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Toya's room is pitch-black, save for the intermittent light-up of his phone screen. Messages from the VBS group chat, no doubt; he should have been at practice…half an hour ago? In his defense, he'd tried— even pushed himself all the way off the bed before the weight on his chest had dragged him back down into the covers. He hasn't really moved since. The phone next to his head lights up, then darkens, lights up, darkens.
An 4:34
toya text us back pls
ru okay???
There are rows upon rows of notifications underneath that one, from his private messages with each of his group members, from the group chat, even a few missed calls. The screen goes dark again; Toya feels an aching bolt of guilt shoot through his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. If he doesn't look at it, it isn't there.
Some time passes—maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours— before the vibrations of his phone jolt him from his daze. Akito's face fills the screen, a picture that the two of them had taken at a cafe downtown. They're both smiling.
Hands shaking, Toya reaches out and shuts his phone off. The thought of dealing with any of it, of hearing Akito's worried voice through the phone, talking to him and An and Kohane, makes his head physically throb. He shoves his phone off the bed and onto the floor; the clattering noise bounces around and around in his head, and he grinds his palms against his ears, trying to make it stop. Faintly, he wishes that everything would just shut up, that the crackling static filling his brain would clear for just a second.
Too quickly, he starts to curl into himself. Fetal position, like an infant, a pathetic, half formed human. For someone who's almost a grown man, he should know better. He should have just gone to practice—why the hell couldn't he have gone to practice? Why can't he muster the miniscule bit of effort it takes to just get up? There's something wrong with him, there has to be. Nobody else is like this—
A loud knock at Toya's balcony startles him out of his thoughts. "Toya? You there?" The voice, although muffled by the door, is familiar. Toya's heart sinks as another knock rattles through his room— Akito's here. Missing practice. "Toya, please open up." There's an odd, wavering quality to his voice, one that somehow compels Toya to move across his room and undo the latch.
His partner yanks the door open; the loud whirr of the mechanism makes Toya wince.
"Toya! What the hell, man— are you sick? Why didn't you answer?" Akito's olive eyes are wide, searching, worried.
Sick. "Y-yeah. Go back to practice, I'm good." He forces a smile onto his face, looking straight at something behind Akito. He's never been good at faking expressivity.
Toya can feel his partner's gaze crawling up and down his face. "…Something's wrong," he says, straightforward as ever. "It's not like you to— please, Toya. I don't care about practice. Can you talk to me, please?" That wavering tone again: so unfamiliar, for someone usually so certain.
"It doesn't matter." Toya shakes his head, and against his will, he feels like laughing. Hysteria bubbles up in his chest as he takes a shaky step back, and his next breath comes out more like a gasp. "It's f-fine, I just don't… You need to go practice," he insists, hating the way his voice cracks and how ragged his breaths sound even to his own ears. His chest aches, and it's all he can do not to wrap his arms around himself and hide.
Akito shakes his head, firm, and takes a step inside to match Toya and wrapping a gentle hand around his wrist. "I'm not leaving until you're okay. You're always telling me I need a break anyways, yeah?" He flashes a half-smile. Another step inside, and he's closing the balcony door with one hand, the other still holding Toya's, thumb moving gently up and down.
"An and Kohane—"
"An and Kohane will be fine. You're more important right now."
He opens his mouth to say something, probably another half-hearted plea for Akito to go back to practice, but a sob bursts out instead. The pangs in his chest reach an almost unbearable peak—then there are tears streaming down his face, and he can't stop shaking and crying, and god, this is the most pathetic he's ever felt in his entire life. It hurts to cry this hard, air tearing at his throat like fiberglass. Akito's got an arm wrapped around his back and is saying something; they half-stumble across the room together before collapsing onto the side of the bed, his arms wrapped protectively around Toya's shoulders.
Akito doesn't say anything, just holds him gently until the sobs die down, occasionally running his hands through his hair. Occasionally, he'll hum something, low vibrations buzzing in his chest as he pulls Toya closer.
"…You wanna talk about it?" A soft whisper, the tone of voice you might use when you're trying not to spook an animal. It might've been funny any other time.
Toya turns his head slightly, forehead still resting on Akito's shoulder. "Sorry," he mumbles, ignoring Akito's protest. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I shouldn't feel like this." Again, sick amusement rises in his throat— what right does he have?
"Don't say that. I'm always here for you, yeah? Partners." Another tug from Akito, bringing the two of them closer. He's soft, warm, comforting in a way Toya doesn't think he deserves right now.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," he repeats. "S-singing is going great. School's fine, my f-future is good, I have you and An and Kohane, and I'm g-getting through to my d-dad. I have e-everything," he manages to choke out, before his voice gives out into a sob for the millionth time.
"It's not your fault, Toya. You can't control it."
He should be able to, though. Toya has a million protests, but he lets them die in the back of his throat. He's so, so tired; crying has made it worse.
After a minute of silence, Akito speaks again: "Have you eaten anything yet?"
Toya only shakes his head in response.
"All right, then, let's fix that." Akito stands up and walks over to his bag— Toya hadn't even noticed when he'd put it down— and fishes out a granola bar and a bottle of water. "Brought these in case," he says almost sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he walks back over.
Toya's shaking too hard to unwrap the bar, so he watches as his partner does it for him. Faintly, he feels ashamed: who needs help unwrapping a granola bar? But somehow, the soft smile Akito shoots him makes the noice recede, a little.
He eats and drinks in silence, broken by the occasional rhythms Akito nervously taps out on the bedframe, though he doesn't miss the glances the other boy shoots at him once every few minutes. When he looks up, the sun is lower in the sky, orange light streaming through the windows.
Akito turns to face him, head rimmed in warm sunlight, and it makes Toya feel smaller, guiltier that he'd had to waste his day coming over and practically nursing him back to health.
"Stop worrying. I can see it in your eyes." He taps Toya's head with one finger, eyes as soft and gentle as they always are. "I'm not going anywhere, 'cause I like being here."
He lets himself sink back into Akito's embrace.
Eventually, they end up sprawled on Toya's bed, watching stupid videos on Akito's phone until night completely blankets the room. The soft rise and fall of Akito's chest, his soft laugh when they land on something particularly funny— it's all so unbearably warm. His head isn't as loud anymore.
"…Can you stay?" Toya blurts, ashamed and eager all at once. As much as he feels better, he doesn't quite trust himself to spend the night alone.
"'Course I can. I was gonna anyways," Akito replies, ruffling his hair and giving his head a quick kiss for good measure. He powers his phone off and tosses it to the side. They're both tired; it's half past midnight at this point, and his phone is nearly dead.
They fumble around for a bit, trying to find a comfortable position, before settling with their arms wrapped around one another.
Toya draws in a long breath. "Akito."
"Yeah?"
"What if I'm like this forever? No matter how good it gets, what if…" he might be shaking again; it's hard to tell. What if he just—doesn't feel better? It'll get tiring for everyone eventually, won't it? And then…
There's a hand cupping his chin, tilting his face up until Toya can just make out Akito's eyes in the dark. "Then we'll figure it out. I told ya, I'm not going anywhere, 'kay?"
His voice is steady. It burns with the same intensity that drew Toya to him all those years ago: the same intensity that made him feel anchored in a world that seemed so foreign and uncontrollable. When he says it like that, well— maybe it's okay to believe him for a little longer.