Sly Blue was a ridiculously hard man to love. But that was the task the bartender had assigned himself. After a surprising lack of pestering on his part, the unspoken promise of free cigarettes and a warm place to sleep, and with the weight of grief heavy on his shoulders, Sly had agreed to at least try this 'dating' thing.
He did have some limits though, he'd sent these by text the very night he'd agreed; they would try for a week and a week only, then he'd do whatever he wanted and Mizuki couldn't complain. They'd agreed this a week ago, and since then Sly had been completely absent from the bartenders life, his presence on the island barely noticeable. There'd been some vague talk of him being seen in the residential district, looking withdrawn, having been caught stealing easily and reportedly having not fought back during the subsequent beating. Mizuki was worried about him.
He assumed he'd changed his mind, as would be well within his character, so Mizuki nearly had a heart attack when he came home after shutting the bar to the sound of his TV blaring into the hallway. His first thought was of burglars, or someone from another Rib team with a grudge, it wouldn't be the first time that had happened, but what kind of bold individual would be so obvious about their intrusion? A quick glance at the open window at the end of the hall and the specks of blood on the wooden floor and door handle, and he knew immediately who his guest was.
"Sly? What happened?" He asked before the door even opened fully, trying not to smear blood on his hand as he hung up his leather jacket, worried now, wondering whether his seeming injuries were self-caused as they had been before. There was no response and Mizuki turned to glance around his room nervously, eyes searching for that familiar splash of vivid blue. The TV cast long shadows in the dark room, every logical place Sly could be turning up empty. He'd probably already left.
He sighed rather reluctantly, despite agreeing to give dating a try, it looked like the grieving boy had changed his mind, Mizuki feeling utter uselessness wash over himself as he realized there was nothing he could do to help if he didn't wish to be helped. Feeling too disappointed now to do anything but sleep, he strode in front of the sofa to find the TV remote and turn it off, quietly cursing Sly for not thinking about his electricity bill or how freaked he might be to get home and find the set still on. He was mildly startled, more than mildly, as the sofa behind him made a quiet noise, spinning around with the remote in his hand like a weapon and in some ridiculous pose like he was a ninja or something else dumb that he certainly was not.
But he dropped the defensive stance instantly, voice softening and dropping to his knees beside the form on his couch, hovering a hand over his nostrils and checking for breaths because he looked so pale he could honestly be dead. "Sly?"
It was definitely him, blue hair fanning out around him on the dark material, bloodied lip and bruising eye decorating his sallow face. Much paler than usual, Mizuki noted, and with an almost feverish sheen on it, a faint sweat across his brow and lips very pink.
An opened first aid kit, which Mizuki recognized as his own, lay messily around his feet, plasters and rolls of bandages nestling next to a box of cigarettes and what looked like a bag of ecstasy, or some similar pills. Shuffling closer to Sly carefully, aware he was sleeping, Mizuki gave his body a quick scan, the damage on his face was obvious, but the blood seeping through his t-shirt wasn't so easily dismissed. He was going to have to wake him up, something he didn't exactly relish, not only because he was terrible when awoken, but because he looked so peaceful, something nobody would normally equate with the teenager and which he certainly deserved now.
"Sly," shaking his shoulder seemed safe enough, careful to avoid injuring him more, voice soft but firm because he needed to make sure he was okay before anything else, burying the guilt that waking him up would bring him back to painful reality and hand growing firmer on warm skin. "Sly, wake up."
Yellow eyes cracked open minutely, groaning as the light of the TV burnt into their retinas. A groan left swollen lips and he made to roll over, gasping a moment later as, presumably, whatever wound he had throbbed painfully, stopping his movements and eyes landing on Mizuki almost confused for a second. There was a bleary, semi-conscious state to him even as he cleared his throat and rubbed at his non-bruised eye, movements slow and dizzy like he was close to passing out.
"You're bleeding."
"I hadn't noticed." The voice, though still thick with sleep and slurring, held it's usual, sarcastic, biting tone as yellow eyes met Mizuki's in a weak glare, though the sleepy-dust in his eyes rather ruined its effect.
Deciding not to answer this, Mizuki just rolled his eyes, moving the unorganized first aid kit onto the coffee table in front of the sofa and shooting Sly an unimpressed look even as he hid his growing concern. "Sit up and take your top off." He ordered, just waiting for Sly's amused reply.
"You're keen tonight, didn't know you had a thing for ordering me about." Despite his teasing words, Sly tried to comply, eyes closing as he used the armrest to heave himself upright, head wobbling a little on his neck and exhaling shakily as if the room were spinning. But then the moment had passed and he was pretending alright again, slowly, carefully pulling off his t-shirts with a hiss of pain and sitting in front of Mizuki, awaiting the scolding he knew was coming.
But he received nothing but a pair of pursed lips and a quiet, almost inaudible tut. "What happened this time?" He asked, voice lacking its usual concern, he was far too used to this by now and he knew Sly didn't take well to worried comments, keeping them to himself and mentally evaluating what to do. Hands rooting through the green box to find what he needed, needle, thread, antiseptic, gauze, tape.
Sly scowled, looking away as Mizuki began to clean the messy wound with an antiseptic soaked cotton-wool ball, blinking too slowly and inhaling sharply as the sting reached the wound, strange pained noise escaping his throat and hissing. "Got beat up."
Mizuki hadn't exactly been expecting that, preparing himself for a dramatic retelling of the events and being told the other party had ended up worse off and that they deserved it, he was being too stilted and there was definitely still a strong atmosphere of grief circling him.
"You got beaten up?" There was disbelief in Mizuki's tone, which Sly clearly wasn't happy with.
"Yeah, fucking problem?" He spat, looking so tempted to leap up and leave the apartment covered in blood and unstitched, not that he could, jerking indignantly forwards and only succeeding in hurting himself more as the hands on the wound pressed in further than they'd intended.
"No," Mizuki responded calmly, now the wound was clean he could see the extent of the damage. The wound, presumably from a knife, was a couple of centimeters deep, and about the same length. "This from a knife?"
"Yeah. Mine."
Mizuki paused, threaded needle in his hand and disbelief in his eyes, brow crinkling because something about this was off-kilter, wrong in all kinds of ways, this whole conversation seemed a few degrees north of their normal. "Yours?"
"That's what I said, Dry Juice." Sly looked even more pissed off than usual, trying to sit up straighter and hand sliding where it tried to push him up, playing off his blatant weakness with another snappy remark neither of them found remotely realistic. "You deaf?"
"How did he get it off you?" From what Mizuki knew, Sly was a strong fighter, and anyone crazy enough to try and take his weapon would likely end up wishing they'd never tried, so to find out somebody had managed to catch him in the first place, then driven him to get out his weapon, then had been able to take it, was worrying. His stomach felt twisted in all the wrong ways.
"He took it off me."
This conversation was going in circles.
"Stay still." Mizuki ordered, preparing to stitch up Sly's wounds for what felt like the millionth time, continuing to quietly, softly question him, trying not to sound judgmental because that was a sure fire way to make him clam up. "By force?"
Sly's face contorted, he looked almost ashamed as he stared fixedly at the needle stabbing through his skin, trying not to make any pained noises even as his nostrils flared and he hissed through his harshly gritted teeth. "Not exactly."
The words were a whisper, none of his usual swagger or confidence in them, he sounded like an embarrassed child, groaning as his head lolled onto his chest and he watched with sick fascination, the force exerted on the needle to shove it through skin it wasn't designed to pierce.
Deciding to let it go for now, Mizuki finished the stitches, noting with sick pride that he was improving at them, and this set was quite straight and neat, sure Sly wouldn't care at all about the aesthetics but relieved he'd done the best job he could. Glancing up to check Sly wasn't in too much pain, he tied them off and covered the wound with gauze, taping it in place and hoping that would hold, if not, he'd bandage it the next day before he, undoubtedly left.
"Are you staying?" Mizuki tried to keep his voice even, but a touch of want seeped in, making him sound pathetic, even to his own ears. His own desires though weren't entirely selfish, he was really worried now, there was a horrible, crawling anxiety in his chest, a sort of inexplicable dread that he couldn't shove off. This was just another day in Sly's messed up life, but something was off, he was too quiet and withdrawn, barely objecting to the hand that remained lingering on his knee long after physical touches should have ceased. He wanted to look after him, to make sure he wouldn't do anything else dumb like seemingly letting himself get stabbed, thoughts of wild, strange methods of suicide filling his head that he couldn't push away.
It would be just like Sly to put the responsibility of killing himself onto somebody else's shoulders, after all, why kill yourself when you can easily bait somebody else until they'll do it themselves and save you the trouble?
But Sly just shrugged, helping himself to a cigarette and offering Mizuki one, which he took, sliding onto the couch beside him and side eying him as subtly as he could, relieved to see his eyes a little less glazed over now. "I agreed to didn't I?"
They sat in silence for a moment, smoking their cigarettes and ignoring the unspoken questions between them, temporary break from their back and forth banter and half-formed scowls not as peaceful as it should have been and growing more uncomfortable the longer it continued. Sly's gaze didn't seem to focus on anything and he stared at the moving images on the screen as if he couldn't even see the immaculately dressed woman advertising a special device to cut apples into precise slices. His hand moved on the cigarette rhythmically, mechanically, take a drag, lower it down, tap ash into the tray, exhale, repeat.
The sticks took too long to burn down and the bartender had stubbed his out before he should because he wanted to see Sly alright for the night, wanted to see him safe and in a state where neither physical nor mental pain could affect him. He wanted to be able to keep an eye on him while he slept, to watch his body try and heal for the brief periods of rest he allowed it to have, wanted to check for injuries under the rest of his clothes.
"Come on, it's late, we should go to bed." Mizuki switched off the TV and offered Sly a hand, which, to his actual amazement he took, keeping hold of it when he was pulled off the sofa, swaying lightly. They were halfway to his room, Sly having detached from him the moment he was upright and had stabilized himself, dropping it the second he stopped swaying from side to side, when Sly crumpled to the floor.
He was at his side instantly, having let him follow along slowly one step behind him, knowing if he refused to accept help that continuing to offer would only make it worse, kneeling down and reaching towards him, unable to hide the tint of fear in his voice, "whoa, whoa, Sly, you okay?"
"Don't fucking touch me." He growled, gripping the wall and trying to pull himself back up, swatting away Mizuki's hands as he tried to help. He couldn't do it, his legs wobbled underneath him and he fell down again and again, clawing at the smooth surface as if thinking a slight handhold would help with how badly he was trembling all over.
There was a light sheen of sweat on his brow and his breathing was hard and labored as he fell once more, panting and crumpled on the ground. His yellow eyes were wide and scared, lips parted and breathing heavily like he'd just escaped a pursuer, but his face was hard and he looked angry as Mizuki lifted him up. He barely weighed a thing, the bartender lifting him under the arms as easily as if he had been a small child, half walking and half carrying him through to his bedroom and only releasing him when he was safely sat down on the bed. He flinched as Mizuki's hand reached towards him, brushing his hair out of his face, and feeling how clammy his skin was, sure he had a fever and hoping he could sleep it off.
"Go to sleep, you need to heal." He urged softly, sitting on the side of the bed opposite him, but making no move to climb in next to him, lifting up the sheets so he could slide under them, unable to hide his dizziness as his head lolled onto the pillows unbidden. Sly regarded him with suspicious eyes, but it was obvious he was exhausted and his hard expression soon faded as sleep overcame him and his lids drifted shut.
When Mizuki kissed his forehead nearly an hour later, he twitched in his sleep, soft mumbles escaping torn lips.
The next day began with a crash, as days with Sly always seemed to, but Mizuki had quite forgotten this and shot up, panic and confusion equal in his newly-awakened expression. For a moment fear ran through him, until he noticed the rumpled bedding next to him and the pair of scruffy trainers he recognized too well, remembering who his guest was and how disruptive he loved to be, rolling his eyes at the less than gentle awakening but having not really expected any less.
"Sly?" He called out, standing from the bed and groaning pleasurably as his back clicked, bare feet padding through the apartment, wondering just what chaos his blue-haired guest was causing. What he didn't expect to see, as he rounded the corner into the living room, was the seemingly unconscious body of said guest, lying awkwardly against the wall, tub of painkillers in one hand and white pills spilled all over the floor. They crunched as he stepped on them, any sleepiness gone as he gripped Sly's shoulder, realizing with alarm that he had a large purple bruise forming on his cheekbone, blending in with his already blackened eye.
"Sly!" Mizuki tried shaking him, gently, of course, he had a stab wound already and he didn't particularly want to make it worse or break his already flimsy stitches, but he needed to make sure he could be roused because this was the second time he'd looked dead in less than 24 hours and that was an achievement. "Sly, can you hear me?"
There was silence for a minute in which Mizuki began contemplating ringing someone, maybe one of his teammates who worked at the hospital, but explaining the unpopular Rhymer's presence in his apartment would be difficult.
"Please, talk louder. I don't think they heard you on the mainland." Yellow eyes had flickered open, voice weak but still laced with contempt, fingers trailing across the rounded pills absently and something in his gaze too distant to be anything but worrying.
"Shit, what happened?"
"I decided to take a nap on your floor."
"Sly..." Mizuki's voice was both warning and impatient, and the boy scowled and looked away, trying to hide a wince as he shifted position. "You collapsed again, didn't you?"
"No shit. What are you, a cop?" It was an automatic response and held no fire, like he had an internal repository of comebacks and insults and had snatched one up at random, thrown it out with the hope it would end the interrogation he was getting.
Mizuki was glaring by now, he knew Sly had never taken his own health very seriously, but this wasn't just some wound, he had to be seriously hurt, or very weak for one reason or another, just hoping he'd be allowed to try and help.
Sly rolled his eyes, heaving himself with some pained grunts to his feet, pushing Mizuki's hands away as he instinctively tried to support him, leaning heavily on the bookshelves beside him and shaking with the effort of his following coughs. "Yes, I collapsed. Happy now?"
"Not really." Two could play at that game. "When did you last eat?"
The childish scowl on Sly's face was ridiculous and he refused to meet Mizuki's eyes, shrugging his shoulders. "I dunno. Tuesday maybe?"
"It's Saturday." Mizuki was rightfully horrified, he'd been able to tell Sly had lost weight yesterday, he'd been noticing for a while in fact, he went through stages of seeming almost emaciated then of getting a little better and almost looking normal. But now his ribs were been pronounced under almost transparent white skin, his eyes were sunken and his collarbones were sharp as they had been at their first meeting. "Sit down."
"I'm fine standing." Sly argued, meeting Mizuki's eyes with the stupid rebelliousness only teenagers seem to possess, even as he literally swayed on his feet, having to shift over slightly as he lost balance and stumbled towards the very chair he refused to inhabit.
"I said, sit down." Mizuki growled, advancing on Sly angrily, any patience or sympathy gone and now just bubbling with rage at the stupid, stubborn boy who refused to listen to sense. Reluctantly, and with more than a hint of resentment, Sly did as he was told, yanking a chair out from under the table violently and throwing himself into it, more like a collapse than either of them would admit.
"Don't fucking move." Mizuki threatened, turning and walking into the kitchen to retrieve ice for Sly's head, figuring he probably needed it even as he was tempted to leave him to his own devices, stupid and dangerous though they were sure to be.
"I wouldn't dream of it." The voice that floated after him was almost bitter, and Mizuki resolved to find out just how long Sly had been neglecting himself to this level. He had the feeling he wouldn't like the answer.
"Why haven't you been eating?" Mizuki's voice was firm, not allowing room for lies, though of course Sly ignored this even as the bartender swept his hair away gently and pressed the ice to his swelling cheek. His fingers were tentative on his skull as he rolled the ice across the spreading bruising.
"I wasn't hungry." The tilt of the head, wide smirk and arrogant stare made the lie even more obvious, like lying to someone who obviously knew the truth, or some skewed, messed up version of it anyway, the version he was happy to tell.
"Sure you weren't."
"Why Mizuki, it almost sounds like you don't believe me." Sly's words were poison, dripping from his lips like venom and flooding the room with his deceit, anyone else would get away from the vile ooze that spread around him, but Mizuki had become stuck some time ago, like a spider in a web, and had lost any urge to get away.
"Because I don't. Hold that on, I'm making you something to eat."
"I'm not-"
"Shut up, I don't care if you feel sick, if you're not hungry or if you're dying, you're going to eat something," he tried to sound reasonable even though he was being no such thing, he wasn't giving him a say in this because he'd never do anything even remotely resembling self-preservation.
"Oh Mizuki-san, you're so caring." Sly's voice adopted a false falsetto, similar to that of Koujaku's fans, falsely sweet and cloying, dropping into a low hiss second later and scowling so darkly he winced at the twist of his aching face. "It's fucking disgusting."
"Oh, I'm sorry, why was it you were here again?" Sarcasm dripped from his words and discontent was thick in the air between them, easier to say things with bite than it was to be genuine and soft, to clearly state what the issue here was. Sly was hurt and weak and he wanted to look after him, but if he didn't want it too Mizuki would be cold as him.
"Oh yes, I remember, because you agreed to it, because you wanted to be. If you want to leave then fine, but don't stay and be an asshole when I just want to help."
Dead silence fell and there was no surprise in tired yellow, eyes rolling high to the ceiling and huffing a disingenuous sigh as if he were the one being inconvenienced, but he knew the truth of the words, that he never had to agree to anything and that he alone was the reason he was with Mizuki in the first place.
"So are you hungry or not?"
"Yes, I'm hungry. I'm always hungry."
"Yeah, I bet you are," he got a funny look then, questioning and confused though he didn't bother to give clarification, escaping into the kitchen with it's cool air and not a speck of yellow in sight.
"So, how've you been?" He distracted from the question by lowering down a mug of coffee, black and decaffeinated because the last thing either of them needed was to lose sleep, yellow eyes looking more awake now and pleased to see torn fingertips holding toast, half eaten already. He hadn't just said he was hungry to get him off his back then.
"How have I been? What are you, a hairdresser?"
"I- What? No, I just mean, cause-" He was baffled instinctively, because how on earth would Sly know a hairdressers patter? But he remembered again that he didn't know him as well as he might pretend to, and that he must have had a life with the parents who had abandoned him for a while, perhaps things had started for him in an infinitely normal way.
"Because my brothers dead? Yeah, I'm just golden, thanks for asking, how's your week been?"
"Sly," he sighed, exasperated, little voice in his head that sounded worryingly like Tio reminding him to consider other people's feelings, pausing to think that he was grieving in his own way and that being blunt was who he was, of course he'd seen through his badly formulated ruse. "I just want to make sure you're alright."
"My brother's dead, of course I'm not. Even you're not that dumb."
"You don't normally like to admit it, that's all."
"Yeah well, I can't exactly deny it can I? Not after what happened." He sounded more ashamed than anything else, and Mizuki just wished he realized he'd felt nothing but sympathy for him, he'd never dreamed of pitying or judging him, he'd been far too occupied with his hysteria to really think about anything that deeply. Seeing him freak out like that had been more than horrible, he thought about it every time he saw him, the half-smile on his face being obscured by the memory of tears and his features crumpled up like old cardboard.
"I suppose not. But, I was wondering…"
His voice petered off and Sly wasn't about to encourage him to continue, munching on toast that caught in his throat and stomach whining about how long it had been empty, knowing Mizuki knew why he had lost the fight and gotten hurt. It wasn't like him, to go without food for so long he couldn't even defend himself properly, he guessed the bartender would have plenty to say about that if he'd told him it had been deliberate. It didn't feel right to stuff his face with his brother gone.
"Why did you agree to this?"
"I didn't want to be by myself," Mizuki had obviously been expecting him to pause before answering, or maybe to not answer at all, both were in his nature, so when he spoke instantly the bartender was the only one surprised. He didn't know how to respond though, just making a soft noise in his throat and nodding slowly, thinking it was so understandable and hoping he was present enough for him despite the distance Sly insisted there be between them. Glancing around the apartment as if he hadn't been there a hundred times before, changing the subject with a clear of his throat and a move to bacon. "So. What do normal people do?"
He laughed at that, aloud, a sudden bark to hide how much it hurt to see him looking around like he had no idea what to do now he knew he was staying for a while, his pose tense and hard on the dining chair and so out of place there was little to do but pretend things were fine.
"Whatever they want to, normally."
"Right." That wasn't information that helped him much, because what he wanted to do right now was curl into a ball and not do much of anything at all, but he knew that would draw questions and worries so he wouldn't. But then what was he expected to do? To fill up the hours of the day with meaningless nonsense he wouldn't be able to focus on properly until it was late enough to go to bed unquestioned and hope unconsciousness would be swift and generous for once. "Do you have work today?"
"Mm, not til six though. I can stay here, if you want?"
"No. I don't want you here." That sounded mean but his tone was so hollow he couldn't look up as Mizuki sighed again and it was worried and understanding and several other things he didn't much appreciate.
Two hours of bland afternoon television later, and Mizuki was so infinitely bored that he figured he needed to do something before he either went completely mad or yelled at Sly to just talk to him for once, sick of watching him pretend he was fine. So he stood from the couch instead and his guest didn't so much as move even as the cushions rising caused him to tilt a little to the left, fixing his tucked in pose silently and gazing at the advertisement for toothpaste like he was actually interested.
"You want a coffee?"
"Yeah, whatever."
Mizuki rolled his eyes, Sly was as objectionable as always, sat on the sofa with a scowl on his face, flicking through the channels disinterestedly and occasionally pausing on something with eyes so blank Mizuki knew he couldn't take any of it in.
"I'll take that as a yes." The bartender muttered, rolling his eyes and disappearing into the kitchen for the second time that day if only to escape, voice in his head saying that this had not only been a terrible idea, but that he'd also decided to carry it out at exactly the wrong time.
He looked a little more human with something to occupy him, sipping at the bitter liquid even though Mizuki was sure he wasn't actually all that fond of coffee, finding a documentary about serial killers that both of them might enjoy and shoulders lowering a tiny fraction. He still looked tired and small when Mizuki managed to encourage him to eat a snack when it got to lunchtime but he refused to eat anything proper, forcing a cereal bar on him and listening to him whine about how boring all his food was.
"Feel free not to eat it."
He just got a dark expression and he held out his empty coffee mug silently, Mizuki not entirely sure what he wanted but returning with a refill for him anyway, turning back to the TV because that was easier than watching Sly sink into himself.
"Okay," he'd stood up about half an hour before to start getting ready, freshening up in the bathroom and running a razor over his stubbly cheeks, choosing something to wear and making sure everything in the house would be okay for him while he was gone. He addressed him now, about to leave and boots already slipped onto his feet, lingering by the arm of the couch where Sly had barely moved all day, eyes shifting to the overflowing ashtray. "I'll be back at like two."
"Mm-hm."
That hadn't been much of a response and he hesitated before speaking again, biting his lip uncomfortably and deciding that maybe he should have just stayed with him anyway, he didn't feel safe leaving him alone. "Will you be okay by yourself?"
"Mm-hm."
"Are you going to say anything other than 'mm-hm?'"
Their eyes met and for a moment neither of them conceded, Mizuki raising an eyebrow and Sly opening his mouth to pop out a word, stubborn and childish even as he did what he'd been indirectly asked to, "nope."
"Right, well, I guess I'll see you later then," the door closed behind him quietly and Sly pretended he hadn't heard the slice of disappointment in his voice.
"Mizuki, are you okay? You look sick."
Thoughts flooded him all at once, surprise that Kin had arrived first and before Tio, especially since they usually walked in together, an amusing thought that if anybody here looked sick, it was Kin. In fact the second he turned towards him, he almost wanted to send him home, regarding the bags under his eyes and the messy state of his hair, polo shirt crumpled at the collar. He couldn't say any of that though, it would make it obvious he wasn't okay by deflecting the question back onto the asker, "hm? Oh, no, Kin, I'm fine, I didn't sleep so well."
Kin didn't respond, just nodded with tightly sealed lips and turned away once he received the reassuring pat on the arm he expected, bartender slipping past him to escape into the back room to work on designs, or perhaps to brood. Something was definitely on Mizuki's mind and he didn't look ill as much as he did queasy with nervousness, face somewhat clammy and fingers too wobbly on the till as he paused to turn back to him.
"Oh, Tio told me about your cocktail shift the other day. You think you'll be good for this week?"
"Um," Kin felt weirdly betrayed to begin with, immediately feeling that hot pang of shame at his abysmal performance, knowing Tio would have had to tell him but feeling ashamed anyway, dread at where this might go filling him until he felt sick. His words were stilted and jerky, making excuses he barely believed and sure Mizuki already knew something was wrong, had seen his eyes linger slightly too long on his tired expression as he smiled to reassure himself as much as anyone else, "yeah, I'll be fine, it was just an off day."
"Alright, I know you can do it."
His smile was so genuine and warm that for a moment Kin's returning grin was real too, hearing the bar door open and aware of the second Mizuki decided to leave, a diplomatic departure, "mm."
They went about their tasks for a little while first, Tio ditching his thin jacket and bag in the back room when he arrived, helping himself to a coke and pouring a red bull for Kin without comment, watching as he drank it a little too fast, about to open his mouth to ask for help with putting the chairs out when the other spoke, interrupting his thought.
"What's wrong with Mizuki?" It was pretty blunt, not the usual way he'd express concern about his boss, with reverence he didn't necessarily deserve considering some of the states Kin had seen him in.
"What do you mean?"
"He seems… I don't know, off, somehow," he shrugged then, figuring that if Tio didn't already know, it could only be his imagination, following Tio's lead to remove chairs from the tables they sat on, pausing to debate his words before deciding there was no use lingering over them. "He's not drinking again is he?"
"Nah, he's pretty much sober all the time. He in the back?" Kin was nearer the bar than he was, figuring his plan as Tio abandoned the chair he'd just neatly lowered to the ground and approached him, resting a hand on his arm to reassure him that really, the last thing he needed to be doing was worrying about somebody else.
"Yeah."
"Alright, you hold the fort for me."
His expression brightened along with the hand lingering to squeeze his arm, skin warm under his palm and seeming reassured now he'd been trusted with a task, even if it was as small as preparing the bar for incoming customers. "Can do."
Tact. That was what he was going for here, diplomacy, subtlety, all that stuff that wouldn't make it obvious he had any kind of agenda, oh no, this was just a nice check in with his friend and employer before the shift began. Or at least that was his intention until he realized he was good enough at faking that Mizuki wouldn't catch on and let anything spill, he'd just smile and reply to anything he asked and not sense the intrusion in the air.
"Yo, Mizuki, what you up to back here?"
"Nothing much, just sketching out a design for Maya later on, she phoned and said she wanted to edit the designs on the cross a little, and the bird wasn't quite what she wanted."
Tio slid it towards himself, regarding it absently, not really sure it was his thing but guessing it was at least well drawn if nothing else, sliding it away so Mizuki could carry on, pencil still in hand, "hm, it's a bit creepy, isn't it?"
"Sorta, it's based on work by an artist on the mainland, she really loves his style but she can't exactly get there so…" he shrugged then, grinning and not even thinking that Tio might be asking out of anything but genuine curiosity. "I said I'll try my best to get it right."
"That's pretty cool." Here it was, his chance for a neat little segue into the actual issue here, Kin's suspicions that had rapidly grown into Tio's own nosiness, leaning against the steel counter a little too casually, drawing circles into it with his fingertips and being anything but subtle. "So, how're things with you?"
He was wary immediately, and of course he was, who asked their friends questions like that unless something either had been or was wrong, smiling disarmingly and earning some much deserved narrowed eyes. "How'd you mean? Did Kin say something?"
"No, no, he uh, he didn't say-" Mizuki turned then and shot him the least impressed look ever, half amused at how obvious a lie it was, snorting as Tio changed tactic and figured there was no use lying. "I mean, okay fine so maybe he did say something. So, anything wrong?"
"No," he answered a tiny bit too fast, just the tiniest bit too insistent while also not being particularity believable, pausing in his shrug and, inclining his head to the side, continuing with a little more uncertainty. "Not, wrong."
"Something on your mind then?"
"Yeah, that's more like it. It's uh, you know… The usual."
"Sly?" It didn't really hurt to ask now, it was always Sly when it came to Mizuki and the idea of them together was less horrifying each day, or he told himself that anyway, he had the feeling that seeing them together might be a different story to the one his mind concocted.
"Yeah. I told you something happened, I'm worried about him, I guess." It felt strange to admit it, possibly just because it was to Tio, but suddenly just how worried he was hit him and he realized, belatedly, just how scared this whole thing had made him, because Sly could be fragile sometimes, but never had been to this extent before.
"Hm, you won't tell me what?"
"Sorry, Tio, but no. He did um, agree to live with me for a bit though."
He didn't know how to react and it was obvious, nodding slowly and glancing upwards as if he'd give some sign he was there, taking up space in an apartment that Tio felt should be empty, shame flooding him as he realized how hard the news had hit. But he could swallow it down and summon a smile up as if there weren't snakes twisting through his intestines, "that's cool, how long for?"
"He said a week, I dunno, I guess if he likes it he'll stay longer?"
"Mm, well at least you can look after him while he's with you, you know, because of, whatever happened."
"If only it was that easy." His jaw had hardened and the pencil clattered as it hit the sideboard hard enough for the lead inside to shatter, changing the subject just as fast, smiling so convincingly as he patted Tio's shoulder that he felt significantly freaked out. "Anyway, we should go help Kin."
It was weird, having to creep into his own apartment, even weirder that he didn't know if he was creeping to avoid Sly waking up or to avoid him altogether, not sure he could bear to see him sat there looking so dead to the world. So he toed off his boots quietly and put his jacket over the back of a dining chair, flicking on the kitchen light and living room empty, bathroom door open and silent beyond.
He must be in the bedroom then, having an internal battle between how tired he was, and the selfish, afraid part of him that didn't want to be in a room where the very air was thick with melancholy, sighing as he realized if he didn't check on him he'd feel terrible.
Worst situation; Sly was awake and visibly upset, crying, staring into space, with bandages on his arms. Best situation; he'd be peacefully asleep or would somehow have bounced back and would swear at him and ask why the fuck he was being such a creep.
Some part of him knew it would be a combination of both.
But he pushed the door open anyway, holding it in place and poking his head inside the dark room, not able to hear any movement and reluctant to wake him when sleep would be the best thing for him right now. His voice was so soft it was almost lost entirely amongst cushioned sheets and memory foam that would remember the past far longer than he could, "Sly?"
"I'm still awake, you don't have to whisper." His voice was still strong, only the tiniest hint of resentment in it, not moving from his position or giving any other indication that he wanted to be spoken to. Mizuki wondered what would have happened had he just climbed into bed beside him, almost certain he would have pretended to be asleep to avoid this.
"Oh, sorry," but he wasn't. "You want some company?"
Sly's head was swimming with things he wanted to say but the lies on the tip of his tongue were far easier to let fall, slipping silkily out onto the ground between them and quieting the part of him that wanted to shove them away for once where they couldn't hurt him more.
"No." Yes.
"Okay, did you find something to do while I was gone?"
"Mm." No.
"What'd you do?"
"Watch TV." Curl up on the couch and lie still for three hours smoking a twenty pack then inhaling a packet of cookies.
"Okay," his hand thudded weakly against the doorframe, not knowing what to say and unsure whether Sly was lying or not, no signs in the apartment that he'd done much of anything at all, not that watching TV left much evidence. But if he wanted to be left alone he'd do as he was told, not sure what to say because he was pretty tired and asking to be let into his own bed had been a little foolish. "Yell me if you need anything, yeah?"
"Mm. You got any cigs?"
"Yeah, most of a pack," he got it out of his pocket without thinking about it, Sly turning a little to drape one arm across the bed, taking the cardboard and lighting up immediately, there was little else to say then so he left quietly, footsteps padding away and his guest not turning to regard the empty space until he was gone, sighing and sliding one hand up onto the unoccupied pillow, allowing himself to feel lonely for just a second.
"I lied!"
Mizuki paused in his tracks, halfway into the living room and almost to the couch he'd been planning on flopping onto, Sly's voice breaking through the apartment easily and almost making him jump, eyes narrowing as he headed back into the room he'd just been asked to leave. "About what?"
"Lots of things."
"Specifically." He obviously regretted speaking already, having twisted onto his back and one arm spread out across the messy sheets towards him, eyes crinkling at the corners and fingers twiddling almost nervously around a soon to be dead cigarette.
"I don't..?"
"I mean right now."
"Oh. I don't want you to leave. Stay here and sit in miserable silence with me."
"Okay. But tell me one thing first."
"Sure." He shrugged, rolling back onto his designated side of the bed, stabbing out the smoking butt and shifting onto his side to regard him with honest curiosity, expression open and the fog over his gaze lifted, if only a little.
"Why do you lie?"
"I'd tell the truth if I could. But it… gets stuck on the way out." Mizuki just nodded and ditched his boots onto the bedroom floor, picking up the book he'd been intending on reading for months now, and settling onto the bed to join Sly's silent vigil.
Sly hadn't moved since he'd left the room for a nearly hour long shower, and at first he assumed it was because he'd been asleep, only a quick walk around the bed crushing his naive ideas, ashtray overflowing with butts and ash, fingertips hovering millimeters over the glass surface. He must have fallen asleep with one in his fingers, long stem of ash almost complete, breaking off as Mizuki gently took the butt from his fingers, lifting the tray onto the bedside table and hesitating, crouched in front of Sly.
He wanted to do something, to reach out and tuck his hair behind his ear, or smooth out the deep wrinkle on his forehead, to thumb his cheek gently and whisper that it was okay, things would get better. But he didn't do anything, he snuck around again and regretted and debated on bad timing as he stripped down to boxers, Sly fully dressed beside him and curled into himself even as he spread out and drifted into shamefully peaceful dreams.
Sly woke up first, and for the first few blissful seconds where he yawned and rubbed his eyes and watched the cool blue light streaming through the blinds, he'd forgotten everything, his brain returned him to a normal morning waking up beside Mizuki. But he was still dressed and his back didn't sting with scratches and everything came back as the familiar haze of depression settled over him again, sinking back into the sheets to stare blankly at the wall.
There was only one question burning urgent and hot against his lips, but he'd never considered himself stupid enough to ask things when he knew the answer already, closing his eyes and thinking of soft olive speaking the words he needed to hear.
'As long as you need.'