There's someone in Mahiru's bedroom when he comes home.
It's been a long day. The aftermath of the school festival is almost more tiring than the preparation for it, with the sheer number of things to be tidied and deconstructed and set away in their right places. Mahiru stayed late by hours, leaving Kuro in his cat form to be cooed over and petted while he went wherever he was needed, wherever an extra pair of hands or an additional helper would make the difference to his classmates. By the time he's bundled Kuro back into his bag and started the walk home the vampire is complaining of exhaustion, giving voice to protest that echoes the ache of hunger knotting in Mahiru's stomach. He doesn't bother arguing back or trying to explain that they have to get home first, that it's not a good use of resources to stop at a convenience store for the snack Mahiru's stomach and Kuro's voice demand; he just keeps walking over the sound of Kuro's protests, letting the whine of the other's voice fall into a backdrop for the rhythm of his footsteps against the sidewalk. Kuro shifts back as soon as they're through the front door, hunching his shoulders into visible protest as he beelines for the kitchen and the food there, and Mahiru turns towards his bedroom with a vague thought of setting his bag down and taking off his school coat before he settles in to make a more involved meal for himself. He's sliding the bag off his shoulder as he pushes the door open, reaching to unfasten the button on his coat as he moves; and then he sees the shadow in front of the window, and his movements freeze, all his casual consideration of his plans for the evening evaporating in the first moment of panicked adrenaline.
"Who are you?" he asks, hearing his voice strain over the sudden anxiety that has knotted up his spine. "What are you doing-" and then the figure turns, looking over its shoulder to Mahiru by the door, and Mahiru sees the sweep of pale hair made dark by shadows and feels all the tension in his body give way at once to the sudden relief of happiness.
"Oh," he says, and steps forward into the room so he can push the door shut behind him. "Sakuya."
"I didn't mean to see you," Sakuya says at once, like it's not the middle of the night in Mahiru's home and the single most likely place for the other to be. "I was just stopping by and saw your light was off, I didn't-" He cuts himself off, his voice audibly breaking on stress before he closes his mouth and swallows hard. His eyes look black in the shadows. "I didn't mean to see you."
"You thought I wasn't home because my light was off?" Mahiru asks. He lets the bag at his shoulder slide free and reaches out to drop it to the floor without looking. "I'll have to learn to do my homework in the dark, then."
Sakuya's expression crumples, his mouth twisting hard as his lashes dip, as his chin tilts down. He looks like he's about to burst into tears, like he can't figure out how to restrain his emotions into something reasonable. "I should go," he says, but he doesn't move, his feet don't shift; the only motion he makes is to tighten his fingers into fists at his sides. He takes a breath, shakes his head. "I shouldn't be here."
"You should," Mahiru says. He takes a careful step forward, easing over the distance between himself and the other; Sakuya catches an inhale, the sound loud in the quiet of the room, but he doesn't flinch away, doesn't bolt the way Mahiru half-expected him to. Mahiru's heart is pounding, his chest is aching, but when he lifts his hand the movement is slow, careful, as if he's reaching out to offer affection to a skittish cat. "You should be here. I want to see you."
"I can't," Sakuya says. His gaze drops from Mahiru's face, his lashes falling to follow the shift of the other's hand reaching for him, to land at the striped cuff around Mahiru's wrist. Mahiru can hear the hiss of a breath the other takes from the gap of air between them, can see Sakuya's mouth twist hard on the threat of tears before he gasps himself back to stability and shakes his head. "We're enemies, now."
"We're not enemies." Mahiru is close enough to touch Sakuya, now, if he stretches out his fingers; he takes another step in, deliberately closer to the other in front of him. Sakuya keeps staring at the soft of his wristband, doesn't away from the suggestion of contact with Mahiru's body. "We're friends." Mahiru touches his fingers to Sakuya's hair, catches the curl of the longest lock against his fingertips to push it back from the other's face. Sakuya's lashes flutter, his head ducks down, and he whimpers something incoherent past the press of his lips. It sounds a little bit like a sob, sounds a little bit like protest; mostly it sounds pleading, like he's begging for something too much for him to quite believe he can have. Mahiru can feel the weight of tears pressing against his own throat.
"You're still my friend," he says. His fingers fit into Sakuya's hair, his hand slides down to press against the other's neck; Sakuya's skin is soft under his palm, flushed warm against Mahiru's own. His head tips to the side as Mahiru's hand presses against him, his throat trembles on a huff of sound too soft to be audible. Under Mahiru's touch Sakuya's pulse is still and silent; but Mahiru's heart is thundering in his own chest, he feels sure Sakura must be able to feel the rhythm of it resonating in the space between them.
"You're my best friend," Mahiru says, and he's leaning in as fast as Sakuya's lashes are dipping closed, turning his head up and tipping his chin to press his mouth to the tremor-soft of Sakuya's. Sakuya makes a sound against his lips, something too fragile and soft for Mahiru to make clear sense of, but against his mouth Sakuya's is giving way, is going gentle and warm like it's melting against the weight of Mahiru's lips. Sakuya tastes like caramel, the kind with salt in it that sparkles bright on the tongue and lingers sticky at fingertips and lips; when Mahiru touches his tongue to the part of Sakuya's lips he can taste it even more clearly, like the flavor of Sakuya's skin is melting onto his tongue to fill the whole of his awareness from the heat of it at his mouth. Mahiru's breathing is coming faster, his heart is speeding quicker in his chest as Sakuya opens his mouth to him, as Sakuya's hand comes up to ghost over his hair and Sakuya's lips press flush with heat against his own; and then Sakuya pulls back, finally flinching through that inevitable retreat, and Mahiru can feel impending loss like a chill down his spine to match the loss of Sakuya's mouth against his.
"Wait," he says, knowing it's inevitable, desperate to try anyway. "Wait, Sakuya, not yet, just a minute more."
"I can't," Sakuya says, and his hands are tight in Mahiru's hair but his hold is straining on desperation, Mahiru can feel goodbye in the weight of Sakuya's touch against him without needing to hear the words. "I shouldn't have come here, you shouldn't have seen me at all."
"I should have," Mahiru insists. He has his hands at Sakuya's shirt, is winding his fingers tight against the fabric in rejection of what he knows is coming, of the loss sweeping towards him in spite of all his attempts to stave it off. "I'm glad I did. You can stay longer."
Sakuya struggles through an inhale, his voice audibly straining over the weight of tears. "I can't," he says, and then he's leaning in closer again, bracing Mahiru's head in place so he can crush the angle of his mouth against the other's for another moment of heat. Mahiru shuts his eyes to the friction of it, helpless to his appreciation of the contact even as his chest aches with impending loss, even as his eyes burn with the force of tears; and under Sakuya's fingers his thoughts haze, his memory giving way like sand to a child's hand, and for a flickering moment there's nothing in his mind at all.
Mahiru's bedroom is empty when he opens his eyes. This isn't a surprise, Mahiru thinks; there's no reason he should be frowning at the window he must have left cracked open this morning when he left, no reason he should feel his chest aching as if with the threat of tears from some incomprehensible surge of emotion. There's more than just the threat of them; when Mahiru lifts a hand to touch his cheek his fingers come away damp with the tracks of emotion, his lashes are still wet with proof of some incoherent thought that fades as fast as he reaches for it. Mahiru frowns at his fingertips, reaching for understanding that slides away to elude his best efforts; there's a tear trickling down his face, winding across his cheek to catch at the corner of his mouth. Mahiru licks at it absentmindedly, touching his tongue to the salty wet trailing over his skin; the salt bursts onto his tongue like fireworks, sparking like light flickering into the darkness of his mind as well as the room around him. It tastes familiar, like the bright edge of flavor mixed into expensive caramel; and Mahiru blinks, and looks back to the window left open by the force of a memory fraying out-of-focus even as he reaches for it.
"Sakuya," he says, tasting the shape of the other's name on his tongue for what he remembers as the first time tonight, feeling the sound of it curve like an echo of his own forgotten voice. "I hope I can see you again soon."
Mahiru doesn't know if Sakuya hears him, but he hopes the other knows how true it is all the same.