HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SILVERSERVERERROR!
Today is this miraculous human's birthday, so I wanted to write her something!
I love this. "Hey what do you want for your birthday?" "Hmm~ Some incredibly depressing Nihta sequel?" "Why on Earth...? Well, okay!" and that's how this story came to be. Truthfully i've been feeling absolutely awful there was no resolution at the end of Nihta and had been wanting to write something like this for ages, so I'm glad she actually got me arsed to do it. Plus... Fuuma. I've missed Drug Lord Sex God Fuuma.
Also, again a big thank you to my Twin Star for the title! (Day in Greek, one of the few words I actually knew without her help!)
Anything else? No? Cool, let's get back in!
A loud knocking on Seishiro's office door made him jump. "Yes?" He called, as if he'd been woken up very suddenly. One of his interns entered the room and approached his desk. Seishiro's eyes narrowed at the door she'd left open before fixing upon her face. She smiled, and he waited for her to say what she wanted.
"Those reports are all finished," she said. "I just sent you an e-mail about it." Seishiro resisted the urge to sigh impatiently. Why had she come to tell him then?
"Thank you," he said, in his best imitation of gratitude. Her smile widened, and when she didn't leave again, Seishiro swallowed another impatient sigh. "Did you need something else?" He asked.
"Oh, no, just," she shifted awkwardly where she stood. "I'll see you at the meeting at ten."
'Obviously,' Seishiro thought, though he nodded at her politely and she turned to go, her long dark hair swaying behind her. Before she could close his door, however, the CTO of the company appeared right outside it and started a conversation with her. Seishiro closed his eyes for a moment, then began typing on his keyboard as loudly as he could. Unfortunately, it wasn't nearly loud enough to mask the inane banter, the CTO'S would-be ingratiating laugh and his intern's high false one. Seishiro wished one of them would at least shut the door, make it easier to pull away, withdraw back into that disconnected state he'd been in when she'd interrupted. He'd been in that state almost constantly the last few weeks, ever since-
"Seishiro?"
"Yes?" He looked up to find the CTO had entered his office, though he was still staring out the open door with a deeply satisfied smile on his face. Seishiro knew a rush of contempt, anchoring and strengthening, and waited.
"The wife's throwing a dinner party next weekend," the CTO said, and Seishiro felt his stomach contract. "It'll be the usual crowd," he continued. "So feel free to bring your," Seishiro watched him struggle with the word. "Partner?" Seishiro's stomach contracted again, more painfully.
"He'll be back in Tokyo that week working, but thank you," Seishiro replied, his throat constricting around the words. The CTO nodded thoughtfully.
"Ah well, next time," he said, cajolingly, and Seishiro just nodded. "See you at ten." Again, Seishiro just nodded, and the CTO turned to go, thankfully having the decency to shut the door behind him. Seishiro reclined in his seat and stared up at the ceiling, trying to breathe, stop his stomach lurching and clenching. He closed his eyes, withdrawing, repeating his words to himself.
'Subaru would come back. Subaru would come back. Subaru would come back. He's in Tokyo working, but he'll come back.'
Seishiro opened his eyes again. Yes. Subaru was in Tokyo, and he was at work, in his very nice office in a high floor of a luxurious building downtown. He shuddered, but focused on his breath and managed to stay calm. He shouldn't be so withdrawn at work, not the one place he actually wanted to be present. For a moment, he tried to be angry with Subaru for making him feel this way, for making him tell these stories, but it died out almost at once, like it always did lately.
Seishiro stood up and stretched, then, more to distract himself than anything, headed out of his office and down the hall, thinking vaguely of getting more coffee before his meeting. A few people told him good morning as they passed, and he smiled mechanically. Why did everyone want to bother him today?
When he entered the massive, open-air break room, it was to find a large crowd clustered around the flat screen television mounted on the wall. Seishiro paid them no attention as he poured himself coffee. However, as he raised his mug to his lips-
"-and Fuuma Monou." Seishiro choked on his sip of coffee and nearly spat it out.
"Are you okay?" One of his coworkers asked, but he ignored them, turning to stare at the television screen, positive he'd misheard. The news was playing footage of reporters swarming a very nice apartment building, out of which police officers were leading someone in handcuffs. Seishiro shuddered slightly for some reason, but then the camera zoomed in, and he took a hasty sip of coffee to cover his gasp.
Fuuma Monou, his college roommate, was on the news, being led away in handcuffs through a crowd of reporters and looking around with a kind of vague interest. Seishiro just stared, as if he might stop looking so familiar. However, Fuuma turned and smiled right at the camera, and Seishiro shivered. There was no mistake: he remembered viscerally how it felt to have Fuuma smile at you like that, his energy, his pull. Holding tight to his mug, Seishiro wrapped his other arm around himself as he watched the police officers put Fuuma in their car and slam the door shut. He closed his eyes, trying to collect himself, but as he did so his heart began to hammer against his ribcage and memories flooded his mind.
He saw Fuuma back in their college dorm room as they'd said goodbye for the last time. Seishiro had held out his hand, but Fuuma had just smiled and… "Take care, Seishiro," he'd said.
Seishiro forced his eyes open, forced himself back to the present and took a defiant sip of coffee. He didn't want to do this here. Not at work. He had to stay present, and yet… His eyes snapped back up to the television, but the newsreader had moved on to another story, something stupid and irrelevant. Seishiro's heart continued to pound in his chest. He had to find out what had happened, and his curiosity seemed to burn through the emptiness that had been ever-present inside him much more effectively than righteous anger at Subaru. He was about to reach into his pocket for his cellphone, but,
"Seishiro?"
"Yes?"
"It's nearly ten, that meeting." Seishiro hid his impatient sigh in another sip of coffee and followed his coworkers into the hall and to whichever boardroom. The second he sat down at the table he retrieved his phone and Googled "Fuuma Monou." He wondered for a moment why it had never occurred to him to try this before, but, then again why would he? Although Fuuma was one of very few people Seishiro had actually been sorry to lose track of, what good would have come of them reconnecting?
He set down his mug of coffee, but before he could actually read any of the articles that had come up, the CTO entered the room and taken his place at the head of the table. Seishiro waited until he'd called everyone to order and the meeting had officially begun before unlocking his phone and staring at it under the table.
D.O.E Is Now D.O.A!
Undercover Work Leads To Arrest-
Money-
Glamour-
Drugs-
Headline after headline jumped out at Seishiro and his mind seemed to spin. He closed his eyes for a moment, and saw again Fuuma as he had known him all those years ago, astute and charismatic and powerful. Is this what he had meant when he said he was doing field research after graduation? Where had he gone after they'd said goodbye?
Seishiro's curiosity burned more brightly inside him and he opened his eyes, vaguely aware of the meeting going on around him. He scrolled for a moment, then chose an article.
White Collar Drug Ring Busted
Further to FBI investigations into the so-called "White Collar Drug Ring," known colloquially as D.O.E, three arrests have been made as of last night. "Thanks to our brave agent working undercover, who will obviously remain unnamed, we were able to pin down a leader, known only as Kanoe," an insider confirmed.
Seishiro gasped at another familiar name.
"She became remarkably willing to talk during questioning!"
Seishiro narrowed his eyes at his phone, not the least bit surprised.
Arrests include Columbia University student Satsuki Yatoji, career criminal Yuuto Kigai and, the "Second Coming of Mr. Untouchable," Fuuma Monou.
Seishiro swallowed and willed his heart to stop beating so fast. He stared at Fuuma's mug shot. He looked utterly disdainful and incredibly enigmatic and even more… Seishiro swallowed again and finished reading the article.
The FBI has released no new information at this time, except that Kanoe will receive full immunity in exchange for her testimony.
Seishiro knew a hot surge of disgust and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Full immunity when she'd obviously been a key player? Seishiro rolled his eyes. He remembered Fuuma and Kanoe being involved with each other in some poorly defined capacity for all of college. Clearly they had remained so for years afterwards, and yet she'd still sold him out as though it were nothing to save her own ass.
Seishiro's stomach twisted uncomfortably. It figured. He shouldn't be surprised. You could do everything for another person and they'd still never notice or be grateful and leave you at the slightest provocation. His mind suddenly flashed to Subaru and he wondered if he had seen this too, then remembered he'd never mentioned Fuuma to him. Seishiro's stomach twisted uncomfortably again. He could explain it all to Subaru when he came back, watch his fear, his surprise.
Out of nowhere, the meeting Seishiro hadn't heard two words of ended, and he got up hastily, nodding at coworkers when they spoke to him though having no idea what they were actually saying. He felt totally disconnected, his mind full of Subaru, of Kanoe, of Fuuma…
Seishiro followed Fuuma's case constantly as it unfolded. It was all over the news: the legal back and forth, the social commentary, the opinions of people who knew fuck all. Seishiro watched everything, right until it all ended in a plea agreement. Fuuma was never allowed to speak to the press directly, but pictures and video footage of him were everywhere, usually of him making comments to his legal team or looking at all the proceedings with a mildly curious expression on his face. He'd always smile for the camera, powerful and knowing, and Seishiro's grip on his phone would inevitably tighten and his heart would beat faster, as though Fuuma were looking directly at him, as though they were still twenty two and saying goodbye for the last time in their college dorm room.
"Take care, Seishiro."
It was only after everything ended in the plea agreement and the news moved onto other, more relevant stories that Seishiro realized how much it had all been distracting him.
One sweltering evening in August, Seishiro was walking home from work, all the metal and concrete trapping the heat and making him sweaty and dizzy. He loosened his tie and wove in and out of the crowds of tourists making their way to the Freedom Tower or Battery Park, feeling totally separate from them, cocooned and the heat and his thoughts.
Subaru hadn't liked walking around this neighborhood, though of course, now he wasn't here anymore to complain. Seishiro rolled his eyes and kept walking, his heart beating faster all of a sudden. Subaru wasn't here anymore, when he should have come back already, but he hadn't… Seishiro's head swam and he had to take a moment to steady himself. What was going on?
He shook his head and reentered his building, the sudden blast of air conditioning shocking him back to his senses. He ran his fingers through his hair impatiently, then crossed the lobby and took an elevator upstairs. He looked down at his feet, suddenly and viscerally aware of the sweat on his body, how dizzy he still felt, that Subaru wasn't there.
The moment he was back in his apartment, Seishiro strode down the hall to turn up the air conditioning, praying it would help. He stood in his living room, listening to the fans whirring, his heart pounding and mind spinning.
Subaru wasn't here, but he was… But he would have by now… Wouldn't he?
Seishiro dropped his briefcase and dug in his pocket for his cellphone to Google Fuuma's name, just as he always did when these thoughts invaded his mind. Unfortunately, there were no new articles, news reports or videos. Seishiro should have expected this, it had been the same the last few weeks, but…
Subaru wasn't there.
Seishiro's grip on his cellphone tightened and his stomach lurched sickeningly. He ran his fingers through his hair again, still feeling hot and disgusting from his walk home. He strode across to his bedroom and into the en suite, untying his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as he did so. He turned on the shower but kept the temperature cold, thinking rinsing off and getting into clean clothes would help. Then he could order dinner and-
Subaru wasn't there.
-and reread all the articles about Fuuma. Again.
"Take care, Seishiro."
Seishiro's chest constricted and finished getting undressed, took off his glasses and stepped into the shower. The torrent of cold water both shocked and grounded him, but he still felt rather dizzy and his stomach lurched and twisted. Subaru wasn't there, and Seishiro couldn't muster the energy to contradict himself. He seized the soap and began to scrub himself clean, roughly, sometimes catching his skin with his fingernails. The soap and water stung, but he didn't care. It would distract him enough, then he could withdraw again.
"Take care, Seishiro."
'Is this what he meant?' Seishiro thought, suddenly, replacing the soap and stepping back under the icy water. 'Who cares? That's a stupid question.' He took a deep breath in and sighed it out, willing his stomach and heart to calm down, but as always it was to no avail. His body never listened to him.
He wrapped his arms around himself and shut his eyes tight, breathing hard through his open mouth. Again he was back in their dorm room, packing, while Fuuma lounged on his bed, watching.
"I'm going to miss you, Seishiro."
But how could he say that when they hadn't even stayed in contact? How could they have stayed in contact? Fuuma had gone away, but he'd apparently come back to New York, he could have found him! Of course, that had been before you could just Google someone's name, or look them up on social media. That was when you had to work for it. Seishiro's stomach twisted again, but it was different now, and it was unfamiliar, except…
He regretted not staying in contact with Fuuma, just as he regretted not staying in contact with his friend from middle school.
Seishiro shut off the water, stepped out of the bath and put his glasses back on. No. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about.
He reached for a towel and began to dry himself, forcing his mind back to Fuuma. He wondered if he still thought about him or had just banished him to the back of his mind like everyone else did. Like Subaru did.
Seishiro shuddered and goose bumps rose up all over his skin. Before he would have told himself that Subaru was coming back, but, in the months since he'd become so consumed with Fuuma, the constant repetition had slowed to a stop. He was still angry with Subaru, it was entirely his fault that their relationship hadn't worked, but, now his return didn't seem worth hoping for.
Seishiro went back into his bedroom, that old gnawing in his chest again. Even dulled by months of caring less and less, it was still painful. He sighed heavily, hung his towel on the back of the bathroom door and began to get dressed. Subaru wasn't there. No one else was there.
Well, he supposed Fuuma being in the forefront of his brain again, even by accident and bizarre circumstances, made him at least somewhat there. Though now all the news reports had stopped, could he really still say that?
"I'm going to miss you, Seishiro."
The gnawing in Seishiro's chest throbbed. It seemed impossible that Fuuma had been serious, and it might have been terrifying to think he was serious, except that Subaru wasn't there, and…
Seishiro returned to his living room, sat down on his couch and lit a cigarette. The nicotine and cold air blowing all around him soothed him very slightly and he reached for his phone to order dinner, though he wasn't really hungry. However, when he unlocked his phone, the first thing he saw was his most recent search of Fuuma's name. He took another drag from his cigarette, one headline catching his attention even though it was familiar.
As part of a plea agreement, Fuuma Monou will serve his sentence in the minimum security facility-
Seishirotook another pull on his cigarette, his grip on his phone tightening. He could actually find out where Fuuma was, not that it would make a difference, but, somehow, knowing was…
Seishiro finished his cigarette and snubbed it out in the ashtray on the coffee table. He could find out exactly where Fuuma was, and all he knew of Subaru's whereabouts was that he wasn't there.
There was a knife fight during breakfast that morning. Fuuma had watched one young man corner another in the middle of the cafeteria and attack him. Of course, corrections officers had swarmed them before anyone could do any real damage, and Fuuma had sighed and returned to his food.
What the fuck did he think was going to happen, picking a fight in the middle of a crowd of people? He'd have done better to corner his adversary in a stairwell or something. Fuuma sighed again and remembered his mother in the kitchen of his childhood home, opening a Styrofoam package of natto and shaking her head. "Common sense certainly isn't common, Fuuma," she'd said, picking up the natto with one of the three pairs of chopsticks in the house.
Staring down at his rather sad breakfast, Fuuma couldn't help but miss natto fried rice, or indeed any meal he could cook for himself. However, he knew it was pointless to be dissatisfied with his circumstances or wish he were elsewhere. "It can't be helped!" Was another favorite expression of his mother's.
Fuuma finished his breakfast amid the aftermath of the knife fight and left the cafeteria, heading down one of the bland, beige hallways toward the mailroom and commissary. There was already a short line of people there, and they all stiffened at Fuuma's approach. He smiled softly to himself. He could sort of understand where they were coming from, though he was only in for racketeering and continuing criminal enterprise charges. There were definitely far scarier people in here, at least in Fuuma's opinion.
"Monou," the older man running the mailroom brofisted him. He lived in the cell beside him and they'd immediately struck up a rapport.
"How are you?" Fuuma asked.
"Good good. Here." He handed Fuuma a massive stack of letters. "Share any nice pictures you get, will you?"
"I got you." They brofisted each other again and Fuuma was on his way back to his cell, which he was pleased to find empty. He placed his mail on his top bunk, then climbed up to go through it. He'd been getting letters since day one, and they were always entertaining: people asking for advice, people claiming to be kindred spirits, photographs of women in varying degrees of undress who apparently got off on this sort of thing. Fuuma read through them all, and the only thing that really bothered him was all of these people suddenly having access to him. It had always been the opposite: he regularly kept in touch with very few people, and of those only about three of them could reach him, but he knew exactly who they all were. He didn't know anyone writing to him now, but apparently they all knew him. Or at least how to type his name onto the page of the government's website for locating inmates.
Fuuma sighed and thumbed through his mail, sorting the letters into piles. He read every single letter he received, they were all fascinating, but he could usually tell which ones should take priority. He continued in this way in an almost meditative state, until one name on a return address actually surprised him enough to pause. He held the letter in both hands and squinted at the upper left corner to make sure of what he was seeing.
Seishiro Sakurazuka, followed by some Lower Manhattan address. "Get the fuck out of here," Fuuma said, softly. He ripped open the envelope at once and extracted the letter to read it.
To whom it may concern:
Fuuma paused and closed his eyes, his lip curled in a smile. He hadn't thought about Seishiro in a very long time, but he could recall him so perfectly in the words. Well, recall him as he'd known him fifteen some odd years ago: gorgeous and obviously incredibly smart, but also withdrawn, disconnected and fearful. It seemed strange that he'd reach out this way, and Fuuma wondered what had happened to him after they'd said goodbye, if he was still at the job he'd started after graduation, if he was still with that married man he'd picked up when they'd gone to see Madame Butterfly. Excitement surged up inside Fuuma and he opened his eyes to read the rest of the letter.
To whom it may concern:
You probably don't remember me, but we roomed together at Columbia, class of 2002. I saw you on the news and just thought I'd write you. There's no need to reply.
Sincerely,
Seishiro Sakurazuka
A broad, satisfied grin spread across Fuuma's face as he stared at the signature between "sincerely" and the typed name. 'You're still so fucking guarded,' Fuuma thought, tenderly rubbing the name with his thumb, curiosity burning inside him. What had caused Seishiro to reach out? And why to Fuuma? They hadn't even really been friends in college, especially because Seishiro had been bizarrely impervious to all of Fuuma's attempts to get closer. Or perhaps he just hadn't worked hard enough?
Fuuma climbed down from his bunk to find paper and pen, his lip still curled in a smile.
Seishiro regretted sending the letter almost the moment he'd mailed it. He shouldn't have bothered; there was no way Fuuma would reply, if he even received it in the first place. What had he been thinking? All it had done was make Seishiro's stomach twist and clench horribly every time he opened his mailbox. It was rather like waiting for college admission letters, though somehow far worse, because at least with those he knew he'd get something in return, even if it meant rejection.
Seishiro had waited until November to actually send the letter, after months of feeling stuck and sick in the heat and indecision. However, he didn't have nearly as long to wait for a reply.
One evening, just after the clocks had gone back, Seishiro walked home through air that was still warm and heavy. He reentered his building and proceeded to his mailbox, the familiar twisting and lurching beginning already. He opened it and found just one envelope there. He pressed his lips tightly together as he reached for it, thinking it was a bill, until he turned it over.
Seishiro's eyes widened incredulously, but there was no mistaking the return address. His chest constricted painfully and pushed his heart up to pound in his throat. However, he fought to stay calm. It didn't mean anything yet; he had no idea what Fuuma had said.
Clutching the letter to his chest, Seishiro strode across the lobby to the elevators and jammed the up button impatiently with his finger. He had half a mind to just open it where he stood waiting, but… His stomach seemed to shrivel at the idea. Fortunately, the elevator arrived shortly after, and almost at once he was back up in his apartment.
He dropped his briefcase beside the door and strode into his kitchen, his heart hammering and hands shaking. He switched on the light and leaned against the counter, willing his body to calm down before finally opening it.
Dear Seishiro,
Fucking great to hear from you.
Seishiro released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and ran his fingers through his hair, still not quite believing it.
I feel sort of stupid asking "how are you?" after over ten years, but, considering it's been so much time I can't really think of what else to say. My social skills have left me in the intervening years, apparently.
I could tell you about myself, but considering the news has been putting all my business on blast, I assume you already know, or maybe that's me being a self-absorbed prick.
Either way, I hope to hear from you soon. Honestly you could write anything and I'd be thrilled, I crave stimulation.
Best,
Fuuma
Seishiro held the letter to his chest with one hand, then took off his glasses and pressed the heel of his other hand between his eyes. His chest was squeezing so tightly it felt almost suffocating, though at the same time he knew a deep, visceral relief in his entire body. He didn't understand, and he tried to calm down, but his hands were shaking so badly and…
"Oh my god…"
Fuuma had expected to wait weeks, maybe months, for a reply from Seishiro, if he even received one at all. It was only after he'd mailed the letter that he realized how shitty a means of communication this was for someone like Seishiro, at least as Fuuma remembered him. When they'd been in school together, Seishiro hadn't said much, and was written off as quiet or strange. However, Fuuma knew that wasn't it.
Any reasonably astute person could feel Seishiro's fear. All the walls he'd put up and struggled to maintain had only made him more transparent. Fuuma didn't know what Seishiro was so afraid of, but he did know better than to ask. Seishiro couldn't have told him, even if he'd been willing.
Fuuma had learned early on to speak in energy, and that if you stayed present and receptive, the words would follow. However, without being face to face, they were both at a disadvantage. Fuuma imagined Seishiro trying to reply, agonizing over what to say, then trying not to say too much. It was weirdly endearing, just as it had been in college.
He remembered the first time Seishiro had been any sort of forthcoming, at a party just before Christmas at Kanoe's apartment. It had taken patience and cigarettes and alcohol, but it had happened.
"You talk to them like it's nothing, though," Seishiro had said, after Fuuma had expressed his distaste for his schoolmates, something he knew they'd have in common even if it were for different reasons.
Fuuma had found it both hilarious and deeply offensive when the press had called D.O.E. the "white collar drug ring," even though that was essentially correct. That had been the world Fuuma had come from, after all. Private school, kids stealing their parents' painkillers, breaking the law and getting a slap on the wrist, then discreetly being sent to in-patient rehab facilities that did absolutely nothing. "Affluenza," his mother had said, shaking her head.
Fuuma never quite found out where Seishiro had come from, though he had a sense it was very different. His life hadn't been easy, though, that much was obvious. He also hadn't recovered from it; that was obvious too.
When Fuuma received Seishiro's reply a few weeks later, he opened it at once without looking through the rest of his mail.
Dear Fuuma,
Fuuma raised his eyebrows, surprised and gratified.
It's not a stupid question. I just don't really have much to say. I'm still working at that company that gave me my first job after graduation, but I've moved up considerably, especially after grad school. That's all, really.
The press did say a lot, but I'd rather hear it from you. Where did you go after graduation?
Sincerely,
Seishiro
Fuuma smiled to himself, feeling more gratified than ever. He wanted more than anything to see Seishiro in person, to put a face and voice to the words.
He slid off his bunk to find pen and paper again, though he paused before writing his response. Where had he gone after graduation?
With the way the press had painted him, Seishiro would probably be expecting exotic opium dens in Southeast Asia or ramshackle cocaine plants in South American jungles. Fuuma had made his way overseas of course, but at first he'd spent his time travelling around the US with Kanoe. It may have seemed far less interesting, but thinking you needed to go abroad to learn about drugs was just stupid. He wondered what to tell Seishiro and how to tell him without it sounding like bragging or trying to shock and horrify. That was never Fuuma's goal. He did what he did, if people chose to feel that way that was their fucking problem.
He climbed back up into his bunk and began to write, feeling suddenly introspective.
A year ago, Seishiro would have been horrified at how much he looked forward to hearing from Fuuma, at how quickly he wrote back each time. Now though, he was too deep in it to care: Subaru wasn't there, but Fuuma's reply was.
Their letters were always short, usually only a page or so, but they were always powerful, and Seishiro would read and reread each one several times, letting the words sit inside him for hours before replying. It was like how the coverage of Fuuma's arrest and ensuing legal battle had been a distraction from everything, only much more potent.
It was halfway through April, now, and the weather had been going back and forth on whether it wanted to be spring or not. Seishiro wasn't really aware of it, he spent so much time inside, but after an unexpectedly warm walk home to another letter from Fuuma, he noticed his stomach had stopped twisting uncomfortably.
Dear Seishiro,
I hope this isn't too forward, but I fucking want to see you in person. After five months of writing back and forth I feel weird still thinking of you how you looked when we said goodbye.
Seishiro's throat tightened and he swallowed, his heart speeding up all of a sudden.
There's visiting hours every weekend. If you don't want to, I totally understand, but I'd love to see you. Let me know.
Best,
Fuuma
Seishiro shuddered violently, knowing a visceral spasm of something unnamable and terrifying and…
He held Fuuma's letter to his chest and leaned against his kitchen counter, shutting his eyes tight to stay focused, though his mind continued to spin. Now, just as it had been all those years ago, it was still totally mind blowing how eager Fuuma was to spend time with him.
Seishiro placed the letter carefully on the counter, then lit a cigarette. He took his time mulling it over, his heart pounding and stomach lurching, but came to his decision much faster than he might have done.
Fuuma didn't even wait to get back to his cell before opening Seishiro's reply, so excited he was to read it.
Dear Fuuma,
How's the first weekend of May? When should I arrive? Do I need to bring anything?
Sincerely,
Seishiro
Fuuma's lip curled and he hurried back to his cell to reply.
Dear Seishiro,
That's perfect. Visiting hours are 2-6, and no, just yourself. I can't wait to see you!
Best,
Fuuma
He folded the letter neatly, tucked it safely into the envelope, then sealed it with a kiss.
Deadass though these two are my OTP. Well, until The New SubaKam AU goes up this summer, of course!
Again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FRIEND!
I think of reviews when I summon my kekkai, leave me some!