Archive of Our Own

He's meant to be a tourist, passing through. He doesn't want this to be a thing, because he was never that fascinated in traveling much of anywhere in the first place and he doesn't know why this should be any different. It isn't different. Haruka decides this right away.

But it isn't familiar, either. He's not used to crowds like this, not used to the laughter or the dancing or the loud music, nor the flirtatious glances from questionable-at-best bartenders with too much free alcohol to spare. He hasn't been getting out recently, for reasons clearly beyond his control, but if he'd experienced something like this before he doubts that he would have missed it. Though feeling the beat of the music through the floor is nice, grounding, soothing in comparison to everything else that isn't. 

Haruka tries to sit at the bar, away from the swelling crowds, but it's just as crowded and cluttered with half-full or dirtied cups and it's too warm for him to be comfortable. It was a bad idea coming here, like he knew it would be, but a glance at the clock tells him he only has two and half hours until midnight, and he'd already spent most of his time walking along the shoreline down the road. He wanted to do something different. Something he'd never tried, before he could change his mind and pass the opportunity up.

He circles around to the booths in the back, and it is remarkably less crowded here. Only two of the five booths are taken, and out of those only one is actually full of people, the other cradling a couple who apparently have no preconception of public decency, though Haruka supposes it doesn't matter so much here. He averts his eyes and sits in the empty booth in the middle, pressing himself deep enough into the corner so he can stretch his legs out over the vinyl. He has missed this. The awareness.

It wasn't his idea to come here, especially since he knew he'd have to come on his own. But his family has all but forgotten him and the people around him insisted; how could he know he wouldn't like Iwatobi if he'd never visited before? And if there was an ocean beside the small town, maybe it was worth a try. The walk, at least, was.

A body emerges from the crowd of dancers, and Haruka only notices him because of his hair; it's magenta and curled madly. He locks eyes with Haruka for a moment, makes an expression he can't place, then turns and heads back where he came from. 

Haruka's also not used to the people here, though he's only spent all of ten minutes observing them. There's a desperation in all of their eyes, like they want so badly for this place to be their everything that they forget exactly how little they must have in reality. But reality is also futile now, isn't it?

Someone breezes by the booth, his back to Haruka, and he only watches this one because he halts in the middle of a step. Then he turns around, meets Haruka's eyes—he makes a pained expression and makes a beeline for Haruka's booth. It's a knee-jerk reaction to break eye contact, but this doesn't seem to be a deterring factor in the slightest.

The guy says, "Go along with whatever I say," too quickly, lifting Haruka's feet so suddenly that Haruka slips down a bit and makes a noise of surprise, then sits where they were and drops them so that Haruka's calves are draped over his thighs. 

He's too confused to feel embarrassed, just blurts, "What?"

"Whatever I say," the guy says, lifting an eyebrow, so expressive in his eyes and mouth and voice, "go along with it." And Haruka isn't given time to ask; the boy from earlier, with the gaudy hair, starts to approach, and the guy beside Haruka grunts. "Congratulations, Kisumi. You're borderline stalking now."

Kisumi is smiling already, is brushing the comment off and gesturing widely to the clock hung up on the nearest wall. "You're so cold, Sousuke. It's almost ten o'clock now, you know."

"Thanks for letting me know. Is that all?"

Haruka watches him, how he holds his face effortlessly in a careless expression. He sort of wishes he had left, now, to not be subjected to what's clearly an aborted rejection, but he can't exactly leave now without drawing attention to himself. Which is not only the opposite of what he wanted to do, but also probably the last thing he wants entirely.

Kisumi releases a wistful noise, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the table. "You've been avoiding me all night," he says, though he doesn't look truly saddened by it in the slightest. "If you're going to keep it up, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Find someone else to annoy," the guy says, then glances at Haruka, pointedly. "I'm busy."

"Look," Kisumi sighs, pressing his hands flat on the table. "Last week you said—"

"I say a lot of things, Kis. And last week was last week. I thought it might shut you up, is that what you want to hear?" He reaches for Haruka's shoulders and pulls him closer. "I need to catch up with my friend, alright? Hey—he's sick, Kisumi."

Kisumi glances at Haruka for the first time, lifting an eyebrow.

"I mean six months to live, sick."

"Five," Haruka blurts, and sort of wishes he hadn't said anything when they both turn to stare at him. The boy sitting with him smirks privately, knowingly, and Haruka fights to keep his expression even, levels his gaze with Kisumi's. "Probably less by now."

Kisumi and the boy beside him lock eyes for a moment, but there's a break in it where Kisumi relents, and shows both of them his palms. "Alright," he says, though he holds steadfast to his grin, punctuating his leave with a wink. "But you know where to find me." He turns briefly to Haruka. "My sincere condolences."

He walks off. The boy tips his head back and sighs, then looks at Haruka fully, eyes grateful. He's handsome, Haruka thinks, because he has a knack for always thinking these things at the wrong time, and he frowns.

"Thanks for that," the boy says, then sits up a little straighter. "And sorry for killing you off." He smirks all over again. "Five months, huh?"

Haruka fights embarrassment, turns away. "I didn't mean to say anything."

"It's probably better that you did. More believable that way. Hey," he says, pressing his thumb into Haruka's knee and Haruka snaps his head around to look at him, startled that he'd forgotten exactly where his body is. "I'm Sousuke."

Haruka exhales, lifts his legs and pulls them away, and Sousuke watches him do this, allows it. "Haru."

"Haru," Sousuke echoes.

"Haruka." Because he has nothing to lose, he realizes. 

Sousuke lifts an eyebrow. "What kanji do you use for that?"

"Not the one you're thinking of," Haruka says, frowning. "I'm not a flower."

Sousuke releases a startled sort of laugh. "Okay, noted." He glances towards the crowd. "He's not a bad guy, by the way. Kisumi, I mean. He's probably one of the better people here, but he gets attached too easily. That's not what I'm looking for."

It raises a question, which comes fast to Haruka's tongue—what are you looking for, then? But it dries up quickly, because Haruka has no reason to be curious.

"I met him at Samezuka, if that gives you any perspective as to how desperate he is to feel something," Sousuke continues, tapping his fingers against the table.

"What's Samezuka?"

Sousuke looks at him, like he's trying to gauge whether he's being serious or not. Subsequently, he seems to come to a verdict. "If you don't already know, then you probably don't want to."

Simple enough. "Okay."

"Okay," Sousuke nods, slowly. "Let me buy you a drink."

Haruka blinks, shakes his head. "I don't need one."

"Sure you do," Sousuke insists, standing now, and extends a hand. "I owe you one, come on. Do I have to uproot you?"

The jab doesn't go over Haruka's head, but he exhales and gets up in place of frowning, holding onto as much of his dignity as he can by ignoring the hand he's offered. Small victories. And small, nice circumstances; Sousuke is tall and broad, and nice to look at. 

He hasn't seen much of anything worth looking at lately.

"Two jack and cokes," Sousuke tells the bartender when they sit, and Haruka grunts.

"I only need water."

"Two," Sousuke repeats, a challenge in his eyes when the bartender nods. He isn't smiling, but there's something fond in his features that reaches into Haruka's center of gravity and makes him feel light. "Relax, I won't pour it down your throat."

That isn't at all the point, but Haruka elects not to argue any longer. He knows he doesn't have the energy to press, and that he'll probably lose, anyway. And by now he's turned away to stare at the dance floor, and knows it's a mistake to glance back when he catches Sousuke searching him with his eyes—not just his face but the entirety of him, expression blank as he scans Haruka's outfit, hair, hands.

"What are you doing?" Haruka asks, pulling his face into something guarded.

"Nothing," Sousuke says. "Regarding you."

"Stop it. Don't ... analyze me."

"I just don't get what the outfit's about," Sousuke says, leaning back in his seat. Haruka glances down at himself, at his blank t-shirt and hemmed jeans, old sneakers. He doesn't know what there is to get. "Nothing wrong with it, Jesus. I just mean you're not trying as hard as most of the people here. Trust me. It's nice."

Haruka had noticed the outfits, sure, just as loud as the music and the tall hair and the crazy amounts of alcohol floating around. It all seemed to blend together for him, not really worth noticing. But maybe that's exactly why he was standing out, for his entire lack of trying. "Thanks."

Sousuke looks thoroughly amused. "No problem. You're sort of easy to compliment."

That feels more like a line, but Haruka doesn't get to fully come to a verdict on it before the bartender slides them their glasses. The drink itself is dark and over ice, bubbling at the top in a way that looks nothing like anything he'd want to normally drink, but taking drinks from a hot stranger is also something he's never tried. He reaches for it at the same time Sousuke reaches for his.

"Cheers," Sousuke says, holding his glass out. Reluctantly, Haruka taps his own against it, and they drink.

It isn't nice, but that's not surprising. He manages not to make a face but sets the glass down too quickly, and it earns him a quiet laugh.

"Never had one before?"

He might have, long ago, certainly before he ever had the chance to come here. But things like this slip his memory easily, like a lot of insignificant things nowadays. "I don't know. It's been a while since," he stops, looks away. "It's fine." And he drinks from the glass again, slower this time.

"Do you live here?"

Haruka glances up at the question, startled by the suddenness of it. "No. I—"

"You're a tourist," Sousuke says, and laughs through his nose when Haruka doesn't immediately have a response to that. "We'll go with tourist. Are you new?"

Haruka holds his glass to his mouth, but doesn't drink. "First night."

"First night?" Sousuke asks, lifting an eyebrow, and then the beat changes rapidly around them and the crowd in the center of the dance floor cheers. He turns to look, then tips his smile toward Haruka. "In that case, we should dance."

"No, we shouldn't," Haruka says immediately.

"Come on," Sousuke presses, getting up from his seat and taking hold of Haruka's elbow.

"No," Haruka says, firm to stand his ground on this. "I haven't ever—it's—" he pauses. "I'll look ridiculous."

"Only if you think like that," Sousuke says, tugging more. "One dance. Loosen yourself up. You're all—rooted to the ground. Like a flower."

Haruka huffs. This is too much of what he hasn't done all at once, too much heat in his hands where Sousuke's holding them. And too many moving bodies and smiles his way when Sousuke does start to move, dozens of people young and able-bodied and fulfilled for the moment, laughing and holding each other and enjoying this, enjoying the music and the atmosphere and each other, and moving. Feeling. Sousuke takes him by the waist rather than by the hands and tugs him closer, looks him right in the eyes. It's so slight, but it's a way in which no one's ever touched him, ever looked at him.

He doesn't know how or when he breaks away, just that at one point he'd had a forehead pressed to his and at another he was staring at the pavement in the rain, backing under an awning to keep the goosebumps away. There's a metal bin behind him and he clutches it, breathing, the music still a steady pulse in the background, muffled but there. This was a mistake. Wasn't it?

But it's quiet out here. People walk by, but they don't stop to feel overwhelmed like the people inside. And the rain keeps falling—Haruka lifts a foot, sticks it out from under the awning, and for the first time in, god, he doesn't know how long, he feels the rain fall against the bare skin of his ankle. Cold and real.

"Hey," comes a voice, familiar now, and Haruka looks toward the entrance of the club and sees Sousuke ducking under the awning, too. "Why'd you bolt off?"

Haruka frowns. "I told you I didn't want to dance."

"Yeah, no shit," Sousuke says, approaching. "You were a deer in headlights back there." Haruka glares, though, and he relents. "I'm kidding. Mostly." Then his expression melts into something calmer, finally, and he sighs. "Sorry. I didn't mean to push you into it, or come off as an ass. It's just—shit, Saturday nights are only once a week. Barely enough time to make anything happen."

"It's fine," Haruka says, and sighs, too. "It was just a lot all at once. It wasn't your fault."

"You okay?" Sousuke asks, leaning against the bin next to him. Haruka nods. "You don't seem okay."

"I am," Haruka says. "I've never been to a place like this. That's all."

Sousuke leans down, lifts both eyebrows. "Never?" he asks, "Christ, does your family keep you in chains or something?"

Haruka manages a scoff. "No. But as far as they're concerned I can't do anything, anyway."

He looks at Sousuke, sees something intrigued flash in his eyes. "Yeah, well," he says. "Not like they'd follow you here, right? What's stopping you?"

A good question. "I," Haruka whispers, turns away. "I don't know."

Because if anything, he should feel encouraged to do anything he wants here. It's stupid to feel like he shouldn't try things, or make stupid decisions, or feel things he hasn't had the chance to. That's what this is for, and it's what he agreed to do. He promised he would try.

Beside him, Sousuke makes a noise. Then he says, "You're in the right place if you're trying to figure that out, at least."

"I guess," Haruka says.  Even without looking, he knows Sousuke is watching him. Regarding him again, or just piecing together that Haruka wouldn't know and doesn't know where to start with something like that.

Sure enough, he asks, "What would you want to do?" And when Haruka looks, his expression is flat, but interested. "I mean that you've never done."

The question draws the air straight out of Haruka's lungs. He looks up at the sky, dark and clouded, and just seeing it is a thrill that sends a tingle through him, to the tips of his fingers. "I don't know," he says again. It's the easiest answer, and also the truth. "Too much."

Sousuke reaches up, touches the underside of Haruka's jaw. He doesn't pull, but Haruka looks anyway, frozen under the pads of Sousuke's fingers, the warmth in his eyes. He is broad and angular and striking, and he brushes his thumb over Haruka's chin. "Only two hours until midnight," he says.

Haruka searches his face, looking for any kind of answer, anything to respond with. In the end he thickly, emptily whispers, "Okay."

Sousuk's mouth twitches up, and he drops his hand from Haruka's jaw to touch the inside of his knee instead. "No reason to waste time sitting here."

He moves his hand steadily up, sliding his palm against his inner thigh. It's warmer than anything else, pressing heat deep and deeper, and Haruka can't rely on muscle memory, or on what he wants, because that would betray what's smart; he has to force himself to take Sousuke's hand and push it away, stepping back.

"Listen—"

Sousuke leans back. "It's fine."

"I just," Haruka tries, wanting to explain. "I mean—"

"Really," Sousuke says, shaking his head. "It's okay."

"I'm engaged," Haruka blurts, surprising both of them. He sweeps his hair back, straightens himself. "I ... have a fiancé. Named Makoto."

Sousuke blinks, then releases something like a short laugh. "Okay. Is she here?"

"He."

"He," Sousuke corrects. "Where is he? Not here?"

Haruka averts his eyes. "Elsewhere."

"Right," Sousuke says. He leans to the side, manages to catch Haruka's eyes again by stepping around him. He doesn't reach for Haruka again, but he might as well have anchored him to the ground with the weight of his stare. Then he says, voice low, "Sleep with me." And Haruka catches his own breath, something heavy settling deep in his stomach. "If you want to. My place is close by."

"I've," Haruka says, "never done something like that."

"All the more reason."

"You're so—" Haruka stops, then looks away. "I can't."

Sousuke stares at him for a moment longer, and then he nods, shrugs. "Okay."

"I really can't."

"I get it," Sousuke says, turning halfway away. "Being faithful and all that. Must be nice to have something to lose."

It's much more than that, and also not at all that, but Haruka doesn't want to get started. Not here, and not with a stranger. He sighs. "I have to go."

Sousuke makes a face, glances upward. "In this?"

"It was nice to meet you," Haruka says, hoping that the message delivers.

It does. Sousuke regards him calmly, and nods. "Yeah. Likewise."

It's his chance, and he takes it, walking past Sousuke and up the sidewalk. He has less than two hours left, and he'll spend them by the shore, raining or otherwise. It was calming there. He should have stayed.

But something catches him at the end of the block. It feels like what he was feeling when Sousuke was watching him, so closely, and it gets him wondering; but when he takes a chance and turns around, the sidewalk is empty.

Alright, he thinks. And he turns back around, and walks toward the sea.

A week passes. This time, he tries marginally harder.

But none of the clothes look right on him. He feels ridiculous in anything that isn't casual, out of place and out of his body in anything that isn't soft against his skin. He doesn't think it's odd to want to wear something that feels nice; besides, it earned him a compliment last week. More than that, if it was what initially caught Sousuke's eye. It nearly got him a night in someone else's bed.

He reverts back to his t-shirt, then crosses his arms and holds onto his elbows, breathing. He didn't think he'd end up here more than once, but his reality is endlessly empty. Looking into the eyes of someone who wanted him, even once, felt solid and whole. More so than anything else in his life.

He doesn't make eye contact with anyone else at the bar when he arrives, because he's looking around too quickly. Haruka doesn't mean to search immediately, but lying to himself has never gotten him anywhere positive and it's better to admit that he's looking for someone specifically. If he's even here. Haruka doesn't really know if he hopes he is or not.

It doesn't take long, in the end. He's at the bar, and he's talking to a girl with wild hair tied up in a thousand braids. She's smiling too wide and she's touching his arm, and Sousuke is gently talking but not looking her in the eye, his interest saturated, watered down by his body language. 

It's as good of an opportunity as any.

Haruka walks around the side of the dance floor, tugging nervously at one of his own belt loops. He makes it just adjacent to Sousuke's line of sight when he looks up, eyes pulled by something Haruka wouldn't be able to figure out, and they look at each other. Just momentarily.

Something in Sousuke's face relaxes, but he lifts an eyebrow. This is all Haruka gets before he turns back to the girl; now he's fully smiling, and Haruka hesitates, stopping by the column near the stairs and leaning his weight against it. Sousuke mouths something, must be asking to girl to dance because they get up from their seats and move toward the crowd. Sousuke looks at Haruka once more, expression flat, and Haruka feels suddenly like he's lost a game he didn't know he was playing.

The minutes tick by. It's three and a half hours to midnight when Haruka's seated in the same booth as before, catching Sousuke's eyes across the room whenever he can, whether he's dancing or drinking or sitting with the girl, like he is now. She hasn't stopped talking all night, hands moving rapidly, and Haruka can tell Sousuke's interest has been dwindling, slowly if not surely. 

It's been a while since the last time Sousuke glanced his way. But he does now, then interrupts the girl to say something. Then he gets up and heads for the bathroom.

He doesn't look at Haruka on his way there, but there is a rope tied somewhere at the base of Haruka's spine, anyway, pulling him up by his very core. He pushes through the crowd, past the bar, ignores the looks, confused or annoyed or attracted, and tumbles into the bathroom a little too heavily.

Sousuke's by the sinks, pushing his hair around in the mirror, and he doesn't look. There's one another person coming out of a stall but he's on his way out, leaving them alone.

Haruka wills himself not to hesitate. But he doesn't know what to say or where to start, so he just takes careful steps closer, crosses his arms over his chest.

Sousuke leans back a bit. "Need something?" he asks, eyes flitting to Haruka's reflection.

There's more than just something, probably. Sousuke radiates an energy that says he can make anything happen if he wants to, that he's already checked off everything he's ever wanted to do and is basking in the completion of it, experience driven into the way he holds himself. It's intoxicating, and stupid, and terrible to stand next to. And Haruka wants to absorb as much of it as he can.

"I don't know how to do this," he manages, but still the words cling heavily to his throat. In the mirror, Sousuke's eyes dart toward him once more.

He asks, slowly, "Do what?"

"Help me," Haruka says, before he means to say anything. In this moment he wants very much to bolt out of the bathroom and disappear, delete all of this from his reality, but Sousuke is starting to straighten, turning to look at him, and a hopeful kind of want brims in his chest, overflows. The words tumble out of him. "Just. Make this ... easy for me. Please."

Something in Sousuke's expression softens, then breaks. He is standing fully now, and exhales through his nose like he knew this would happen, like it's a burden he knew he'd have to bear. Thinking this embarrasses Haruka more thoroughly than anything else, but he holds his ground and is maybe right to do so because Sousuke comes closer, reaches for the side of his face and touches just above his ear. Then around to the top of his cheekbone, and down to the bow of his lip, all with careful fingertips.

He asks, "Wanna get in my car?"

The tips of his fingers are still at Haruka's mouth, and he doesn't think to talk around them. He gently nods, instead.

Sousuke drives a topless car, but the weather never seems to be anything terribly unpleasant here—the wind is warm and smells of salt, and takes Haruka's hair away from his face, tries to carry it away into the sky. He lifts his chin, tips his head back and wonders what it would feel like to follow the wind, truly let it carry him away.

"How long have you been here?" he asks, though most of it gets caught by the wind.

Sure enough Sousuke furrows his brow, leans toward him more. "What?"

"How long," Haruka says, louder now, straightening himself, "have you been here?"

"In Iwatobi?" Sousuke asks, lifting an eyebrow. He looks back at the road and seems to think it over, honestly. "A couple months now. I'm a tourist. Like you."

Haruka tries to respond, but the wind takes his breath away. He squints against it, heaves a breath of air the first chance he gets, then turns his cheek to the rush.

When he opens his eyes, Sousuke is looking at him. It's only briefly, a short look between glances at the road, but there is an understanding in his eyes like he's been in Haruka's very spot before, thought about the same curiosities and wondered what else this place could open up for him. It's comforting, startlingly so, and Haruka looks to the sky and blinks at the stars, on the off chance Sousuke looks at him the same way again. He doesn't want to see it.

The house is on the beach, and it is tall with narrow windows and fluttering white curtains, an open deck adjacent to the driveway, facing the sea. It's cool inside when Sousuke lets him in, and the lamps come on when Sousuke hits the inner most switch by the door, glowing yellow against the pale moonlight. Everything glows here, Haruka thinks, and runs his fingers along the banister at the base of the staircase; it's carved into a rolling wave.

"Do you live here?" he asks, though he thinks he knows the answer already. 

Sousuke's mouth twitches, but he doesn't smile. "It's not mine, if that's what you mean."

Not his. Not permanent. A tourist, indeed. Haruka walks under the curling stairs, toward the large glass doors that frame the thick, draping line of the ocean. He nearly passes the table near the kitchen, but a photograph catches his eye—or the person in it does, flaming red hair and a smile too large and too sharp. He seems familiar, but so doesn't everything here.

Haruka picks up the frame, tilts it enough for Sousuke to see when he asks, mostly joking, "Is this a boyfriend?"

Sousuke doesn't laugh. He doesn't do much of anything except come closer, and it's like he's shoved the words back into Haruka's mouth with how choked he suddenly feels, how little he remembers of what he was asking or why it matters at all. Sousuke reaches for the frame and pulls it from his grasp, sets it back down, then gently catches the side of Haruka's face with his palm and kisses him.

Haruka can't do much else but kiss him back. This, at least, he's done before, and it's muscle memory when Sousuke touches his waist to wind his arms around Sousuke's neck, to tug him down the few inches that separate their height and kiss him deeper. Like this, distracted, it's not a long trip to the bed at all.

On top of him, Sousuke kisses him faster. Haruka's helpless underneath but maybe likes it this way, likes giving himself over to someone like this, to someone as stormy and beautiful as Sousuke is, and god, he likes the grasp on his hips, the bump of knees against his own, how the muscles in the small of Sousuke's back shift when Haruka touches him there. He's always been curious and now he understands why people talk about intimacy like they do, why some people cherish it so deeply. 

Sousuke pushes his shirt up, presses his fingers into his abs, rolls their hips together and Haruka gasps, "You'll have to show me."

There's a short pause; Sousuke pulls away in the midst of getting both their shirts off, and here he quietly smiles, glowing in the moonlight. "Alright."

He's pressed into the mattress shortly after, loses his breath when Sousuke kisses his neck and down his front. He hears his belt come off but doesn't wholly register it's gone until his pants are, too, and a hand's slipping into his boxers and he's twisting his own hand into Sousuke's hair, unable to kiss him back through heaving breaths. It feels good, and when he locks his thighs around Sousuke's hips it's merely a reaction, but Sousuke twitches into it and groans.

Reaching down to push Sousuke's jeans over his hips is more than a reaction, requires steady thought, but Sousuke helps him get them off. Holding someone in his hand is new, okay, but Sousuke curses into the base of Haruka's throat and Haruka catches on quickly to the sounds he makes, continues on until Sousuke has to push his hand away with labored breaths.

"Let me know if you need to stop," Sousuke whispers, mouth dipping downward again, and Haruka's mind goes fully blank for a moment. The first thing he thinks when it clears is, This is a lot all at once, isn't it? Haven't we enough time for this, for more, in other times, places?

Sousuke doesn't seem to share the sentiment, though it's unsurprising in how he's presented himself thus far. And when Sousuke does go down on him Haruka's confusion breaks itself over a steady groan, anyway, silencing any doubts or worries of what's to come. There will be time, undoubtedly.

It's almost over too quickly, but Sousuke eventually relents, eyes dark with a heaviness that had been steadily growing with each sound Haruka's made. "Still good?"

"Yeah," Haruka croaks, then reaches for the waistband of Sousuke's underwear. "Come here."

He's seen other people naked before, but it's never been anything like this. No one's ever moved for him like this before, or touched him like this before, or looked at him with this level or degree of desire. And Sousuke is breathtaking, in all of it. He reaches between Haruka's legs at some point among all of this and presses in and it's awkward but not painful, made worse only because Sousuke watches him, looks at his face, maneuvers him properly for what feels best. Sousuke does something at numerous points that takes Haruka out of his body long enough not to be aware of the sounds he's making, and here it becomes easiest to understand how good this can feel.

He tries to say something like Please or Can you do that again but Sousuke knows already, he must, because he does it again each time until Haruka's blinking away stars, fingers and toes curling tightly into the sheets. And Haruka knows what comes last when he pulls away completely, readies himself for it as much as he can, but he learns that there is no readiness for this kind of unending pressure, for clutching onto Sousuke's shoulders and gasping into his collarbone when he moves inside of him.

Sousuke doesn't seem to be faring any better, though, which pacifies his ego if nothing else. The gentle curses at the underside of his jaw punctuate every thrust, and Haruka loses his breath every time he hears his name among it all. 

Haruka grapples with his bearings, holds Sousuke's face as steadily as he can, and tries his best to unabashedly say, "Faster."

Sousuke seems to choke on something, a laugh or a groan or something in between. "You're," he breathes, pressing his mouth messily to Haruka's forehead, "such a fucking brat." But he obliges, which is all Haruka needs, and he pulls Sousuke down into the cleanest kiss he can manage, pressing his thumbs against the corners of his eyes. Sousuke shivers, nose bumping against Haruka's. "You feel so good."

Haruka has to bite back a whimper of surprise, hooks his arms around Sousuke's waist and anchors his hips up. Sousuke kisses his neck, takes a rough hold of his hips, and Haruka wasn't meant to last long in the first place; his release hits him in a rush, not unlike what it feels to get caught in a current and tugged beneath the surface. It is all-encompassing, throbs deep within, and he's only consciously aware of Sousuke's orgasm following his in the broken way he says his name. 

After, Sousuke presses his mouth to Haruka's forehead much more cleanly, pushes his hair away from his face. Then he gets up, leaving Haruka on the bed, trembling still, and comes back with a towel. Gently, he cleans them both.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess you've never slept with another guy," he says minutes later, collapsing to the bed, and Haruka's working on curling the sheets up around him; he must make a face because Sousuke corrects himself. "That's not a critique—it was fuckin' hot."

Haruka scoffs, but he can't hide that it's halfway a laugh. He lifts an arm over and behind his head. "No. I haven't," he says, then looks fully at Sousuke, takes his eyes in for all they're worth. "I haven't with anyone."

Sousuke stares at him, looking somewhat startled. "Never," he says, "with anyone?" Haruka shakes his head. "As in, never in your life, ever?"

"No."

"Jesus. But, uh. You're engaged? What about your fiancé?"

"It's complicated," Haruka says. "Sorry. Would you have wanted me to tell you before?"

Sousuke searches his expression for a moment or two more, then ends up shaking his head, slowly. "It's fine. I'm not exactly old-fashioned," he says. "Are you?"

Immediately, Haruka knows what he's really asking. "I'm twenty-three."

"Twenty-three. You mean—"

"Yeah," Haruka says. "You?"

"Twenty-six," Sousuke says, and suddenly there's an understanding between them that Haruka wasn't prepared for; it settles and grows, warmly and with empathy. "Got a couple years on you."

Not that that'll matter soon. Haruka wants to ask, because it feels a lot like this is a moment, but he also doesn't really want to know. Or if he did, he wouldn't want the same questions asked of him. It's easier to not know. For now, anyway.

Instead he asks, "When did you know?" and shifts closer on the bed, "I mean. That you liked boys."

Sousuke releases a huff of surprised laughter. "I like women, too. For the record."

"Okay. But when?"

Sousuke blinks, then turns onto his side to face Haruka better, and sighs. "I had ... someone. I guess," he says. Haruka swallows. "For a while. He was my best friend. I never really had any serious relationships growing up, just crushes or flings. Never wanted to act on any of it, either, even though I had a thousand chances to. What I had with him ... it never stopped feeling like we were ten years old." He stops, shrugs. "Serious things like that never really occurred to me. And he was enough. Even if it wasn't ..." he trails off, sighs. "I guess I don't know. It's hard to explain."

Haruka asks, before he can bite his tongue, "Is he here?"

Sousuke hasn't been smiling, and that doesn't change now. He stares at the sheets, somberly. "He's elsewhere, too," he says. "Entirely. Couldn't stick around, I guess."

"I'm sorry."

Sousuke shakes his head, turns onto his back once more. "I'm here now. Just me, passing through. And before I leave, I'm having a good time." He turns to look at Haruka, takes in his gaze. "I'm just gonna have that."

This part Haruka understands. He thinks he might be able to understand more, also, if they kept talking. But this silence is already more than Haruka's ever gotten before tonight, so he asks nothing, just reaches out and touches Sousuke's jaw, brushes over his cheekbone with his thumb. His skin is so warm, turns electric when he reaches up to touch the back of Haruka's hand.

"What about you?" he asks.

Haruka turns as much of his face as he can into his pillow, exhales through his nose. "I didn't think I could be with anyone," he admits, quietly. "Not really. Not like this."

Sousuke stares at him. His mouth trembles and opens, then shuts again. He looks like he's struggling over something, to say or to think, or just to be. His chest sinks and the sheets sink with it, and he settles for taking Haruka's hand and pulling it from his face, holding it in the space between them instead.

Then his eyes flick over Haruka's shoulder, looking somewhere else. "Time's almost up," he whispers.

"Okay," Haruka says, sinking further into the sheets, pulling his knees up higher. "Then let's lay here."

Finally, there is a smile. It's gentle and contagious, so Haruka smiles, too, feels it take his expression away.

He feels happy. Truly. And when the clock behind him ticks to midnight, the happiness remains.

He goes again, during the Saturday night that follows. He doesn't want to think of this as an addiction, or an obsession, but can someone even suffer from either of those things when it comes to a person? Haruka wouldn't know. He's never gotten the chance before now. 

He just wants to see Sousuke. Now, and again next week, and for a long time after that if he can. As much advantage of this as he can take, he wants to. 

But he isn't sitting at the bar. Nor is he dancing, or in the booths, or looking in the mirror in the bathroom. And the absence of his face is a cold reminder of how unfamiliar with this place Haruka really is, with everyone else that comes here, or lives here, to whisk days and nights away with cares tossed to the wind. 

He approaches the bartender, who sees him coming. "Sousuke," Haruka says. "Is he here?"

The bartender furrows his brow, leans close, has to shout over the music. "Sorry?"

"Sousuke."

He hears it this time, shakes his head. "Haven't seen him," he says, and Haruka leans back, sinks into his heels. "Did you try Samezuka?"

Haruka stalls. "What is Samezuka?"

He gets a look for this, one similar to the expression Sousuke made when he'd mentioned the same thing; but this time something gives, and soon enough his feet know where to go.

It's at the end of a long stretch of dirt road, eerily empty save for a few motorcyclers breezing by in a cloud of dust. It's past dusk now, the sky a bruised purple, but the lights coming from the building are bright enough to light the way. It's different inside. Dark.

And these people stare much more than the ones at the bar. There is less clothing and heavier music, steadier vibrations through the floor and walls and an uneasy feeling that settles deep into Haruka's bones. He knows now what Sousuke meant, and somehow feels confident that he won't find him here tonight.

Still, he looks. Several people pull at his shirt or touch his hair—one girl actually takes a hold of his face, and he manages to calmly brush her away. But it's all so oddly gentle, flowing, until someone rushes by too fast and jars his shoulder roughly.

"Sorry," he says, over his shoulder; and it's that same magenta hair, framing wide eyes that recognize Haruka the second Haruka recognizes him. "Oh," he says, and turns fully. "It's you."

Haruka says nothing.

"Sousuke's friend, from the bar," Kisumi says, as if Haruka needs the help understanding, but he's clearly had more than enough to drink tonight.

It's a chance, though. "Do you know where he is?"

Kisumi stays silent for a while, just sort of scanning Haruka with his eyes. It's starting to feel uncomfortable just as he says, "How would I know that?" 

"You're his friend."

"Was," Kisumi says, barring a pained smile. 

Haruka frowns. He thinks that there is probably more to this than he knows of, thinks that it maybe contributes to why Kisumi is here at all, but pushes the thoughts aside. "Has he been here?"

"No," Kisumi says, leaning against the nearest wall. He searches Haruka's expression, his eyes, and then something seems to click in his own. He tips his head to the side and sighs, heavily, bringing a reluctant smile to his lips. "You too, huh?"

Haruka takes a step back, face burning. "I have to go."

"Wait," says Kisumi, taking a few steps after him. "Try a different time. He's here in '83 a lot, but he goes to the '90s, too. Caught him in 2002 once."

Haruka pauses. His mouth opens on an aborted response.

Kisumi looks like he understands. "He's worth it, right?" 

Thank you doesn't seem like the right thing to say, so Haruka just nods, and he watches Kisumi turn away and disappear into the crowd. Then he turns and continues back down the hall, where he came from.

And it goes on, just like this. For weeks.

Haruka tries 1980, where he finds several people familiar with the name but no one's who seen him in the last few months. Then 1990, where the clothing style changes and so does the music and the dancing, but there's still no sign of him. 1995 is the same. Haruka wanders the coastline every time, feet sinking into wet sand over and over, until his time runs out at midnight. 

This is someone he's met a total of two times. Once by chance and another by desire, but both new, and beautiful, and alive. So damn alive he can hardly believe it. And it's the way Sousuke had looked at him just before their time ran out, in bed together, that paints itself behind his eyelids and pushes him forward to keep looking. 

He made a promise that he would try. And that's what he wants to do, no matter how long it takes.

--

Sousuke hates music from the early 2000's. He's sure that there have to be good songs, but if there are, he's never heard any of them. Not here and not elsewhere, but he needs to spend his Saturday nights here for a few weeks regardless. Just for that little while, until he can permanently wipe the word fascination out of his mind forever. Along with blue, and soft, and flower. They've all gotta go.

But god, he hates this music. 

He lets himself get hit on by the first guy that offers to buy him a drink, but brushes him off past the first shot. He hasn't been in the mood lately, even though knows he should probably be trying for it all regardless. He's here to have fun. He's supposed to have fun.

Staring into the bottom of an empty shot glass isn't, though. Neither is thinking about past heartbreak.

He gets up from the bar stool without giving an explanation to the guy who's been talking him up, but he isn't followed, which is nice. It's completely dark out now, and he thinks he might just fuck off from the clubs tonight and sit on his deck. He hasn't watched the waves in too long. Far too long.

But he hits the revolving door at the wrong time altogether. He doesn't notice at first because he isn't looking, but something pulls his gaze to the side—and now he is looking, and sees blue eyes staring back at him from the opposite space in the door, headed inside.

When he hits the night air, he takes a sharp left and walks fast. 

It doesn't last long. "Hey," Haruka says behind him, calm even with his voice raised, and Sousuke sees him circle around. "Stop. Sousuke."

He doesn't have time for this. Fuck. He turns into an alley and tugs Haruka in with him, maybe a little too harshly because he stumbles on the way in, looking harassed and clean and handsome in the dimmer lighting.

"What are you doing here?" Sousuke asks.

"I was looking for you," Haruka answers flatly, then says, "You didn't show up again."

Sousuke shoves his hands into his pockets, an old nervous habit. "Sure I did," he says. "Just not in '83."

Haruka doesn't look amused. "Then where did you go?"

Sousuke shifts from one foot to the other, then gestures around. "Don't have to tell you. You found me."

"But why?"

"I like a change of scenery."

Haruka frowns. "This doesn't seem like your kind of era," he says, glancing back in the direction of the club.

"I don't think you know me enough to draw that sort of conclusion," Sousuke mutters, then shakes his head, attempts to step to the side. "I have to go."

"You can wait," Haruka asserts, stepping in front of him. It actually startles Sousuke a bit, along with the darkness that hoods his eyes when he brings forth what's he's figured out, saying, "You hid from me."

Sousuke glares, defense creeping up the length of his spine and curling him over. "Look—"

"Don't pretend like you didn't. You would have said something if you weren't, if not that night then the week after. But you didn't."

"I'm not here to stroke your damn ego, alright? So fuck off if you think you're so important that I'd—"

"That's not what I'm saying," Haruka interrupts again, harshly. "None of this had to be important. But you didn't have to run away from me before I even started looking."

"Like you hadn't started already," Sousuke scoffs, and Haruka flushes. "You think you're the first one? Every damn person in this place wants something like that because they didn't get it elsewhere or because they're desperate for this to be some fucking happily ever after. Not me. I'm not here for that bullshit."

"I never told you I wanted anything like that," Haruka says, gravely.

"You didn't have to."

"I don't," Haruka says, but hesitates. "I didn't. Maybe now I don't know but I didn't get the chance to think about it properly because you just disappeared."

"I don't owe you anything," Sousuke snaps. Haruka doesn't flinch, but he closes his mouth and takes a step back, settling.

"I never said you did," Haruka says, evenly. "It's not about owing me, it's that you didn't even think about giving me an explanation. And you don't know me, or who I am, or—" he pauses, looks away. "What this place means."

"It means fun," Sousuke says, incredulous. "Or at least it should. And this—whatever this is, Haruka. It isn't fun. We had fun, and if you want me to feel bad for it then you're gonna be pretty fucking disappointed by the end of this."

Haruka doesn't look disappointed, though. He doesn't look sad, either, but maybe he looks somewhere in between. He glances down at his hands, and this is where his expression twists into a glare. "You don't have to feel bad," he says, quietly. Then he looks up. "But you should try feeling something."

He leaves after he says it. Spins on one heel and walks away, leaving Sousuke in the dust. This part isn't fun, either.

Sousuke closes his eyes, takes a second to breathe. It's frustrating; he shouldn't be taking this so personally, because he thinks he might have known this would happen eventually if he wasn't careful. And he wasn't, really. He became careless in his choices, became mesmerized by the calm demeanor and hopeful eyes that he knew, from the moment he saw them, could pull him into something dangerous, or at least storm over with pain on their own. 

It builds high and he turns—feel something—and heaves his right arm up and back, pitches it forward into wall beside him. It's plaster on the outside and breaks until he hits a layer of brick, or concrete, or something, and it covers his hand in dust when he pulls it away. And he looks down at it, feeling no pain.

It makes sense. His pain slider was set to zero. When he looks up again, the wall has reformed, and the hole is gone.

Sousuke sighs, leans his forehead against the wall. Then he turns and leaves the alley, tries to follow where Haruka might have gone.

It should have occurred to him earlier, maybe, to go directly to the shoreline. Haruka doesn't seem like the type to hide out in bars or dives by himself, even when he's sulking, but Sousuke prides himself on being thorough and he wastes all of an hour looking and asking around town before he drives to the beach house in a hopeful stunt, and sees him sitting by the tide.

He approaches slowly, though he doesn't think it'd be possible to startle Haruka when he's walking over sand, every shuffle hidden under the sound of the wind over water. Really, he just doesn't know what to say. He hasn't apologized to anyone here yet, not seriously, because no one's ever thrown his behavior in his face quite like this.

No one's ever held him so tightly with their eyes before, either. Not here, anyway. And Sousuke knows that he might not have been completely in the wrong, but Haruka still deserved better. If that really was the first time he's ever been with someone, and Sousuke's pretty sure it was, he deserved something more. A buffer zone. Something.

He's thinking this when he gets close enough to actually say something. Haruka has rolled up his jeans, taken off his socks and shoes, and stuck his feet into the wet sand. Every few seconds a wave comes in and rolls over his shins, and he half-turns his head towards Sousuke when he clears his throat.

"Not cold, is it?" he asks, and it's the most pointless thing he could have wondered. 

But Haruka shakes his head, anyway, his expression unaffected. "No," he says. His voice is so flat.

Sousuke curls his hands into fists, then walks to Haruka's side. "Okay, listen—"

"How many of them," Haruka interrupts, the moon reflected in his eyes. He turns to look at Sousuke, who's been gently coming down onto his knees. "How many of the people here are dead?"

Words catch thickly in Sousuke's throat, leaving him speechless for a second—he wasn't expecting that. He gives a pointed glance back towards the town and asks, "You mean full-timers?" Haruka nods, once, and Sousuke pulls his legs out of under himself, sitting fully. "Seventy-five percent? Maybe eighty?"

Haruka takes a deep breath, and lets his eyes close. He looks as though he's mourning something, and Sousuke would so much rather see him sad, or disappointed, or angry, because the lines he's creating on his face like this are painful to look at. He's so young. God, he's so young.

"I'm sorry," Sousuke blurts, and Haruka's eyes flutter open.

By some miracle, when he looks at Sousuke, he actually smiles. "I'm not going to try to drown myself or anything."

"I know," Sousuke says, moving closer. "But I'm sorry. Whatever it is, that's—" he swallows, glances up at the stars. "I wanted to explain."

Haruka drops the smile. But he nods.

"When I started coming here," says Sousuke, "I told myself I wouldn't do something like that. Feelings. I knew that they would get me into trouble, so I promised myself I'd keep my distance. But when it got easier, I got careless. I stopped thinking about the people I got involved with and just assumed that they felt the same way I did about it. And when they didn't, I ditched."

"It's okay," Haruka says, too quietly.

Sousuke shakes his head. "That night, that we were together. What you said just before midnight—you freaked me out," he admits, trying to ease the honesty with laughter, but it doesn't last. "You wouldn't stop looking at me in this ... way that you do, like everything I do is the most fascinating thing you've ever seen in your goddamn life. And I realized that I actually did something that mattered to you, and I—fuck, I don't know—figured that even if it hurt you for a little while you'd forget about it quicker if you stopped seeing me." Haruka opens his mouth, but Sousuke keeps talking. "But there were selfish reasons, too. I mean, Christ, I've been doing this for months without having any issues and then you come along, and you're just. Really fucking inconvenient. On all fronts."

Haruka watches him, eyes darting all over his face. He pulls his legs up, sand stuck to his feet and his calves, and straightens where he sits, shoulders broad and relaxed, unguarded. "I can't tell if you mean that as a bad thing," he says.

"Me neither," Sousuke says, then leans forward. He can't swallow the lump in his throat, not this time, and his voice breaks over it. "I don't want to feel like this, okay, it's—I don't know how long there is. And I can't," he stops, caught off guard by the way Haruka reaches for him suddenly, takes hold of his face. "I wasn't prepared for you. Or for wanting something—"

He doesn't get to finish, because Haruka kisses him. And he saw it coming but still makes a noise of surprise, reaches for Haruka's hips and drags him closer, wanting him closer, needing him closer. Haruka breaks away, kisses his cheek, his temple, the bridge of his nose, all through labored breaths and eyes squeezed shut. It might be the most intimate thing anyone's ever done with him.

He pulls Haruka's mouth to his own again, tips him backwards into the sand. Haruka grabs at his waist, his hair sticking to the wet sand on the ground, and says, even as he tugs at Sousuke's shirt, "We shouldn't—out here—"

So Sousuke slows, pressing his mouth to the hollow of Haruka's throat. He says, "Then let's go inside."

It isn't unlike last time. But they leave the doors in the bedroom open and the lamp on, casting warm light out onto the sand and bringing in the wind and the sound of the waves. Haruka holds tighter than before, kisses him harder. But the feeling from last time, the wonder and the understanding that this is something important, remains.

After, Haruka gets up, wearing sweatpants now that have come from nowhere. He doesn't look at Sousuke when he walks out onto the deck but Sousuke follows anyway, wears a shirt and brings a blanket because the temperature's dropping now, the closer they get to midnight.

He sits next to Haruka, digs his heels into the sand. He is ready to not say anything, because there isn't really anything to be said for now, but Haruka cranes his neck back and closes his eyes.

And he says, "I'm getting married next week."

Oh. That. Sousuke had almost forgotten. "Next week?" Haruka nods, makes a noise, and Sousuke smiles, leans close. "Sad I can't meet him."

Haruka laughs, mostly through his nose. "You would get along."

"Right. Sure you're actually gonna go through with it?"

"I have to."

Sousuke furrows his brow, but doesn't completely abandon his smile yet. "You have to?"

Haruka looks at him. "He's the best person I've ever known," he says, quietly, then starts to frown. He looks at the ground. "I know that he pities me. And it pisses me off, because ... but I know that's not fair, because he's—"

Sousuke hushes him, passing a hand over his hair and down his back, resting in the center of it. Haruka settles, the momentary tension draining out of him. It's better this way, probably; if they're going to accept doing this then Sousuke doesn't want it to hurt while it lasts.

But Haruka is curious, and has always been. He says, "Earlier you said you don't know how long there is." And Sousuke pauses, but says nothing. "What did you mean?"

Then again, maybe at least this much he has a right to know. Sousuke holds onto this thought for a moment, breaking away from Haruka's gaze. In a moment of wanting the niceness to continue a bit more, he pulls the blanket up around both of them. "The doc tells me three months," he says, reaching to pull to edge of it over Haruka's knees, covering his hands. "It's spread basically everywhere. But they all said the same thing six months ago and two months before that, so. Fuck do doctors know, right?" He looks at Haruka, at the look in his eyes, unreadable, and says, "You gotta still be freezing without a shirt."

Haruka doesn't seem to hear him. "You'll come here after, though."

"No," Sousuke says immediately, shaking his head. This is a decision he hasn't gone back on, has managed not to mess up. "When I'm done, I'm done."

"But ... you," Haruka whispers, turns to face him more. "Why?"

Sousuke looks to the ocean, and feels a deep ache. "Rin." Then, because he knows Haruka will ask, "That's. My best friend's name was Rin." Haruka shifts next to him, and Sousuke breathes. "He isn't here, whether that's fate or just shitty luck. Whatever it is. I decided, when it was my turn, I wouldn't be either."

"That shouldn't have to do with you," Haruka murmurs. Sousuke shrugs.

"Maybe it shouldn't. But it does. In the end, it always does."

"I didn't know if I even wanted to try coming here," Haruka says, touching just under Sousuke's cheekbone. "I didn't think there was a point to it if I was going to die, anyway. And if the people I cared about weren't here, it just seemed troublesome. But without it I wouldn't have met someone like you."

Something swells hopelessly in Sousuke's chest. "That's giving this place too much credit. You could have."

"No, I couldn't have."

"Come on," Sousuke says, catching Haruka's hand. "We could have met outside of this place."

"No," Haruka says, flatly. "You wouldn't have come across me. At all," he adds, and he must not be satisfied with Sousuke's expression, because he frowns. "Not at all."

"Try me."

Haruka pauses, starts to look slightly panicked, in his eyes, in how they widen. "No. I didn't mean ... you wouldn't want to be around me. If we actually met. You'd see me and then you'd think of how I am now, and that's—"

"Try me," Sousuke says again.

Haruka huffs, turns away. "There's no point," he says, eyes dimming. "We don't know how far apart we really are, anyway."

"Musashino, Tokyo," Sousuke says, catching the surprise that hits Haruka's face. "That's me. Now show me yours." Haruka opens his mouth, closes it. Sousuke adds, "You know, smartass, I could just look you up."

And so Haruka closes his eyes, and his voice is very low. "Arakawa," he says.

"Well," Sousuke smiles. "There we go."

"I don't want you to come," Haruka says, firmly, nearly snaps but there's enough restraint still in his voice that holds him from yelling. Though Sousuke might not mind hearing him yell. It would push him just that last bit towards being as real as possible here. "I'm not ... you shouldn't have to see what I really—"

"Cancer's made me a double amputee," Sousuke says, catching the shock in Haruka's eyes like it's being painted across everything he's seeing. "And now it's killing me anyway. Haruka. Whatever you are can't scare me."

Haruka's eyes swell large, brimming with hesitance and so much want—want for a clear number of things—that Sousuke can hardly stand to look at him. 

"Let me come see you," he says, swallowing down whatever's rising in his throat. "Let me owe you that much. Know you, if I don't." He leans closer. "I want to see you, first."

It must be enough, that last word. Because Haruka sinks a little further into himself, eyes collapsing, and he nods.

Sousuke nods, too, tries his best to stop Haruka from collapsing into the sand by wrapping an arm around him and tugging him close. He presses his nose into Haruka's hair, exhales as gently as he can. He watches Haruka close his eyes, feels a set of fingers close around the hem of his shirt.

Here it is warm, and they stay like this until their time runs out for the night.

It's not early when he gets there, but he's still hitting visiting hours fine. That's all that matters, really.

Sousuke struggles a little with his prosthetic after he parks outside the facility, because he'd taken it off for the drive. He'll have hell to pay when he gets back, when Gou figures out that he'd taken his car without someone to watch him, but he needed to do this alone. And Sousuke knows now that he's stupidly anxious, because it's been a long time since he's had this much trouble getting it on by himself. But eventually it stays, doesn't wobble when he puts weight on it, and he eases his car door shut a little too gently as he regards the facility. Hospice cares always look too nice for what they really are.

Inside, he gets all the way to the desk before the receptionist takes in his leg, the absent space where his right arm should be, and gives him a smile. "You must be Yamazaki-san."

Sousuke blinks, a little surprised, but then, there don't seem to be too many visitors coming in. "I guess I must be."

"Someone will be down to escort you. Just a moment."

"Sure," Sousuke says, leaning the majority of his weight against the side of the counter. He's not feeling so exhausted today, but the pain is still there, a deep throb that never seems to go away. Not quite burning, though. Not yet. If that comes, he'll have even less time than he thinks. Maybe that would just make this all the more important.

Someone young, around Sousuke's age comes down the hall, and he smiles when he sees Sousuke, green eyes lighting up and striking under light brown hair. "Yamazaki-san. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Uh," Sousuke says, shifting back up to stand. "Likewise."

"I'm Tachibana Makoto," he says, though, and Sousuke finds himself reeling a bit, realizing, staring.

"You're—" he starts, and Makoto smiles knowingly. It's enough of an answer, and Sousuke exhales, taking in the entirety of him. "Fuck. Okay. Holy shit."

Makoto laughs, eyes crinkling at their corners. "Haru's ... he's waiting for you. Follow me."

Sousuke nods, ignoring the deep-set ache for now to follow Makoto to the elevators. He's thankful they're not taking the stairs, at least, because he's been weaker these days; made worse by the time he's allotted each week in Iwatobi, where it's as if what he's missing was never lost. 

The door to Haruka's room is shut, and the narrow window only shows the wall on the opposite side. Makoto opens the door for Sousuke to walk in, and he takes the room in meter by meter as he does. There's a few plants sitting by a wide window, and the drapes are open, exposing the room to the sunlight and the ocean just over the hill. And there are a few tables and chairs, and machines hooked up and whirring next to a hospital bed, and in the hospital bed is Haruka. 

Unmistakably, it is him, but he's paled and thinning and a shadow of the person Sousuke's been falling so heavily for. His chest is falling and rising and his eyelashes are fluttering, but he doesn't move, doesn't sit up, doesn't smile. And Sousuke understands.

Makoto says, "He can look around, but he can't physically respond other than that. He can hear and see you, though."

Sousuke nods, moves around the side of the bed. Haruka is certainly blinking, his eyes watching Sousuke approach. They are so expressive, even now. But he looks tired. Endlessly so, bone-deep and unrelenting, as Sousuke's so used to.

"I'll leave you," Makoto says, and Sousuke means to say thank you or something along the lines of it, but he can't manage to look away from Haruka in the time it would take to do it. And the door shuts.

Left in the silence, Sousuke shakes his head. "Okay. I get it," he says, reaching for Haruka's hand. It's limp in his grasp, but warm; there's a steady, beautiful pulse at the base of his wrist. "This is why."

Because it explains more than Haruka was probably willing to share. His eyes are only half-open, slowing in movement. He is looking away, like he always does when he's feeling anything close to embarrassed, or ashamed, and it's ridiculous. 

"Hey. Look at me," Sousuke says, having to let go of Haruka's hand to brush his hair back with his fingers. And their eyes meet when Haruka listens. "It's good to see you."

Haruka's eyes stay on him, and there is something to be said about seeing him like this. He is so vulnerable here, so opposite everything he is in the way Sousuke's seen him despite the grim similarities; he is a permanent kind of stoic and still, a kind that he didn't choose to be. In Iwatobi he is warm and easy to annoy, and holds himself with a confidence that is everlasting despite all his lack of surety. There is something so beautiful about who he is, something Sousuke's begun to cherish in the short itme he's been lucky enough to see it, and like this, in his reality, there is no way to share it.

Sousuke leans down, presses his lips to Haruka's forehead. Then he brushes through Haruka's hair with his fingers and lets the silence swallow them, looking at Haruka and being looked at by him, in all their dying glory.

"It was nice of you to come," Makoto says, later. They're both in the hall now, after a doctor had come into Haruka's room and asked Sousuke to step out for a moment. "I know he didn't want you to at first, but it means a lot to him. Especially now, when he's passing over tomorrow."

And Sousuke halts, goes still, thinking rapidly of a warm beach and wide windows, a breathless smile pressed against white sheets. "He's," he begins, furrowing his brow, "passing over?"

Surprise opens Makoto's eyes wide. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, then glances quickly at Haruka's door and seems to struggle over something within. Eventually though, he gestures to the elevators and says, "Maybe we should get some coffee. Downstairs."

They do. Sousuke's aches are worsening a bit now, and he's dreading the drive back to his own facility, but he wants more than anything to hear what Makoto has to tell him because he knows Haruka won't, if he hasn't, or if he will he won't say everything. And everything seems important now, if it didn't before.

"You work here," he says, to start, and Makoto smiles as they sit down.

"I was thinking about going to school to be a teacher, when I was younger. But when all this started to happen ... I guess I thought I might do some good with other people who are luckier," he says, then clears his throat. "Haru didn't tell you?"

Sousuke crosses his arms. "No," he says. "He didn't. He said he was ... visiting. Just a tourist." Like Sousuke.

"Well, I guess he has been. He didn't know if he wanted to pass over at first. He's, um," Makoto pauses, seems to struggle with the words. "He's ... deteriorating. I mean, he has been, but it's his brain now. He had a choice to wait it out and go naturally, when the atrophy takes over, or to try this and pass to Iwatobi before he fades away completely. In the end I think you helped him to choose."

Hearing it causes a pain deeper than the one in his bones. Sousuke shifts in his chair, frowns. "He didn't want to before?"

Makoto frowns, too. "Did he tell you about when this started?" Sousuke says nothing. Makoto searches his face for a minute, then settles back in his chair. "He's my best friend. I've known him since we were kids. Our parents lived next to each other, so we were sort of fated, I guess. We used to swim together in grade school."

Another pang, deep in Sousuke's chest.

"He was good. Really, really good. The water was more of a home to him than his own house was. When we got to high school, had to start thinking about our futures—he didn't know what he wanted, but he was getting scouted left and right by really wonderful schools and their coaches. They all told him he could go professional, and eventually Olympic. I think it frightened him because he never thought seriously about using swimming for something like that. But," he pauses, turning his coffee cup in his hands, "before he could choose, his legs started to go. Started to spasm, or just not work how he wanted them to. At first it didn't seem like that big of deal, but then he started having trouble swallowing." He shrugs. "Soon enough he had the diagnosis. More and more of him has been going since then."

"Christ," Sousuke says, looking away. "It's. That couldn't have been easy to watch."

Makoto makes a noise. "Haru stayed Haru. He's never really changed. I've only seen him break down once, throughout this whole thing," he says, then makes a vague gesture. "The first time he realized he couldn't swim on his own. I should have seen that coming, but."

"You can't," Sousuke says. He knows.

"He's been strong, though," Makoto whispers. "Stronger than anyone should be, I think. And when this program started, he didn't really show any interest. Back when he could still talk some, we'd fight about it night after night. When he couldn't, we fought over the comm box. I just wanted him to try it once, you know? Just to give it a chance. It would have been fine if he still chose not to pass over, but I wanted him to try."

"I know," Sousuke starts, stops and stares down at his lap, furrowing his brow. He's been trying so hard not to think of it, but. "I know what it's like, to lose a best friend. I'm sorry."

It takes a minute, but eventually Makoto speaks up. "I'm sorry, too, Yamazaki-san," he says. "To hear that. I think ... I've had a lot of time with this. I think I've done most of my mourning already. I'll miss him, of course I will, more than anything," he adds in a rush of air. "But I know now, at least, that someday I'll see him again."

Sousuke swallows. This is the part he knows he can't think of, so he pushes it all away and instead says, "About this marriage."

"Oh," Makoto says, then starts to laugh. It's a nice break from the solemnity. "There's, uh. There's a tight lock right now on euthanasia cases. You need a sign-off from a doctor, and the patient, and a family member," he says, counting them off on his fingers. "His family, though. They're kind of old-fashioned. And ever since this started they've been—distancing themselves. They don't even come around to visit anymore." He seems visibly upset as he says this, but relaxes when he breathes. "And they won't sign, but—"

"A spouse can override it," Sousuke says, nodding once. "And so comes the Wedding March."

Makoto smiles. "Like I said. He's my best friend. And I'm not married, so I figured if there was one last thing I could do for him, it might as well be this."

"You gonna wear a suit?"

Makoto laughs, fully. "That would be a sight," he says, shaking his head. "It'll be fast. And he's scheduled to pass just after it. It'd feel too much like I'd be dressing for his funeral."

But Sousuke's stuck on something else. "Scheduled to pass," he echoes. "Why can't we just call it dying?"

Makoto's still smiling, but it turns slightly sad. "Can we call it that?"

It's a good question, and one that Sousuke wouldn't know how to answer, so he turns away. And he thinks of Haruka in his bed, being gently kept alive by humming machines and a digital cloud, thinks of the way he fell to the sand under him and how calm his smile was the first time Sousuke saw it. 

He asks, "Do you think you could do me a favor?" 

Makoto lifts an eyebrow.

"Exactly how much access do you have to the system?"

Understanding melts into Makoto's expression, and he hums. "You'll be able to see him afterward, you know. When he passes over it'll be permanent."

"I know," Sousuke says. "But you could make it happen now."

"There's," Makoto says, hesitating, "a really tight security on the system here. Really, I don't—"

"I'm asking for a minute," Sousuke says, leaning forward over the table. Makoto finally starts to frown. "I need to say something. Before."

Something gives way. Makoto opens his mouth, and heaves a great breath. Then he turns his eyes to the ceiling, and something rises hopefully in Sousuke's chest.

"You have five minutes," Makoto says, back in Haruka's room, standing by the bed. Sousuke's in a chair, placing the small chip to his temple.

He hears it gently whir to life, and nods. "Thank you," he says, watching Makoto bring about an identical chip for Haruka. Then the room gently fades, and he's falling, falling, falling.

He tosses white curtains to the side, hurries down the steps of the deck. His bare feet sink into the sand, and he's afraid the wind might carry his voice away so he shouts, "Hey!"

Facing the shore, Haruka turns to regard him. The wind is taking his t-shirt and hair to one side of him, and he's looking around at the brilliant blue sky, the sun casting shadows behind him. And he doesn't say anything until Sousuke's within speaking distance, struggling to keep his balance above the soft ground.

"I've never seen this place in the daytime," he says, looking up at the street. "It's warm."

"I gotta make this quick," Sousuke says, waiting for Haruka's nod. "I mean. Look, I talked to Makoto."

Haruka's eyes fill with something foreign, and he says, "Oh." Then he rocks back on his heels. 

Sousuke shakes his head, furrows his brow. "Yeah. You're passing over tomorrow?"

Haruka looks slightly regretful, but nods. "After the wedding." He starts to reach for Sousuke, but then pauses and drops his hand. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, but I didn't—"

"Shut up," Sousuke interrupts. "Let me ask you something. You think you're used to me by now?"

Confusion flashes deep in Haruka's eyes, preceding a tilt to his head and a line between his eyebrows. But he nods. "Yeah."

"Good," Sousuke says, "because I'm about to do something really stupid."

He lowers himself, onto his knees. Haruka reaches for him again, bemused, but Sousuke catches his hands.

As confidently as he can, Sousuke says, "Marry me instead."

Haruka blinks once, before shock takes a strong hold on his every feature. Sousuke holds tight to his hands, realizes all at once that not only is this stupid but it's slightly crazy and out of line, and it's childish and far too romantic, but god help him, this only makes him want to say it again. Because he is far gone, and soon to be actually gone, and Haruka's eyes are a persuasion to promise.

"I know Makoto's your best friend," he says, "and I'm not doing this to take away from that, but I felt—"

Haruka falls to his knees, pulls him into a kiss. His hands are all over his cheeks, in his hair, on his shoulders, all at once. The back of his shirt is hot from the sun, burning Sousuke's palms when he presses them around.

During a break in the kiss, Sousuke asks, "Is that a yes?"

And Haruka laughs, fully, openly, arms looped around Sousuke's neck. He is the definition of wonder, burning alive in Sousuke's arms. Everywhere he touches throbs and swells, and Sousuke watches the patches of his skin glow bright wherever he presses his mouth. He could make this worth it. He could.

Haruka presses his mouth to the shell of Sousuke's ear. "Yeah," he says, like he's never meant anything more. And then their hourglass runs empty, just as Sousuke's arms do, the sound of machines bringing to life his reality.

The ceremony is fast, and uneventful. Unconventional, too, but Sousuke never had any expectations for something like this anyway. Haru watches him the whole time, drifting in and out of sleep. Sousuke wants to be offended, truly, but all he finds is fondness. 

He signs the papers with fingerprints on a tablet, and one physical signature. And the hours between the ceremony and what's scheduled after move faster than Sousuke's prepared for. Faster than what any of them are prepared for, probably. Makoto is on the opposite side of his bed, clutching Haruka's hand the whole time. It opens an old wound in Sousuke's chest so deeply he nearly turns away at times. When the doctor approaches the machine with a question in the eyes, Makoto whispers, "Wait."

It's the first thing he's said in hours. Sousuke stands by, unable to look away when they lock eyes. The doctor has more decency than he does, as well as his assistant; they both look elsewhere, faces somber.

Makoto exhales, shakily. He thumbs over Haruka's knuckles again and again, brushes Haruka's hair to one side. He says, "I'll see you someday soon, Haru-chan."

There is a look in Haruka's eyes that is so heavily pained, and this is what finally presses Sousuke's eyes away. Though he hears Makoto's breathing regardless, heavy and unsteady as he cries. 

At some point, Makoto must nod, because the doctor moves to the machines again. One by one, he presses buttons, turns switches. Sousuke sees a fluid run through a tube, and moments later, sees Haruka's eyes flutter shut. 

It takes a number of minutes, all silent. Even Makoto has stopped making noise, but he holds tight still to Haruka's hand. Sousuke doesn't know how long it takes for the doctor to reach for the tube connected to Haruka's throat, but it feels like it's been too long. Agonizingly so. And it's so gentle, disturbingly easy, the way he disconnects Haruka's oxygen. It pulls away without resistance. In the moments that follow Haruka's chest falls a final time, and everything goes still.

It's sunset when he falls into Iwatobi again, the sky painted red and yellow. He drives fast, not wanting to waste a moment, and feels that he already knows where to go.

Sure enough, there's a figure by the shoreline, legs outstretched into the tide. Sousuke gets up, tie fluttering in the wind, stands on the driver's seat and presses the heel of his palm into the horn, again and again.

Haruka's head snaps around, and he gets up immediately. He's in clothes as casual as ever, and Sousuke can't fight the grin away, watching him run up over the sand to meet him. It's barely been a week, but that's been too long. Far too long.

"Hi," Haruka says when he's close, breathless.

Sousuke hops down, grinning. "You didn't dress up to see me?" he asks, gesturing to himself—to his credit, Haruka seems to notice only now that he's wearing a suit. 

"Oh," he says, and in the next moment he's dressed to the nines, all black and fitted to his stature, strong and healthy and bright. And when he climbs up off the sand and onto the street he asks, "Better?"

Sousuke laughs, pull Haruka close by the wrist and encloses him in his arms, straightening just enough to pull him an inch or two off of the ground. Haruka wheezes, laughs, grasps at his shoulders and kisses him. When they climb back into the car, they're kissing still.

They drive for a while. Neither of them know the limits of this reality, built from the ground up for people like them, but they go far enough to turn around and head back, knowing that soon they'll run out of time and that the shoreline is the place most worthy of their ridiculous fucking honeymoon, so morbid and just as equally wonderful. At some point Haruka unties his own tie, then releases it into the wind and lets it fly. There is something released about him, something free, and Sousuke feels so lucky to be next to him, to be seeing it.

"I can't believe," he says later, when they're laying in the back of the car and staring at the darkening sky, "how much I want to be here."

Sousuke gives him a look, says, "You've been here before."

"But now I live here," Haruka says, sitting up. His expression remains even only for a minute before he smiles, tiny and bright. It closes tightly around Sousuke's chest. "I'm here. Completely."

Sousuke doesn't know what complete really means anymore. He shakes his head, fondness taking a rough hold of him. "Whatever you say."

"You don't have to get it," Haruka says, as if he needed the reassurance. Then he climbs out of the car, gets his feet on the ground, and unbuttons his shirt.

"Um," Sousuke says.

Haruka looks at him, over his shoulder. "Swim with me."

Sousuke watches him strip to nothing, then looks to the sea. He hasn't been in the water, not since—not once, not at all. Not even here, when he could make the excuse of augmented reality if he really wanted to. If he needed to. But he never did, because the urge never hit him all these years, once he'd stopped. But Haruka is looking at him in that way of his again, with eyes that beg something of him without having to look at all desperate. He is always so calm, yet he radiates with a longing for everything he hasn't ever had, things he probably doesn't even realize he wants to see or hear or feel, and it seems like he has never stopped wanting Sousuke. That part is frightening, shakes Sousuke to his core every time. But it also gets him climbing down onto the sand and unclothing, while Haruka steps out of his shoes.

But it has been a long time. Long enough that doing this, stepping into the salt water, something that used to feel so integral to his very life and being and happiness, feels new. It washes over him, pulls at his waist with every passing wave, and it is so unfamiliar, the feeling on his shins and forearms and shoulders and toes, sinking into the silt below. Haruka takes his hands and pulls him under, and he learns that unfamiliar is fine if he looks like this, hair dripping over his eyes and skin shining under the sky. From beneath the surface it all blends together, the moon and stars and all of Iwatobi, and the salt never stings his eyes. And when they float on their backs Haruka stretches out his foot and hooks their ankles together, eyes half-drowned, calmness in every stroke.

"I don't know," is the first thing Haruka says, the first thing either of them says, when he's standing again, holding his hands above the surface and facing his palms toward the sky, reflecting the stars in the puddles he's collecting in them, as the water flows steadily over. "How long it's been. Since I did this on my own."

Sousuke watches him, watches his face as he looks at the water, his face turned away from the moon and draped in shadows. He manages to nod. "Yeah. Makoto. He mentioned—"

"Is he okay?" Haruka asks suddenly. All the happiness is gone from his eyes, replaced with deep concern. He must have been wanting to ask since he passed.

"He is," Sousuke answers, as evenly as he can. "Or he was. When I left. He needs his time, but he kept saying he knew he would see you again. He'll be alright."

Haruka looks at the water, a half moon sitting on the horizon behind him. "This is something he and I learned to love together," he says. "When I couldn't swim on my own anymore, he chose to stop, too. He didn't have to, but he did. We fought about it for weeks because I didn't want him giving it up just because I suddenly had a timestamp following me around, but I know. I knew. I knew he did it because it didn't feel the same without me, because he didn't think it was worth it anymore. He told me so, and I heard him, but I—"

"Hey," Sousuke says, coming to him. "Stop." Haruka exhales, rests his forehead heavily against Sousuke's chin. Sousuke takes hold of his arms and brushes his thumbs over his biceps. "You're not gone, and neither is he. You're just separated for a while."

"That feels enough like being gone," he says, then looks up, and holds Sousuke's eyes with his own. And Sousuke wants so much to pull him closer, cover his mouth and silence him or find some other way to pull the air he needs to say whatever he's about to say right out of his lungs, because he knows by the look on his face that it's not something he wants to hear at all. But Haruka always comes through, and he does now, and he says, "Be with me."

Sousuke swallows, holds on a little tighter. "I'm with you now."

"That's not what I mean. Sousuke." He sets his jaw, his voice low. "When it's your time. Pass over with me."

"Haruka."

He reaches out suddenly, takes hold of Sousuke's face. "This is real," he says. So calmly. "I'm real, and so are you. Look—I can—touch you, I can—"

"Then touch me," Sousuke says, softening his eyes. "But don't do this. Let's just stop and enjoy tonight."

"Until it's midnight," Haruka says. "Then you go and it's a week before we see each other again. And then after. You said three months. How many times is that before you're gone?"

"This isn't up for discussion," Sousuke says, pulling away and turning his face from his grasp. "I made my decision a long time ago. And I told you. You had to know this is how it would go in the end."

Haruka reaches for his own left hand, takes hold of the slim band there, identical to the one Sousuke has on his left ring finger. Then he holds it up and says, deadpan, "You've surprised me before."

Sousuke exhales through his nose, holds his eyes on the ring for the sake of not looking Haruka in the eye. "You know that was just a gesture."

"Marriage," Haruka says, evenly.

"It was a kindness," Sousuke says, taking a few steps backwards. "It was to help you pass over."

"I had Makoto for that. I didn't need you to do anything."

Sousuke laughs, harshly, displaced from all his dread. "Because you were so damn excited to marry him."

"He's my best friend," Haruka says, defense steadily dismantling his calm. "If he had married me, that would have been a kindness. For you to do it—"

"Is something different," Sousuke interrupts, shaking his head. "If that's what you need to believe—"

"You act like I don't know what you're feeling or why you do things, but you're the one who lies to yourself," Haruka says, and Sousuke stops, stunned. "I can tell. I can see it."

Sousuke turns, abruptly, and wades in the direction of the shore. "I'm leaving."

"Don't," Haruka says, shuffling after him through the water, waist-deep. They make it to the sand before he speaks again, huffing, "Sousuke, stop. I'm—sorry. I'm sorry. Okay."

Sousuke throws him a look. "I told you—"

"I know. But this isn't a trap. This doesn't have to be forever, if—that's what's scaring you. You can remove yourself anytime you want and I won't stop you," Haruka says, looking away. "But I gave this a chance, and now it's given me one. And I want to share it with you."

Sousuke thinks it again, as he did before; he could make this worth it. He knows it now, staring at Haruka standing tall and solid in front of him, fists clenched and face vulnerable despite the tightness in it. He's been so open, and he deserves so much better. Sousuke shakes his head, turns away again. "I said I made my choice."

For a minute, Haruka lets him walk. He doesn't come after him at all this time, just huffs where he is and calls, "Why? Because he isn't here?" And this drags Sousuke's feet to a stop, just on the edge of losing his balance. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, that he isn't, but it isn't your fault. He either didn't get the chance or chose not to be here, and you shouldn't have to suffer now because of it."

Sousuke glances over his shoulder, feeling something cold reach his own eyes. "Don't," he warns.

"You're torturing yourself," Haruka accuses, coming closer now. "You dropped every person here who stopped to care about you and—I'm not—I know I'm not getting this wrong. You don't think you deserve to be here with me."

"Haruka," Sousuke says, setting his jaw. "You don't know a fucking thing about what you're saying. Drop it."

"If I don't know then it's because you won't tell me," Haruka says. "But I'm listening, Sousuke. And he's gone. And you don't have to be also, just because—"

"You don't get it," Sousuke snaps, glowering. "Rin was my family. We grew up on the same street, went to the same school, swam for the same team—if that sounds at all fucking familiar—and when I got my diagnosis they told me right the hell away I'd be losing a leg. And he felt the heartbreak over that for me, because we were going—we were close—to the goddamn world stage. Together. And suddenly he was going alone and I had to take back every promise I'd made since we were ten years old, but he kept going because he knew that it'd kill me if he stopped, too. And he was—"

"Sousuke—" Haruka murmurs, reaching for his hand.

"Get off," Sousuke says, jerking away. "He was fine. He was healthy and bright and he was the future, our future, but that just wasn't fucking good enough for the world because it took him, anyway. Three seconds. If he'd crossed that intersection three seconds sooner, or later, or not at all then he'd be here and maybe then I'd fucking humor you." Haruka has stopped trying to speak, just looks at him sadly. Sousuke doesn't bother to look away. "He died six months before they came out with this goddamn graveyard you're so in love with, ten years after his father. And if I'm telling you the truth I don't think he would have wanted to choose this place anyway. So if you think for a second," he says, walking Haruka backwards, toward the water, toward the moon, "for one second that you've suffered more than me just because you were damned to a hospital bed and gotta wave goodbye to your childhood sweetheart for a little while, you can go fuck yourself."

"That isn't what I was saying," Haruka tries, taking Sousuke's wrist even as he stumbles back, "I didn't know."

"You didn't think to," Sousuke barks, then settles suddenly when the sadness hits him fully. It washes away the rest, brings a painful thickness to his throat. "Did you think to ask?" he wonders, voice splintering. "Did it ever occur to you, to ask?" Haruka opens his mouth, closes it. His eyes are so wide. "Haruka, I wish that I could believe that Rin's somewhere that his father is and that he gets to feel happy but I don't. I don't. I think he's nowhere, and that's where I plan on being too because if he didn't get the chance, if the person he cherished more than anything in the living world didn't get the chance, why should I?" He heaves a breath, and Haruka starts to shake his head. "Can you answer that for me? With clarity, or just with a fucking reason other than to spend forever in a place filled with the lost shells of people who are willing to do anything just to feel something. I'm not doing that. I'm not turning into that."

"That's enough," Haruka whispers.

Sousuke scoffs, shakes his head. "I watched Rin's mother and sister work their asses off trying to move on. That helplessness was agony," he says, thinking of tiny Gou and the way she shook in his arms, the way she still shakes when the memories come back too heavily. "And I'm done feeling it. Maybe I'm choosing something selfish but I don't care. I'm going. I'm gone. And I pitied you—I'll give you that, I pitied you, and I felt you, and I wanted to do as much for you as I could because it felt important, and because you made me feel important. And now—fucking now, you're tossing me some sales pitch about happily ever after when I know you've gotta be just as fucking clueless about what forever means as I am. So I'm done," he says, then steps back, a final time. "I'm done."

He turns, and walks up the beach to the road. This time, Haruka doesn't come after him. Maybe he calls out, or struggles with what to do, but Sousuke doesn't hear, and he doesn't look. It's close to midnight, and he's done playing house.

He blinks, reclothes, closes himself up in his car and drives, and drives, and drives. Leaves the beach and the house and the deck and the bed and Haruka behind, and thinks of waking in the chair in his room at his hospice and thinks of Gou in the chair beside his, wonders if she's sleeping too, or just waiting for him to come back. He looks to the sky, and it gives him no answer. This place is no reality. This place is no nostalgia. It is a barrier for pain but it's thinly veiled and brimming with falsehood, overflowing with hidden identities and truths replaced by what these people—these ghosts—want to be.

The edge of the town approaches. He doesn't slow, doesn't try to turn. When the signs approach, the warnings and the borders, he keeps going, thinking of red and of blue and of the sea and of crashing, crashing, falling—and his car strikes the border and stops. He doesn't.

Sousuke hits the ground, softer than the pavement with the grass but it wouldn't matter anyway. He rolls a few times until he drags too much and finally lands, face down, hands beneath his shoulders and legs sprawled. And he doesn't get up immediately, even though he could. Even though it's raining now, since he doesn't know when because he hadn't noticed it before, and it wets the ground around him and the back of his dress shirt and his hair, sticking to his face, sticking to the dirt. And he realizes.

He didn't want to become what the people here were. But he thinks, staring at the ground, that he already has. He's been desperate to feel something, too. No different than the rest.

It rises to his chest, and he nearly has to scream in order not to sob. But footsteps beside him catch him before he can, and he looks. And he shouldn't be surprised. 

Haruka isn't frowning anymore. He looks solemn, but it takes his expression gently—he looks, finally, like he truly understands. And he says nothing, like he must know what Sousuke wants. Just reaches down with both hands, hair swept back in the wind, cheeks wetting in the rain. He's glowing. So brightly.

Sousuke pushes himself up from the ground with both hands, a luxury he doesn't often have. Then he reaches up, conceding. But he isn't quick enough.

He blinks and he's dry. And sitting in a chair, beside a set of glass doors. Across from him is Gou, and she's sleeping after all, fiery hair let down and falling over her shoulders, chest rising and falling.

Sousuke reminds himself to breathe, the burning coming to him immediately, and settles. And he thinks of Haruka left alone in the rain, in the flickering headlights of a topless car, hands outstretched to the empty ground at his feet, the gentleness in his eyes giving way to gentler devastation. And Sousuke thinks, solemnly, that midnight came too soon.

He doesn't use the trial anymore. Doesn't visit Iwatobi, that is. The burning comes fast and faster, and he knows it won't be long. Really, there isn't a point.

Before he was transferred to the hospice care here, he was in and out of a hospital back near his hometown. It had large windows facing mountains, where the sun would set and cast orange and magenta into the sitting room. He misses that room. He misses the mountains. He misses the nurse that would come to collect him to his room during exams and surgeries, away from the colors just as they were fading to something darker.

"Sousuke," Gou says, coming to his side. "You okay?"

Sousuke sighs, but nods. "Always am," he says. "Are we going?"

Gou smiles. He wonders if she knows, because she is always so much smarter about this than she lets on, or if she's blissfully ignorant when he helps him up from the chair, handing him a single crutch. "Yes," she says, pushing his hair back with careful fingertips. He leans up, so much smaller than him still, has to get up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

He sleeps through most of the drive. He tries to stay awake, really, but it's hard with the pain, and Gou encourages him to get the rest, anyway. So by his standards, they get to Sano fast. By hers it might be different, but she's able-bodied, only has to stretch when she gets out of the car and circles around to help him climb out, too. He has enough room to feel guilty, but decides it just isn't worth it.

They sit on the beach. There are people here today, plenty, half in the water and half in the sun, which is bright and hot and beautiful. It feels nice to be outside here, and back here, and he can see himself at ten running over the sand, chased by a fireball of of a boy with hair to match how bright he was. He's spent a lot of time thinking about that, and what he's lost in that. But he's never tried to see it. He wonders what Rin would think of him, if he were here; what he would have to say about how he's been handling himself. Handling his realities.

He thumbs at the base of his left ring finger. Of all things. Of everything that's happened. Was that real?

They stay all day. Then, when the sun starts to set, Gou pulls him up, and it's a struggle that drains them both of regular breath. When they get to their feet she smiles, looking so much like Rin it's startling, and tries to guide him up the sand to her mother's house. She's waiting there with dinner.

He hears a voice, in the wind. One he knows isn't really there.

But something gives way, and Sousuke stops. Gou tries to keep going, must assume he's having as much trouble as always, but she turns to look at him when he says, "Okay."

And she furrows her brow, tipping her head to one side. "Sousuke?"

"Okay," he says again, taking a breath, taking her hand. He smiles. "All things considered. I guess I'm ready."

"What do you mean?" Gou asks, not a clue in her eyes. But it comes, oh it comes, in the moment that Sousuke's leg gives out with the rest of him. And she gasps, tries to catch him, calls his name. But he's fading already, and the sand slips beneath him like soft skin against sheets.

He doesn't know how long it takes, because he fades in and out. It's probably days. He hopes it isn't weeks. But he sees a sharp smile when he tries to open his eyes, and sees blue when he closes them. The color of water.

Gou is in the hospital room, and so is her mother, and his parents, the last time he tries to look. And he says, because it feels right, because Gou is holding his hand and he's seen this, heard this before, because he's half-gone and been there too long already, "I'll see you someday soon."

She smiles. Even through the tears. And for the last time, he falls.

He wakes in white sheets. And he doesn't have to walk far.

It's ten steps to the deck. He counts. And counts the creaks in the boards, and the seconds it takes before the person sitting at the edge of it looks up at him.

--

It's daytime. It's warm. Haruka's gotten used to it by now, but it doesn't become any less nice. His car is an old convertible that reminds him of the kind Makoto used to talk about wanting, and he understands why now, if he didn't before; the wind coasts by and if he gets the chance to close his eyes just long enough, it feels a lot like flying. 

He pulls around the shoreline, slows on his way down the driveway. Yesterday it was the beach, again. Today it's the mountains, or as close to them as possible. He's never tried to make the drive before, but there's time for it now, and time for it whenever it's needed.

When he makes it to the end near the house, he presses the heel of his palm into the horn three times, quickly. A few birds on the ground surrounding him fly off, startled, and he has to temper his own smile, glad it can't show in his eyes while he's wearing sunglasses, when he sees the annoyed look coming off of the deck.

Sousuke pitches the picnic basket directly at Haruka's head, but Haruka catches it in time. "I heard you coming, smartass," he says, and now the smile comes regardless of how hard Haruka tries.

"Ready?" he asks, as Sousuke climbs into the car, over the door instead of just opening it. 

"If you are." 

Haruka breathes, elated, fluttery. Then he shifts gears, and pulls back. And they drive.

"What if we drive off this edge of this place," Sousuke says at some point, unhelpfully, into Haruka's shoulder, halfway to pulling him into a kiss that Haruka grunts into, struggles to look at the road simultaneously.

"I don't think," he manages, breaking free, "that there'd be a flaw in the system that obvious."

"Sounds like challenge," Sousuke points out, voice strained as he stretches both arms over his head, and Haruka snorts. "Hey, we've got forever to find one."

Forever. Just thinking of the word makes him feel dizzy; it seems too long, and also not long enough at all. He doesn't know how to fathom forever.

But Sousuke takes his hand from the steering wheel, presses the back of it to his mouth. And the momentary anxiousness falters, floods with warmth instead. Maybe he doesn't need to fathom it at all, or else drive himself crazy with the freedom. Sousuke is holding his hand tight, and that is enough. Enough of a throb and a flurry to make him dizzier than anything else could make him.

The mountains grow in the distance, and they hit no flaw. So he holds tight to Sousuke's hand, buries himself in the sound of Sousuke's laugh against his temple, thinks he might be pulling himself closer to the end of forever when he does so.

And he lifts an eyebrow gently, and asks, "Is that enough time?"