his arms around him. “It’s okay,” he replied. “Just a little longer.” 

Megumi exhaled slowly, carding his fingers through Yuuji’s short hair. “Okay.” 

For a moment, Yuuji wasn’t thinking about anything in the world around them. Right now, they’re just two people who had to grow up too fast, embracing on the beach while they pretend they’re safe. They knew that tomorrow, they might make a bad call, someone could get hurt, and this moment will be over. This, them, will be a memory. Something that makes his heart heavy, makes his chest hurt, and his eyes burn. Yuuji knows something is wrong. Megumi’s hair is starting to grow grey, vibrant against his dark, soft strands. His eyes crease more, and crinkles of pale skin are growing more noticeable. And all the while, Yuuji stays the same. 

Yuuji never cared. Megumi was his first love, his blessing. As Megumi aged, he only fell deeper in love with him. The way his hard exterior softened as Yuuji held him. The way his lips would curve to the side as he gave Yuuji amused looks after another one of his poorly timed jokes. His hands, always sure, grew needy and insistent. They grew closer with every year, falling deeper into one another’s orbit until the fact that one of them might leave one day prompted a sinking, nauseating feeling. 

They didn’t have forever, only Yuuji. 

Yuuji choked into Megumi’s neck, making Megumi’s arms tighten as he buried his face into Yuuji’s hair, inhaling deeply with a ragged, knowing breath. 

They both knew they didn’t have forever. And the fact made this moment all the more meaningful. 

⭑𓂃

Yuuji’s foot grazed something in the sand. He faltered, leaning down to press his hands into the cool water. He gently moved his hand through, fingers brushing against a smooth yet rough surface. He raised his hand from the depths and stared at the shell. 

It wasn’t anything special. It was a pale color, worn down to something almost colorless, like the ocean had taken its shine with it, sanding away anything sharp, anything bright, until all that was left was this quiet, muted thing sitting in his palm. 

Water slipped from the edges of it, dripping from his fingers as he turned it over. There were no markings he could see in the dim moonlight. No spirals or ridges that stood out. Just a faint texture beneath his thumb, uneven in a way that felt more like erosion than design. It was the kind of shell you’d pass by without noticing, half buried in the sand with hundreds of others just like it. 

Yuuji stared at it anyway. For a moment, all he could hear was the water again, closer now, lapping at his feet, the tide inching forward like it was trying to reclaim what he’d taken. The cold seeped through his soles, grounding him in a way that almost hurt. 

“You would’ve picked a better one,” He murmured. His words came out quietly, like he was trying not to disturb anything.

His grip tightened slightly around the shell before it loosened again, careful, like it might break if he held on too hard. It didn’t feel important. Not really. But his chest ached anyway, the same dull pull that had followed him down the length of the shore, settling somewhere deep and unmovable. 

Because Yuuji knew, without needing to think about it, that this wasn’t the kind of thing he would’ve kept. Not on his own. 

He exhaled slowly, eyes flickering back to the water, to the place where the tide folded over itself again and again, like it’s trying to remember something that doesn’t want to stay. 

And just like that, the feeling shifts. 

The cold isn’t as sharp, and the wind doesn’t feel as empty. He’s still standing in the same place, the same stretch of beach, but something settles over it, softening the edges and filling in the quiet with something warmer, something familiar. 

The shell is still in his hand. 

“Seriously?” Yuuji laughed, breathless. The sound is bright and unguarded in a way that it hasn’t been in a long time. “That one? Out of all of them?” 

Megumi doesn’t look up right away. He’s crouched near the edge of the water, fingers sifting through the wet sand like he’s actually considering the question. 

“It’s fine,” he says after a moment, tone flat. 

Yuuji stared at him, incredulous. “It’s literally broken.” 

“It’s not broken.” 

“It’s missing like, half of itself.” 

Megumi finally glances up at him, expression unimpressed, but there’s something softer underneath it, something that only shows up in moments like this, when there’s no one else but Yuuji around to see it. “It’s still a shell.” He says. 

Yuuji lets out a disbelieving huff, crouching down beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touch. “That’s a low bar,” he says, reaching out to nudge the thing in Megumi’s hand. “You could at least pretend to have standards. 

Megumi pulls back slightly, just out of reach, just enough that Yuuji can see his eyes. His goddamn eyes. Yuuji’s will was strong, but strength was never enough for him when Megumi was looking at him like this. 

“I do,” Megumi says. 

Yuuji smiled. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.” 

For a second, neither of them said anything. The water rolls in, curls around their bare feet before slipping back again, leaving the sand darker where it touched. Yuuji watched the motion of it, the way it smooths everything over like nothing was ever there to begin with. 

Then, quieter than before, Yuuji asks, “Why that one?” 

Megumi shrugs, like the answer doesn’t matter. Like none of it does. But he doesn’t put it back. “It’s still here,” He says simply. 

Yuuji blinks. “What?” 

Megumi turns the shell over between his fingers, brushing his thumb along its worn edge. “Most of them don’t last,” he says, nodding towards the water. “They break, or get pulled back. This one didn’t.” 

Yuuji looks at him again. Up close, it’s even less impressive, its edges dulled down, shape uneven, like it used to be something else before the ocean got to it. It doesn’t stand out; it doesn’t try to. 

“So your whole thing is just picking the ones that survive?” Yuuji asks. 

Megumi doesn’t answer right away. The wind shifts his hair, pushes it across his eyes, and he doesn’t bother fixing it. “I guess.” He finally says. 

There's something about the way he says it, too simple, too flat. It makes Yuuji pause like there's more there, something just under the surface, but not solid enough for him to grab onto. 

Yuuji opens his mouth, but he hesitates. Instead, he leans forward, pressing his hands into the damp sand, scanning the ground like he’s suddenly invested in the same pointless search. “Then I’m gonna find a better one,” Yuuji says at Megumi’s confused face. “One that survived and isn’t ugly.” 

Megumi exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. “Good luck.” 

Yuuji grins, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Wow. No faith in me at all, huh?” 

“No.” 

“Rude.” 

But he keeps looking anyway, fingers brushing through the sand, turning over bits of shell and stone. Most of them are broken. Some are sharp, some barely more than fragments at this point. He picks each shell up one by one, studies it, then tosses it back down. 

He grabs one. Too small. 

Another. Cracked right through its middle. 

“Okay, wait,” Yuuji says suddenly, holding something up between his fingers. “This one’s not bad.” 

Megumi glances over, unimpressed on instinct, but his gaze lingers a second longer than it needs to. 

It’s not perfect. The edge is chipped, one side worn thinner than the other, but it still has a faint curve to it, a shape that suggests what it used to be. Pale, like the others, but not completely washed out. Something of it remains. 

Yuuji beams anyway. “See? Way better.” 

Megumi hums, noncommittal. “It’s fine.” 

“Fine,” Yuuji echoes, offended. “This is leagues above yours.” He shifts a little closer without thinking, angling the shell towards Megumi as if he needs to see it properly. Their shoulders brush this time, solid and warm against each other; neither of them moves away. 

For a moment, it's just that, wind, water, the quiet rhythm of the tide, and the space between them that doesn’t feel like space at all. 

“You can have it,” Yuuji says quietly. 

Megumi’s eyes flick to his. “Why?” 

Yuuji shrugs, suddenly focused on the shell in his outstretched hand. “Because I found it,” Yuuji says, like that explains everything. “And I want you to have it.” 

Megumi studies him for a second longer, long enough that Yuuji can feel the weight his gaze carries. Then, after a pause, he reaches out. Their fingers brush, just barely as the shell changes hands. It’s quick, accidental. But Yuuji feels the warmth anyway. 

He pulls his hand back a little too fast, pressing it into the sand as if that’ll ground him and make the heat in his body refrain from showing on his face. 

Megumi doesn’t say anything. He just looks down at the shell now sitting in his palm, turning it over the same way he did the first one, careful and deliberate, as if it matters more than he’s willing to admit. 

“This one’s worse,” he says after a moment. 

Yuuji lets out a sharp laugh, the sound breaking through the quiet they shared. “You’re unbelievable.” 

Megumi’s mouth twitches as it is known to do around Yuuji. Slightly, just enough. He cradles the shell in his palm, ghosting his thumb over the ridges, scratching a nail against the chipped part on its side. But he doesn’t give it back. 

⭑𓂃

The shell sits in his palm, lighter than it should be. 

Yuuji stares at it for a long moment, his thumb tracing over its worn edges, the uneven curve. It's the same, of course it is. Still pale and dulled down to almost nothing, like it’s been stripped of whatever made it distinct before. 

It’s still here. 

Yuuji’s fingers tighten around it. It doesn’t feel right to be holding it. He almost wants to look to his side, but he knows he’d just stand there; he knows he’s alone. 

He turns it over in his palm, examining the other side as if there might be something different. But there isn’t. Just the same little chip along the edge, the same faint ridges worn smooth from years of being carried alone. 

He wonders where the one he gave Megumi went. 

The thought is almost comforting. Maybe he tucked it away somewhere, buried in the back of a drawer or forgotten in the pocket of an old jacket. Maybe Megumi put it somewhere only he would ever find. 

Then, Yuuji remembers that there is no drawer to look through anymore. No jacket hanging by the door. No quiet voice telling him he’s being stupid for worrying about something as insignificant as an old seashell. 

His thumb still strokes down the middle of it. He can still picture Megumi’s hand around it. Those hands that had changed so much over the years. Longer, rougher, then eventually thinner. Yuuji remembers all of it, but sometimes it feels like he’s remembering someone else’s life. 

He looks down at his own hand. There’s something cruel about how little has changed. The shell is still small enough to disappear beneath his fingers, the ocean is still loud and present, the sand still shifts beneath his feet. And the wind still smells the same, salty and fresh. 

Everything has stayed the same. Everything except for him.

Yuuji’s mouth pulls into something that almost resembles a smile; he wouldn’t know. It’s been so long since he’s felt the full gesture of a grin. It fades before he can even start. 

Yuuji’s throat tightens. He grips the shell just tight enough that it cuts into his skin, but not hard enough to break it. “You would have kept it,” he says to no one. 

The words don’t feel like a question. They settle somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and certain, like something he already knew the answer to, like something he’s just now catching up to. His thumb drags against it again, tracing the same worn curve, the same softening break. 

His grip tightens slightly. And suddenly, it's not the ocean he hears. It's quieter than that. Closer, somewhere filled with love and warmth and soft bickering that lacks any true anger. 

There’s a drawer that sticks when you try to open it. 

Yuuji yanks it a little harder than necessary, the wood giving with a dull scrape. “You seriously never fixed this?” he calls over his shoulder. 

“It works,” Megumi replies flatly from somewhere behind him. 

“This is not what ‘work’ means, Megs.” He says, pulling harder on the handle; the drawer opens just enough for him to reach into. 

“It opens.” 

Yuuji huffs under his breath, already digging through the mess inside: old receipts, random cords, things neither of them have touched in months. Then, Yuuji’s finger grazes something smooth through all the clutter, making him pause. 

“What’s this?” 

Megumi doesn’t answer right away. Yuuji frowns, pulling it free and holding it between his fingers. It’s a shell. Pale and worn. Uneven and ugly looking. But over all that, it's familiar. 

Yuuji turns slightly, glancing back at Megumi behind him. “You’ve been keeping this in here?” 

Megumi, leaning against the doorframe, barely spares it a glance. “Yeah.” 

Yuuji stares at him. “Why?” 

A shrug. Casual, like it doesn’t matter. “You gave it to me.” 

Yuuji blinks, eyebrows slightly pulled together. “That’s it?” 

Megumi finally looks at him, an eyebrow lifting. “What else would there be?” 

“I don’t know,” Yuuji says, turning the shell between his fingers. “I just figured you’d throw it out eventually.” 

“I wouldn’t do that.” 

Yuuji looks to him, and despite the indifference he’s trying to convey, his eyes are soft and vulnerable. Yuuji stares for another second, then he looks back at the shell in his scarred hands. 

It’s ridiculous. It’s barely even recognizable anymore. The edges are chipped, the surface dulled from years of being tossed around in the sea, and there are probably hundreds just like it, still scattered on the beach. 

But still, Megumi kept this one. All this time. 

Yuuji rubs his thumb over it, suddenly careful with it. “Guess I did pick you a good one.” 

“You didn’t.” 

“Hey.” Yuuji laughs, turning to Megumi, whose lips are dangerously close to forming a real smile. He walks over to Megumi, who still rests against the doorframe as he watches Yuuji approach. He wraps the hand not holding the shell around Megumi’s waist, pulling him close so they’re leaning on each other. “You kept it all this time?” He murmurs into the small space between them. 

Slowly, Megumi returns the embrace. His arms encircle Yuuji’s back as he leans back to see his face. “Yeah.” 

“Didn’t even put it somewhere nice.” 

“It’s fine where it is.” 

Yuuji huffs again, but there's no bite to it at all. He lifts the shell so it hovers between their faces, but his eyes aren’t on the shell. He stares into Megumi’s eyes and can’t stop his smile. 

“Don’t lose it.” He says. 

Megumi lifts a hand to hold Yuuji’s hand; his fingers graze the shell for a second before he presses back against the back of Yuuji’s hand. 

“I won’t.”

⭑𓂃

The sound of the ocean rushes back all at once. 

Cold. Loud, and endless. 

Yuuji’s breath catches as the memory slips out from under him, leaving something heavier in its place. He’s still holding the shell, his grip tight around it as he tries to ground himself to the cold, lonely present. 

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The wind cuts against his face, stirring his hair. He can feel the wet sand beneath his feet, the faint chill of water soaking his feet. Everything is exactly where it should be, and yet it all feels wrong. 

His eyes fall to the shell again. He turns it slowly between his fingers, searching the worn surface without really knowing what he’s looking for. The memory of Megumi holding it while he smiles in Yuuji’s arms is still so close that Yuuji almost expects to see his hands instead of his own. 

He almost expects him to be here with him. 

Yuuji swallows, his throat suddenly tight. He looks out toward the water, blinking as the horizon blurs for a moment. He tries to breathe through it, but every breath seems to remind him of how quiet it is beside him. How there should be someone there. Someone who would complain about the wind, who would poke fun at how hard he’s staring at an ugly seashell. Someone who would take it from his hand without asking and keep it somewhere safe. 

The air shifts, salt heavier in the air. The quiet settles differently.

And suddenly, he’s back, and he’s not alone anymore. 

He’s not standing this time. He’s sitting in the sand as the hot sun beams upon him. The sand dips beneath his weight, still hot from the sunny day, the heat clinging faintly even as the cool afternoon air rolls in. The waves stretched out in front of them, calmer now, a slow, steady rhythm instead of something restless. 

Megumi sits beside him, close enough that their shoulders touch. Neither of them is speaking; it’s quiet and peaceful. The only noise is the sound of the breeze ruffling the sand and the slow, steady push and pull of the water ahead of them. It’s not uncomfortable; it never is. 

Yuuji leans back on his hands, tilting his face slightly towards the sky. The colors are softer now, bleeding into each other as the sun sinks lower into the horizon, painting everything in gold and a fading blue. He exhales; the sea air is so fresh and clean, much better than the stuffy apartment they share nearby. While Yuuji loves living together and loves their shared home, on a hot day like today it feels wrong to be sitting inside, so he dragged Megumi back to the beach so they could sit and look at the water until the sun finally set and it became too cold to stay. 

Megumi was sitting next to him, so close their thighs touched. He had a book open in front of him, his eyes slowly scanning each page in a quiet concentration Yuuji always envied. 

Yuuji turned his head to stare. Megumi’s eyes were downcast at the book in his lap, his thumb and forefinger holding lightly onto the page, ready to flick to the next any moment now. The color of his eyes looked subdued in the lighting, softer than they usually did. 

His gaze wandered to the slight furrow between Megumi’s brows as he concentrated. The dark sweep of his lashes against his cheeks. The few strands of black hair that fell loosely over his forehead until he eventually got annoyed and pushed them away. Yuuji had to stop himself from doing it himself; he was content to just stare and bask in the lazy afternoon spent by his side. 

There was something about seeing Megumi so quiet and comfortable, completely unaware of being watched, that made Yuuji’s chest ache. He wanted to reach over and touch him. Maybe sling an arm around his shoulder and pull him closer. Maybe just lean a hand forward and brush those loose strands away himself, letting his fingers linger against Megumi’s cheek for no reason other than that he could. 

“You’re staring,” Megumi says, eyes still locked on the pages in front of him. 

Yuuji doesn’t bother pretending otherwise. “Yeah,” he admits. 

Megumi spares him a look; his eyes are already narrowed as he glances over to see Yuuji’s grin. 

Yuuji chuckles lightly. “Can’t help it.” 

Megumi sighs, but Yuuji is quick to notice the way one corner of his lips quirks ever so slightly upwards. He returns to his book, letting Yuuji continue staring. Yuuji turns his head completely towards him now, looking at him properly now that he’s been caught. His gaze drifts, slowly and unhurriedly, to the line of his jaw, then lower to where his shirt collar dips just enough to reveal the edge of something pale against his skin. 

It’s a scar. Not new or fresh. Just there, and Yuuji’s mind concentrates on the way it settles against his skin. It’s paler than the rest of his neck, just a thin, jagged line etched into his skin right next to his pulse point and trailing down to his collarbones. 

Yuuji shifts straighter, leaning a little more into Megumi’s space. “Can I?” he asks. 

Megumi lifts his head, brows pulled together faintly in confusion. “Can you what?” He asks.

 Yuuji nods his head in his direction, eyes completely trained on the faint scar. “That.” He says quietly. 

There's a pause where Megumi just looks at him, trying to read something that Yuuji isn’t fully saying. He shifts in the sand, suddenly self conscious despite his indifference to Yuuji’s staring before. “...Why?” he asks. 

Yuuji shrugs, but it’s not careless. “I just want to,” he says. 

Megumi watches him for another second, then, like it doesn’t matter, “Fine,” he mumbles, casual and dismissive even. But he doesn’t move away; if anything, he turns his body to face Yuuji even more. 

Yuuji shifts closer, his movements careful and slow enough that Megumi could stop him if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. He reaches out, fingers brushing against the edge of his collar, hesitating for just a second before pushing the fabric aside. The scar is smaller up close, faded and easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. Yuuji’s expression softens. 

Megumi shifts under his touch, not pulling away but not fully relaxed either. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, his face turning pink. 

Yuuji’s brows knit together immediately. “It’s not nothing.” 

“It is,” Megumi insists, like this is a conversation he’s had before. 

Yuuji doesn’t argue this time, not with words. Instead, he leans in slowly, giving Megumi time to react, to pull away, to say anything to voice discomfort. But he doesn’t. He just angles his head to the side so his neck is bared to Yuuji. 

Yuuji’s lips press gently against the scar, soft and lingering on his warm skin. 

Megumi goes still; his breathing is quicker than it was before. But he stays silent as he feels Yuuji nudge his nose against his pulse. 

Yuuji doesn’t rush it. He doesn’t make it into something bigger than it is. He just stays there for a moment longer, like he’s acknowledging it, as it matters simply because it’s part of him. His lips ghost along his neck until he finds his collarbones, feeling the rougher patches of skin against his lips as he continues to press warm, lingering pecks to the scar. He feels Megumi shake, he can feel the way his pulse quickens as Yuuji’s lips land upon the center of his neck. Yuuji presses one last kiss to his jaw before tilting his head to breathe into his neckline. Then he pulls back slightly, just enough to speak. 

“I love you, you know,” he says. 

Megumi’s breath catches, barely there, but Yuuji can feel it. 

“That’s not—” Megumi starts, but it falls apart halfway through. 

Yuuji shakes his head, leaning closer again so their foreheads almost brush. “I know,” he says. “I just…” He exhales softly. “I love that you’re here.” 

The words settle between them, heavier than they should be. Megumi looks at him, really looks this time. Something in his expression shifts, something unguarded slipping through before he can stop it. “You’re an idiot,” he mutters. 

Yuuji smiles. “Yeah.” He chuckles. 

Megumi’s hand comes up, resting briefly against Yuuji’s wrist where it still lingers near his collar. He doesn’t push him away; he just rests there. “Don’t make it a big deal,” he adds, almost a whisper. 

Yuuji nods, just once. “Okay.” He says, leaning in again. Another kiss, soft and light against his pale skin, then another just beside the first. Not making it bigger, just not letting it be reduced to nothing. 

Megumi exhales slowly, tension easing out of his shoulders in a way that’s almost imperceptible. They sit like that for a long while, close and quiet, lips against skin over and over again. They sit until the sun is just a speck peeking out over the water. Till the light is almost gone. 

The ocean continues to move in front of them, endless and steady. Yuuji doesn’t say anything else; he doesn’t think he has to. Because Megumi is here with him, his skin is warm under his lips. 

And for now, that’s enough. 

⭑𓂃

The tide rolls in, then out. Cold water curls around Yuuji’s ankles before slipping away again, leaving the sand dark and colder than before. He watches it happen, the same motion, over and over. For a second, it feels like nothing has changed. 

Then, the sound shifts. Not gone, just quieter. Replaced by something further away, muffled and uneven. 

Megumi’s breathing is wrong. 

Yuuji notices it before he’s even fully awake. His breaths are too fast, too shallow, like it keeps catching on something that won’t settle. 

Yuuji doesn’t move right away; he lies in bed listening. His foggy brain is still processing whether the bed is shaking or if it's just him. 

He counts.

One. 

Two. 

Three–

It doesn’t slow. If anything, the choked sounds grow louder. 

“...Megumi?” he says quietly, voice still rough with sleep. 

“No,” Megumi says, voice hitched. He answers too quickly, his voice too tight to mean anything good. Yuuji pushes himself onto one elbow, the sheets shifting softly beneath him. The room is dark, faint light slipping in through the curtains, just enough to make out the shape of him. 

He’s turned away from Yuuji, curled into himself slightly like he’s trying to take up less space. At first, it looks like he’s frozen, but Yuuji sees the way his shoulder shakes, the small quivers of panic that anyone else might miss. But not Yuuji. 

“I’m fine,” Megumi adds, voice still chipped like he had to force the words out. 

Yuuji exhales softly. “Yeah,” he says, just as quietly. “Okay.” He doesn’t argue, he doesn’t push. He just shifts closer to Megumi in bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Megumi tenses for a second, then stills. Yuuji hesitates, but then he lets his hand rest lightly against his back. Not holding him, just trying to tell him he’s there. He slowly guides his hand gently against his back, then to his sides. His hands wander softly against him, trying to gently ease the frustrated tense to his body. 

Megumi’s breath catches. “Go back to sleep,” he mumbles, his voice breathless and wavering. 

Yuuji hums faintly. “In a minute.” 

There’s another intake of breath, still too fast. Yuuji leans in, pressing his forehead gently between Megumi’s shoulder blades, his hands still continuing their slow strokes along his sides. 

“Hey,” he murmurs into Megumi’s shirt. “Breathe with me.” 

There’s no answer, but Yuuji inhales anyway, slowly and deeply. Then exhales just as steadily. He does it again, rubbing Megumi’s back as he lets out deep breaths of air against his neck. For a while, that’s all there is. Steady, controlled breathing. The quiet creak of the bed when Megumi shifts slightly. The faint rustle of fabric as Yuuji’s thumb starts moving in slow, absent circles against his back, trying to ground him. Just to show that he’s there with him. 

Megumi’s fingers twitch against the sheets, then he reaches to curl his hands. Not into the sheets but into Yuuji’s sleeve. He holds him tightly, and trembles like he didn’t mean to. 

Yuuji stills for just a second, something warm and aching settling in his chest. He doesn’t say anything about it, just shifts his hand upwards, turning it so he can lace their fingers together and let Megumi have something warm to hold onto. 

Megumi doesn’t pull away. His breathing catches again, then slows. Not steady or slow, not yet. But closer to something regular and not so panicked. 

Yuuji keeps going, resting his cheek on Megumi’s back. “In,” he murmurs quietly, barely more than a breath. He pauses as he waits for Megumi to suck in a shaky breath of air. “Out.” He exhales. Megumi follows this time. Barely, but it's there. 

Yuuji presses a small, absent kiss against the back of his shoulder, just at the edge of where his shirt had ridden up. “You’re okay,” he says softly. 

Megumi shakes his head once, sharp and frustrated. “No, I’m not.” He chokes. It comes out shakier than he probably meant it to. Yuuji tightens his arms around him just slightly. 

“Then stay here,” he says. “With me.” 

There’s a pause. Megumi’s fingers tighten in his sleeve, his breathing stutters. Then, the sound evens out just a little more, enough to let Yuuji know he’s trying to breathe with him. 

Yuuji exhales quietly, relief threading through it. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. 

This time, Megumi doesn’t argue. He doesn’t deflect or tell him to stop. He doesn’t push him away or leave. He just stays. Pressed against Yuuji’s chest, solid and real, his grip in Yuuji’s hand still tight like he’s afraid something might slip again if he lets go. 

Yuuji doesn’t move. He doesn’t rush anything. He just keeps breathing, keeps holding onto Megumi for as long as he needs him to. Until slowly, Megumi’s weight shifts more fully against him. Not tense now, not braced or rigid, just there, resting. 

He leans back until Yuuji’s face is nestled into his hair. Yuuji tightens his grip, letting out a sigh. He moves his hands now, still resting with Megumi’s, to hook around his waist so he can pull him closer. Megumi doesn’t fight it, he lets himself be pulled close, lets Yuuji inhale his scent and press a soft, lingering kiss once more to his nape. 

They stay like that, and Yuuji’s eyes don’t shut until he feels Megumi go boneless in his arms. Until he hears his breathing even out, and he can count the soft puffs of air escaping his lips as he falls back to sleep. 

Only then does Yuuji let his eyes slip closed. 

The ocean is back. Loud and cold. 

Yuuji stands where he was before, the tide continuing to curl around him like nothing ever interrupted it. His fingers are still wrapped around the wet shell in his hands, its edges pressing into his palm. 

He stares out at the water. For a moment, he can almost still feel Megumi against him. The weight of him. The uneven rhythm of his breathing slowly settled beneath Yuuji’s hands. The way his fingers had curled into the back of Yuuji’s shirt, holding on until the worst of it had passed. 

Yuuji exhales slowly. He opens his mouth to say something, anything. But he can’t find the words. They feel too heavy on his tongue, because he remembers how it felt to be the one holding them together. How naturally it had once seemed. If one of them was falling apart, the other would be there. They would always stay. Yuuji would hold him until his breathing evened out, telling him it was okay. That he wasn’t alone. That he loved him. 

They just ran out of time. 

Yuuji feels a hot sense of anger suddenly run through his veins. He growls, but it comes out raspy and choked. He raises his hand behind him, for one ugly second, he tells himself to throw the shell deeper into the ocean. Where it’ll be tossed throughout the water until it reaches shore once again, even more broken and ugly than it was before. He draws his arm back, the ocean stretching out in front of him, dark and endless. He could send it flying, watch it disappear beneath the waves. Let the water take it somewhere he can’t follow. 

His fingers loosen. But he can’t. He freezes and brings his hand back in front of him to look down at the shell once more. It sits innocently in his palm, resting beside the two stubs of flesh where two fingers used to be. It’s the same stupid, worn little thing Megumi would have kept tucked away somewhere. The same one he would have called ugly and kept it anyway simply because Yuuji gave it to him. 

Yuuji’s arm slowly falls back to his side. “No,” he whispers. His fingers curl around it again, so tight it risks snapping it in two. He can’t do it, not to something Megumi would have kept. His throat tightens, and Yuuji presses the shell against his palm until his hand burns in protest. The anger burns itself almost as quickly as it came, leaving nothing behind but the ache underneath. 

Yuuji’s grip tightens around the shell. The thought feels strange now. His chest aches with something he can’t quite name, and he lowers his gaze to the water washing over his feet. The tide retreats again, smoothing the sand behind it. 

Yuuji hates this part. But with one memory, another always follows. 

And this was the one he dreaded the most. 

⭑𓂃

The room is quiet in a way that feels settled, not empty. The window is cracked open just enough to let the air in, the curtains shifting faintly with each passing breeze. Somewhere outside, something rustles, leaves maybe. Yuuji doesn’t really focus on it. The sound just exists, bleeding into everything else. 

Megumi is warm. 

That’s the first thing Yuuji notices, even now. His hand is still warm where Yuuji holds it, fingers curled loosely together, like he never quite let go of the habit. His grip isn’t strong anymore, it hasn’t been for a while, but it’s still there. It’s enough. 

Yuuji shifts in his chair, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting against the edge of the bed. He’s been sitting there for a while now. Long enough that his back has started to ache, and time has started to blur into something softer around its edges. 

He doesn’t mind, though. He’s spent so much time in this room that the dark promise it keeps almost evaded him completely at this point. Almost. 

“You’re gonna hate this,” Yuuji says after a moment, voice quiet but steady. “But I went back there.” 

Megumi doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t expect him to. Yuuji’s thumb brushes lightly over the back of his hand in a small, absent motion. 

“The beach,” he adds, softer now. “The same one.” 

For a second the words just sit there between them. Then just barely, Megumi’s fingers shift. It’s so small that Yuuji almost misses it. But it’s there, a faint tightening against Yuuji’s hand, like recognition without the energy to fully form it. Yuuji’s breath catches, just slightly, and something warm flickers through his chest. 

“Yeah,” Megumi murmurs. “Thought so.” 

Yuuji huffs a quiet laugh, the sound gentler than it used to be, worn down in the same way everything has been over time. “I found another one,” he continues. “A shell.” 

His gaze drops to their entangled hands, to the way Megumi’s fingers rest against his, lighter now, thinner and frail, but still his.

“Not a good one,” Yuuji admits. “You would’ve said it was worse than yours.” He pauses, letting a small smile come to his shaky lips. “You’d still keep it though.” 

The corners of Megumi’s mouth shift, just barely. It’s not a smile, more of a grimace as he bites his lip. Yuuji notices how his eyes shine, he can almost see his own reflection in them. His chest tightens, something sharp and soft all at once. 

“Yeah,” Megumi says softly, barely audible. “I would.” 

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It settles around them easily, like it always has. Yuuji leans back slightly in his chair, eyes drifting around the room without really focusing on anything. There’s a jacket draped over the back of another chair. Yuuji’s. The one he always let Megumi wear on nights they took their walks. Back when Megumi was still able to get out of bed. 

There’s a chipped mug on the nightstand, the one Megumi refused to throw out even after Yuuji dropped it. 

“It still works.”  

Yuuji had argued with him about it for about ten minutes. Megumi ended up keeping it anyway. Yuuji’s gaze lingered there for a second before drifting back to Megumi’s face. 

“Remember when you tried to cook for us that one time?” Yuuji asks suddenly, a little more lightly. 

There’s no response. Yuuji smiles anyway. “You said it was fine,” he goes on. “And then we had to order food anyway because you almost set the kitchen on fire.” 

Megumi’s breathing stays slow, shallow, steady. He doesn’t respond. 

Yuuji exhales softly through his nose, shaking his head. “You were so stubborn about it, too,” he mumbles. “Wouldn’t even admit it tasted bad.” He chuckled. 

There's silence, then, so soft and quiet. “You ate it anyway.” 

That one sits differently. Yuuji’s smile fades just a little at the edges, softening into something else. Something heavier but not painful in the same sharp way it was before. 

“You always did,” Yuuji says, almost to himself. “Kept things. Even when they weren’t perfect.” His grip in Megumi’s hand shifts carefully, like he’s adjusting something fragile. Megumi’s hand is still warm, still here. 

Yuuji leans forward, resting their joined hands more securely against the mattress, his other hand coming up to steady them without thinking. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

“I didn’t notice it at first,” Yuuji admits, voice dropping. “Back then.” His words come slower now. He swallows, the motion subtle but there. “Which is worse,” he adds under his breath. 

The room stays quiet. The curtains shift again, light moving across the floor in a slow, almost unnoticeable pattern. Yuuji watches it for a second before looking back to the bed where Megumi hasn’t moved. He just lies there, still. But he’s still breathing. 

Yuuji’s thumb brushes lightly over his hand again, slower this time, just caressing wrinkled skin. 

“We were okay, right?” he asks, the words slipping out before he can stop them. Not deliberate, just honest. 

He’s not expecting a response. But Megumi’s finger twitches in his hold, making him look up. 

Megumi has a small smile on his lips, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “We did alright.” He says. His fingers shift again, faint and barely there. But deliberate this time, there’s a small tightening, like something answered without needing words. 

Yuuji exhales, something in his chest loosening all at once. “Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes prickling with tears he doesn’t try to stop. “Okay.” 

His grip steadies, holding on without holding too tight. They sit like that for a while; time stretches silently, folding in on itself the same way the tide does, coming in, slipping back, never really stopping. 

Yuuji talks a little more. About nothing important. About everything all at once. Small things, old things. The kind of things that don’t feel like goodbyes until you realize they are. 

Eventually, his voice slows. The pause gets longer, and the room becomes silent. Megumi’s breathing evens out, then softens. Then stills. 

It happens so gently, Yuuji almost doesn’t notice it at first. 

There's no sharp moment. No clear line between before and after. Just a quiet that settles deeper than the rest. Yuuji’s hand stills where it holds Megumi’s. He waits, just in case. For a second, and then another. 

But nothing changes. The warmth is still there, but the moment isn’t. 

Yuuji exhales shakily, the sound hitched as something in his chest shifts, heavy and final. 

“...Hey,” he chokes. He gives up on pretending he doesn’t hear the way it cracks. He looks down at their hands, at the way Megumi’s fingers rest against his, still curved slightly like they always had been. Carefully, Yuuji adjusts his grip, lacing their fingers together properly this time and holding on. “I love you,” he sobs. His thumb brushes once more over the back of Megumi’s hand, the motion familiar and automatic. 

“Okay?” He whispers, pressing his lips to the back of Megumi’s hand. 

Megumi doesn’t answer. And the room doesn’t answer for him. It doesn’t need to. Yuuji sits there; he doesn’t know how long. Hand in his, the quiet settles around him in a way that feels empty and broken. 

He’s gone. 

Just kept. 

⭑𓂃

Yuuji stands where the water meets the sand, the tide rolling in and out like it always has, like it always will. Nothing about it has changed. The same stretch of shore, the same endless horizon, the same steady rhythm of waves folding over themselves again and again. 

He exhales slowly. 

His hair falls into his face when the wind picks up, longer now, brushing past his jaw and catching at the corner of his eyes. It’s unfamiliar in a way he’s stopped questioning. There are a lot of things he’s stopped questioning. 

Time mostly, or the lack of it. 

The water slips over his bare feet, cold and grounding. It soaks into the cuffs of his rolled pants, darker where it clings, but he doesn’t move back. He never does. For a moment, he just stands there, listening. The ocean fills everything. There's no break in it, no pause, no place for anything else to settle. It’s loud but not overwhelming. Just constant. 

Yuuji closes his eyes, he can almost….

Not hear him. Not really. But something close to it. A space where a voice used to be. A shape in the quiet that still feels familiar, even if it's not there anymore. 

He lifts his hand where the shell still sits. It’s still here. Of course it is. His fingers curl around it, thumbs brushing the faint crack running along its side. It hasn’t changed. Not really. It’s still pale and eroded. Still present, despite being pulled back and forth to get where Yuuji could find it. 

Yuuji lets out a small breath, something almost like a laugh but quieter. Thinner. “You were right,” he murmurs, voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves. It feels strange to talk like this, but he doesn’t stop. “They don’t last,” he continues, eyes opening again as his vision turns cloudy. He looks somewhere past the water, past the horizon. “Most of them.” 

The tide pulls back, dragging the sand with it, smoothing everything over. He watches it happen, watches the way it erases the edges, the marks, the places where anything used to be. 

“...But some do.” He says. His grip tightens slightly around the shell. For a second, the wind shifts. It’s suddenly warmer, familiar. 

Yuuji stills. But nothing comes. Just the air moving differently. Just his mind filling in the gaps where something used to be. He knows that. He does, but still..

His shoulder eases, just a little. “Hey,” he says softly. 

The word doesn’t go anywhere. It sinks into the sound of the ocean, into the open space in front of him, into something that doesn’t answer back. Yuuji doesn’t wait for it. He’s gotten used to that part. Instead, he steps forward. The water rises higher this time, pushing past his ankles, curling around his calves before slipping back again. Cold and isolating. 

He stands there for a second longer, then crouches, lowering himself until his hand dips into the water. The shell still rests in his palm. Carefully, he turns it once more between his fingers, tracing the same worn curve he’s traced a hundred times before. 

“...I kept it,” he says. “Like you would’ve.” 

The words settle. Simple yet certain. Yuuji’s throat tightens, just slightly, but he doesn’t look away. Not from the water. Not from the place where the tide folds over itself again and again, like he’s trying to hold onto something it can’t keep. 

“Guess I get it now,” he murmurs. 

Another wave rolls in, brushing his hand; it’s colder than before. Yuuji exhales slowly, his fingers curl a little tighter around the shell instead of loosening. Not enough to crush it. It’s solid, real, it’s still his. He lets the water move around his hand, lets it pull and push, tugging gently on his hand like it’s asking for something back. 

Yuuji doesn’t give it. 

After a moment, he pulls his hand free from the tide, droplets slipping from his fingers, catching faintly in the low light before disappearing back into the sand. The shell stays in his palm, he studies it, expression dim. Something settled instead of breaking. Then, carefully, he slips it into his pocket. His hand lingers around it, not like he’s checking. Just that he knows. 

The wind picks up again, tugging at his hair, pushing it back from his face. He remembers soft, strong knuckles, ghosting over his jaw like the wind as it sweeps through his face. 

Yuuji straightens slowly, rising to his feet and just stands there. Looking, listening. But the ocean doesn’t change. It doesn’t pause; it doesn’t care. And somehow, that’s okay. 

Yuuji exhales, long and steady, something in his chest loosening in a way that doesn’t feel like it’s gonna break this time. Not quite. “...I’ll be okay,” he says, the words quiet but firm, like he’s testing them, letting them settle into something real. 

There’s no answer, but there doesn’t need to be. Yuuuji glances out at the horizon one last time. Then he turns. The sand shifts under his feet as he starts to walk, steps slow at first, then steadier. The distance stretches out in front of him, long and unfamiliar and entirely his. 

Behind him, the tide rolls again, washing over the place where he stood. Smoothing it over, like he was never there at all. 

The ocean keeps moving. 

And Yuuji…

He keeps going.