Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shizusumi waits patiently in front of Hiiragi’s door, his outstretched hand retreating to his side. He’s rung the doorbell and knocked endlessly for at least five minutes now. He ignores the weird looks he gets from the passing neighbours. 

The rain is getting heavier. The droplets falling more rapidly, striking at the umbrella above his head. At first, all Shizusumi could hear was the violent strides of rain, maybe a bit of thunder. But then eventually there came gentle steps from inside the house, padding down the stairs and stopping right at the door. His ears twitch at the sound of quiet pacing against the wooden floor. 

His eyes narrow. Hiiragi is so close yet so far, anxiously mulling over whether he should let Shizusumi in or not. He can already imagine the flustered look on his face. His grip on the umbrella tightens. 

He wishes Hiiragi would confide in him, especially during times like this. But he knows that for now, all he can do is wait for Hiiragi to come to him, to let him be by his side. 

And so he stands in place, stone faced, allowing Hiiragi to take all the time he needs, even if it means he becomes drenched in rain.

— 

“Take the goddamn towel.” 

Shizusumi’s fingers brush against Hiiragi’s. The softness of Hiiragi’s skin contrasts with the roughness of the fabric, and Shizusumi finds himself, once again, wanting to touch Hiiragi until he’s entirely his.

He pushes away the thought. 

“Thanks.” Shizusumi pats the towel over his soaked shirt. 

He can feel Hiiragi’s gaze on him. It’s reserved. Guarded. So unlike him. But at the same time, Shizusumi can understand it. 

After all, Yuki’s funeral was only a few days ago, and Hiiragi most certainly still has unprocessed feelings that he needs to work through. 

He rubs the towel against a particularly wet spot. “Has Mafuyu contacted you at all?”

Hiiragi bristles, his eyes narrowing and fists clenching. Shizusumi knows how much Mafuyu means to Hiiragi, too. 

“No.” Hiiragi says bitterly. “That little shit completely disappeared.” 

Shizusumi remembers. He had seen the look in Mafuyu’s eyes at the funeral. It was like his entire world was gone. All its light drained away along with Yuki’s death. 

He remembers seeing him leave. How he had disappeared into the cold city air among the crowd of guests as if he was no one but another bypasser. 

“I’m worried about him.” Shizusumi admits, though he’s sure his tone is cursed to be as emotionless as usual. 

Hiiragi rolls his eyes and snatches the towel from his hand. Shizusumi lets him. 

“Then shouldn’t you be at his house? Why the hell are you here? I thought I told you I didn’t wanna see anyone for a few days.” 

Even upon layers of defenses, Hiiragi sounds so incredibly hurt, his voice tight and stiff like it’s holding back tremors. Shizusumi watches as Hiiragi discards the towel into the laundry basket. It’s messy and full, filled with a week’s worth of clothes. Next to it lies bags of garbage Hiiragi seems to have forgotten about or simply lacked the energy to take out.

He resists the urge to grimace. 

“I don’t want you to be alone.” 

Hiiragi pauses at the casual admission and his head snaps towards Shizusumi. Their eyes lock onto each other like their gaze is magnetic, and Shizusumi has to consciously keep his face neutral as he sees Hiiragi looking at him like he’s the only thing preventing him from falling apart completely. 

They stand on opposite ledges of the room. The rain from outside suddenly a lot louder. Its heaviness fills the empty space, and Shizusumi pushes his luck by moving closer. 

Hiiragi immediately recoils and bumps the back of his head on the wall with a thud. He winces in pain, his hand coming up to rub at his skull. 

“Shit, that hurts…” 

Shizusumi doesn’t come any closer. 

They stay in a sort of stalemate for a few moments, still and quiet, neither of them wanting to speak first. The rain continues to pour outside. Their soft breaths mix within the confined space. A brush of a hand against clothes, against one’s hair. 

Hiiragi’s face scrunches and he desperately looks away. 

“Don’t just say stuff like that.” Hiiragi’s voice cracks. 

Shizusumi crosses the room in a few short strides, his arms stretching to pull Hiiragi into his embrace before he can see the tears roll down his cheek.

—

He takes out the last bag of trash and wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. The sun is suddenly blazing hot. He lifts his head to admire the blue sky, its grey clouds slowly dissipating. The brightness makes his eyes narrow. He focuses on the puff of air he breathes out.

He turns and walks back into the house, glancing at the clock before his gaze lands upon Hiiragi’s curled up body on the couch. The sunlight shines through the thin curtains of his living room, casting shadows on Hiiragi’s face. He approaches his small form and sits down slowly, the couch dipping with his weight. Hiiragi stirs. 

“Hiiragi,” he calls out softly. His hand lingers above Hiiragi’s hair for a moment before it returns back to his lap. 

Hiiragi’s eyes flutter open, red and tired. He looks up at Shizusumi through the gaps of his fingers, blinking rapidly to cast away the dryness that lingers. 

Shizusumi’s expression softens, his hands itch. “I helped you clean up the place a little.” 

Hiiragi averts his gaze, and his hand falls onto the surface of the couch. He’s probably feeling pissy about the fact he needed help with something as trivial as cleaning. But Shizusumi doesn’t care how Hiiragi feels about it. He just would rather Hiiragi not live in a garbage dump. 

“Thanks.” Hiiragi mumbles begrudgingly. 

Shizusumi nods in acknowledgement, ignoring the halfheartedness in Hiiragi’s tone. 

They exist within each other’s silent presence, and Shizusumi takes the opportunity to study Hiiragi’s face. He looks distant, his gaze hazy and avoidant, staring at the ceiling and burning a hole into it. 

He almost looks like Mafuyu, which is a weird thing to say since they’re nothing alike. But that expression on Hiiragi’s face… 

It’s the face Mafuyu used to wear whenever the three of them made music together. His gaze empty, mouth slightly parted like he had something to say but no sound would ever come out. Whatever he had in mind would always die at the tip of his tongue as soon as he forced his lips apart. 

He probably thought none of them were looking. They always acted like they were too invested in Yuki’s music to ever care about anything else. But Shizusumi always noticed, the way Mafuyu always stared at them like they were going somewhere far away. Somewhere beyond his reach. The distance between them furthering more and more each day. 

It must have made him feel out of place. Like he was unimportant. Maybe that was what the argument was about. 

Then why would Hiiragi look the same? 

“Shizu…”

Shizusumi’s brows furrow. He focuses on Hiiragi, whose gaze is still fixed into nothingness. 

“Did you know this was going to happen?” 

Hiiragi’s words are soft and slow. Like he’s drowning in quicksand but resigned to his fate. Shizusumi stares.

“You were there when they were arguing, too. Do you think… we could have done something?” 

Shizusumi’s gaze hardens. The curtains flap against the windowsill. 

Truth be told, he doesn’t really feel much about Yuki’s death. It’s an odd feeling, but he doesn’t seem to be grieving like the rest of the world is. 

It’s odd to see the empty desk in the classroom. It’s odd that they won’t be able to make music together ever again. It’s odd that their group chat has gone weeks without a notification. 

But he doesn’t think they could have done anything. Yuki was his own person. He wasn’t anyone’s responsibility, even if everyone acted like he was their entire world. 

“No.” Shizusumi answers bluntly, pushing down the small feeling of jealousy that's beginning to brew in his chest. 

Hiiragi shifts next to him, and suddenly he’s sitting up and locking eyes with him with a guilt-ridden expression. 

“Why not?” Hiiragi’s eyes are wide with desperation. “We saw what happened. We could’ve…” 

“We couldn’t have done anything.” Shizusumi interjects, his fingers subconsciously curling against the fabric of his pants. He fiddles with a stray thread. “Not even Mafuyu could have.” 

Hiiragi gapes, tears welling up in his eyes again, and Shizusumi must be an utterly horrible person for still feeling jealous about a dead friend who’s literally suffered a tragedy. 

But he doesn't feel like setting it aside this time. He doesn't feel like comforting Hiiragi right now. 

Because although his pain is understandable, his guilt is unnecessary. He will heal when he learns to forgive himself. But anything Shizusumi can think of saying right now is meaningless, even if he tells him a million times that Yuki’s death isn’t his fault. 

Shizusumi swallows thickly.

That’s something he’s had to tell himself ever since Yuki’s death, too. 

“I can stay the night if you need.” Shizusumi offers. 

At least then they can be together for a while longer. 

Hiiragi blinks in surprise, then he wipes his tears with shaky fingers. Shizusumi’s eyes widen a little when he realises Hiiragi’s cheeks are tainted with a faint shade of pink once he moves his hands away. 

“Okay.” Hiiragi whispers.  

— 

“Can we still play as Syh?” 

Shizusumi stills. He quickly swallows the rice in his mouth, and he watches Hiiragi push the tempura around his Tendon. Normally Hiiragi would devour the whole thing in under 20 minutes. But now he’s just poking at it like he’s trying to figure out if he can resurrect the fried shrimp. 

“Do you want to?” he responds, already digging in for another bite. 

There’s a small grimace on Hiiragi’s face, his eyes lacking the light they usually hold as they stare intently at his food. Shizusumi’s heart twists. Hiiragi is usually beaming. A star that outshines all else with sparkling lights like a firework that paints the night sky.

“I do.” Hiiragi answers, taking a small bite of the tempura. He speaks with his mouth full. “But I can’t exactly support an entire band, you know?” 

If Shizusumi were anything more like a normal person, he probably would have laughed. Syh, the initials of their names. Of course Hiiragi wouldn’t be able to support it alone. Would it even be a band if there is only one member left? 

If he and Shizusumi were to continue playing as Syh, would that mean they were carrying Yuki’s legacy? Or would they be moving forward and embarking on their own musical journey? 

Why does Hiiragi want to play as Syh? Why does he even want to play the bass? Shizusumi has never really understood that. 

Maybe it’s all for Yuki. Maybe it’s all for whatever childish love Hiiragi may still hold in the depths of his heart, even when he knows Yuki is Mafuyu’s. 

Was Mafuyu's.

He almost slams his hands onto the table. He settles for angrily biting into another piece of fried pumpkin instead.

Even so… 

Syh without Yuki. Syh with just the two of them. It means that he and Hiiragi can be alone for hours on end in a practice room. They can share meals together, chat together, listen to music together, all without another person there. 

They'll be entwined with each other, an invisible string bounding them and merging them into one even when they are apart. 

Is that what Hiiragi's implying? Is that what he wants? 

Or maybe Shizusumi is imagining things again. 

“Shizu?" 

Shizusumi’s chest tightens, and the familiar feeling of urge, of desire, of yearning, resurfaces. His lips tug upwards into a lopsided smirk, and he swallows the remaining scraps in his mouth.

Hiiragi shifts on the other side of the table, his grip on his chopsticks loosening. Shizusumi recognises his movements. He wants to reach out for him, doesn't he? 

He barks a laugh, fangs showing, residue food still on the tip of his tongue. He must look manic right now. But how can he help it? How can he hold back the intensity of his emotions when they're threatening to spill over like river water after a heavy storm? 

His hands move before he's conscious of it, grabbing harshly onto Hiiragi’s and causing their chopsticks to drop onto the floor, dancing on the floorboard before finally settling down. Silence echoes through the room, and Shizusumi takes a deep, unsteady breath, his nails digging into Hiiragi's delicate skin. 

Hiiragi jolts, wicning at the impact but not pulling away. Hiiragi never pulls away, even when Shizusumi indulges like this and taints him with his impurity. His beautiful wide eyes are fixated onto his unnerving grin, bright orbs shining once again as if Shizusumi is somehow bringing back a world's worth of colour into an otherwise pitch black universe that has imploded because of Yuki's death.

His grip loosens, and his mouth presses back into a thin line. What a ridiculous thought. 

“Yes." he finally replies, emotionless once more. He tries to ignore the marks he's left on the back of Hiiragi's palm. "We can keep playing as Syh.” 

Their fingers intertwine with a desperate plea that neither of them should ever let go.  

—

Soft breaths. The steady rise and fall of Hiiragi’s chest. Shizusumi finds that he can’t take his gaze off Hiiragi even as he lies on a separate futon. 

His body stiff, he itches to reach over for him and sneak under those thick sheets so he can pull Hiiragi into his arms. 

Hiiragi’s lips look soft, sweet in their slightly parted state. Shizusumi subconsciously wets his own, and he wonders what Hiiragi tastes like.

He wonders if Hiiragi would mind letting him know. 

I want to be with you. I want you to be mine. 

That’s all Shizusumi can think of as he clutches onto the sheets like a lifeline. 

—

On the first winter night without snow, there ignites a dimly lit hope. A flickering hope that slowly fades away due to the intensifying ache in Shizusumi's chest.

—