From the first moment that it happened, somehow Hisoka simply knew.
He'd touched Tsuzuki to get him to snap out of it. Tsuzuki's sobs were loud and drunk as he'd hit his head against the wall, as he'd jammed the glass into his eye. Hisoka had screamed at him, had pulled at his arms, had done everything he could to get the man to just stop.
It was Tsuzuki who had triggered it, however, by reaching up and taking Hisoka's arm.
That was enough. A world of despair and pain was inside of his partner's heart, and Hisoka saw it firsthand. The stones, the sticks, the children's laughter as they beat the violet-eyed boy. Asato had cried out, had hit the grass with such force as to bring up a cloud of dirt and a splash of mud. Later, the boy had just lain there and watched the skies and wished that he could be like the other boys, that he could fit in. He never would; his father prevented him from ever being normal, from ever having a regular social life. In his teens, he was thin and awkward, slowly spiraling into insanity as he drove the blade into his right wrist…
From the moment that Hisoka had seen Tsuzuki's memory, he'd just known.
One had to admire the way Tsuzuki went about, concealing his pain and his darkness with sweets and beer. Hisoka certainly admired it now, looking back, wishing that there was something he could've done, something he could've said that would make Tsuzuki realize he wasn't alone anymore. That he didn't have to hide anything.
That Hisoka knew and understood.
He folded his arms behind his head, the pillow beneath them soft and comforting. It was warm only from his body heat, and when Hisoka reached over to feel the one next to him, it was oddly cold and stiff. A sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes, trying to visualize his partner for the millionth time.
Tsuzuki was certainly good-looking. Bright, boyish amethyst eyes, cheekbones tinted with a permanent blush, brown hair falling messily over a cheerful face. A face behind which was the truth: that Tsuzuki was miserable, that there was nothing on earth that could make him truly smile. A genuine smile in place of the false, forced, idiotic grin.
There was a knock at the door, and Hisoka only grunted in response, not wishing to be disturbed right now. The door opened anyway, and Tatsumi entered, looking strangely empty but concerned.
Hisoka didn't even need the man to speak to know. Yes, it was in every syllable in his speech, but it was hidden in every line of his face too: the blue eyes, the curved mouth, the clean-cut way his hair fell over his face. It was too obvious, far too obvious, and Hisoka turned his attention back toward the ceiling and the cold fabric of the pillow beside him.
"Kurosaki," Tatsumi said, his voice strange in the otherwise quiet room. Hisoka couldn't look at him, too focused on counting the spots on the ceiling, like Tsuzuki used to count the stars…
The stars. Tsuzuki had told him once that it was a source of comfort to connect the pale dots with his eyes, to try to see just how many could fit in that expanse of darkened sky. Hisoka had tried too hard to reason with his partner, to explain that the stars are infinite, that they can't simply be counted because the numbers will only keep on changing, but…
But Tsuzuki hadn't listened. He'd counted and he'd laughed, like a child playing a game.
"Do you hear it?" Hisoka asked, his eyes closing and his body arching to the sound.
Tatsumi's pause was more than enough of an answer. "Kurosaki…"
"The laughter," Hisoka continued, because he had to say it, he had to get it across. "He's laughing, Tatsumi-san, can't you hear it?"
Hisoka had seen the look in his eyes back then. The empty emotion deep in the alien purple, and he didn't need to touch to see.
Tsuzuki had been hurting for a very long time. A deep hurt, a hurt that wouldn't be fixed with any sort of comfort. Hisoka had seen it, had Ifelt/I it, had wanted to mend Tsuzuki's past.
"We can get you another partner, Hisoka."
The statement came from Tatsumi's lips softly, almost like comfort, but Hisoka was beyond that now. Too far beyond.
He pressed his knuckles to the pillow beside him even harder, feeling them warm beneath his hands. It had been only a week ago that the pillow had been warm from Tsuzuki's hair, from the face that had pressed into it and the tears that had salted it, even thought Hisoka hadn't known they existed at the time.
A week. So much can happen in a week.
If he closed his eyes tighter, he could sense the energy emanating off the pillow even in its owner's absence. A feeling of complete despair, the need to forget something already half-forgotten, but coupled by another emotion, one that Hisoka had difficulty pinning down.
Love.
Or was that his own?
He tried to concentrate on the stars. So faint, and yet Tsuzuki had counted them… one, two, three… Can you see Orion, Hisoka?
A call for help hidden within the closed remains of Tsuzuki's heart…
Can you see Orion?
Hisoka's reply came after a short pause, his own heart falling to pieces in his chest. Flaking, like a stale dessert…
"I don't want a new partner."
Fire, some said, purified the soul. Tsuzuki, however, said it was the stars, glowing dimly in the pitch-black sky.
Tsuzuki…
If Hisoka closed his eyes tightly, he could feel the emotions lingering in the room. If he tried, he could sense what was left of his partner, of the only person that had ever shown him what it was to love.
If he tried, he could see Orion.