Open Road
Disclaimer: don't own this manga or the metaphor in the first line, which comes from TS Eliot's poem "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
The evening spreads itself against the sky like a line of a poem they'd read in English class in high school by some guy who had apparently plagiarized everything he ever read but was important anyway; the line and the trait are the only things Hayato really remembers about that class, that and staring at Juichi beside him out of the corner of his eye, the earnest and careful way Juichi took notes, the way he's always taken them (his handwriting was the first thing Hayato had noticed about him, the neat and crisp lines against the blankness of the paper) and presumably the way he still does—presumably, of course, presumably the way he's doing now as he's at the evening class he'd managed to fit into his schedule because it's important to his major and important to his chosen career. It feels like they're not really at the same school anymore, the way Juichi's got those lengthy classes at the other end of campus and how they're never in the dorm room at the same time except when they're both asleep and except on those precious Sunday mornings when they wake up together and go riding together, just a few hours with the two of them against the wind that are not nearly enough, nearly as many as Hayato is used to, nearly enough to satisfy him.
It's like he's alone on the road, staring ahead at a void in front of him, and when he looks back there's nothing there, either. He's gotten this far ahead of the pack on his own before, but the sense of urgency isn't the usual controlled mania of a race; he's uncertain and he knows he has to find a way, find someone else to cling onto, to ride with, but he doesn't know if he has to catch up or wait back, but just riding as he is isn't an option either, and no matter how much he tries to accelerate or slow down the world seems to be flying by him at exactly the same speed.
It's not like it was before, when he was still working through everything, when Juichi backed him no matter what, when he could almost feel the warmth and strength of Juichi's hands behind him, when some mornings that was the only thing that got him out of bed, when his stomach had dropped and his fists had clenched and he had felt so empty, like he was about to drift away—it was the magnetism of Juichi's hands that kept him down to the earth.
And yet they're separate now; this is not middle school and this is not high school and they do not walk together through the halls or ride every day together, they do not fall into a pace together; they are drifting apart and the magnetism is broken, either that or they were forced apart and the magnetic attraction is too weak to bring them back together with all this distance between them. Hayato shivers; the space heater is even weaker than what's left of the attractive forces between them. He glances at the clock. Juichi should be back by now; he almost always is, usually by half an hour before. He's probably out having fun with his friends from class; Hayato chides himself for thinking about it too much—he shouldn't let this dictate his life, should he? He doesn't need to know every detail of Juichi's life; it's only natural that they're not always part of everything the other one does. After so many years together he should have learned how to let Juichi go, how to exist without him for one night, but that's not even the issue. It's just a symptom, like not being able to pass on the left, only it's harder to deal with. There's no way of saying that he'll just pass on the right; the road is foggy and he wants to scream and cry and hold on tightly to Juichi but that's not his way of doing things and never has been. That's how Touodu would handle things, and probably Arakita too, but he's never been all that much like them and has never wanted or needed to be. He sighs and flops down on the bed, gathering his knees to his chest and the covers around him. Even with socks his feet are still cold, but the bit of heat generated by his body and the blankets make it bearable. When Juichi's here, he forgets the cold sometimes, forgets to pay attention to his own discomfort and focuses on the sturdy line of Juichi's jaw, the way his hair falls over his ears, the slight musicality of his speaking voice.
Hayato closes his eyes and hugs the covers tighter around himself, and then he hears the click of the key in the lock.
"I'm back," Juichi says.
He tosses a large package at Hayato's bed as he wipes his feet on the mat. Hayato ducks out of the way and it lands next to him.
"Open it."
He peels off the tape and pulls apart the flaps of the box. Inside is a soft blue down comforter. Hayato looks up.
"It's getting colder. You didn't bring nearly enough blankets, so I figured I'd just stop and get you one."
"Juichi, I can't—"
"You're huddled under the covers with the heater turned all the way up."
Shoes and coat now neatly placed by the door, Juichi strolls over and sits down on the bed net to Hayato. His face is slightly flushed, whether it's from the temperature outside (or the difference from the outside to the inside) or from something else entirely it's hard to say, but he's been observing Juichi for a long enough time that he'd bet a hell of a lot on the cause being not entirely temperature-related. He pulls the comforter out of the box and onto his lap; now that it's free of its confines it puffs up into its usual thickness; it's got a pretty big surface area, too—this must have cost a lot. When he's tossed the box onto the floor, he wraps the comforter around both of their shoulders and leans closer to Juichi. Juichi flushes redder; it's too soon for the warmth to overtake him this much and Hayato grins. Juichi places an arm around his waist and Hayato snuggles closer; neither of them has said anything yet but at this point they don't need words to say things that have left unsaid and unshared for far too long.
Hayato wakes up in the morning to the tapestry of veins on Juichi's arm right in front of his eyes, slung across his chest, squashing the anxieties before they can rear their stupid heads, the warmth of the blue comforter and Juichi's body keeping away the cold. It's taken them too damn long to figure out that it's okay to want each other like this but they're here now, and thinking that makes Hayato's fingers assume the curl of a familiar position before he can stop himself.