By the time Ishigaki comes to, it's all over.
They tell him right after he's come back to consciousness, when everything is hazy enough that it doesn't hit with the full force it should. The knowledge of their loss - of Midosuji's loss - sinks in well before his awareness comes back, until by the time he is fully himself again the information has become as much a part of him as the blood in his veins. He doesn't have a chance to mourn, isn't sure he has the right to anyway, not when he was lying delirious and overheated when the actual events happened.
He doesn't see Midosuji afterwards. He isn't even completely certain on what happened to the other boy; it's enough to know they failed, that one piece of information enough to speak for the level of catastrophe that must have struck the ace that had always seemed so unstoppable. And Ishigaki has nothing left to offer, anymore, no comfort and no reassurance and no support. What good is assistance when there is no race to be won?
In the end he's left alone for nearly two days. The first he spends asleep, waking only to gulp glasses of water and force himself to eat another meal before he collapses back into bed to recover. Sunday is better, at least as far as staying awake goes, until by the time the sun is sinking the world into the dim light of night Ishigaki feels nearly human again.
He's thinking about eating, thinking about starting a new book or taking advantage of the time to study, something to distract him from the weight of exhaustion that feels like failure in his body, when there's a knock at the door. The sound is so loud and sharp he jumps, his heart pounding into overdrive before he can process the meaning of the noise. He's trembling when he gets to his feet, shaky with the surge of unnecessary adrenaline, and he's still trying to even his breathing and offer a polite smile when he pulls the door open.
Then he sees who is on the other side, and his politeness goes still and silent under the crushing weight of panic.
"Midosuji-kun." He sounds breathless, shakier even than he did the last time they spoke, when his vision was blurring from exhaustion and he couldn't control the blissful smile across his face at the prospect of a victory that seemed inevitable, then.
The other boy turns his head from where he was staring down the street, fixes his gaze on Ishigaki as if he's contemplating the purpose of the other's existence. The flat darkness of his eyes makes Ishigaki feel like an object, precisely as important and perhaps less useful than the door his hand is still resting on.
Ishigaki wants to apologize. He wants to hold out sympathy, to spill apologies from his lips like rain, to drop to his knees and offer all the weight of failure in his chest like Midosuji will be able to absolve him of his lingering sense of guilt, will tell him he did well or condemn him for doing poorly. But the feeling is too strong, overlarge and sticking in his throat, and it's not fair to drop such a weight for Midosuji to bear for the both of them.
He ducks his head instead. Staring at Midosuji's knees it's a little easier to breathe, a little easier to shut his eyes against the ache behind them, all the force of the tears he hasn't cried pushing against him now like an unstoppable flood. Midosuji doesn't say anything, even when fat droplets splash against the warm of the sidewalk between them, even when Ishigaki's throat finally relaxes enough to let him choke out inhales that sound embarrassingly and unavoidably like sobs.
Ishigaki doesn't know why Midosuji stays. It's minutes before he can take a breath without choking on the sound, another gap of time before he's stopped crying enough to make wiping his face anything but futile. His eyes are heavy, he can feel the ache of red swelling along his lids and painful when he blinks, and when he looks back up he's expecting the usual disgust, a hissed "Gross" or just Midosuji physically recoiling.
He's not. He doesn't appear to have moved at all since Ishigaki opened the door. His hands are still hanging heavy at his sides, his eyes still wide and staring at the other boy, until Ishigaki has the insane thought that maybe Midosuji hasn't so much as blinked while they're been standing there.
Ishigaki can feel the silence stretching heavy, absent now even the sound of his tears to partition it into seconds. The strain pulls harder with the salt of his tears dried against his cheeks, the embarrassment at his loss of composure chilling his blood cold with self-consciousness. But Midosuji still isn't speaking, is still just staring like he's waiting for Ishigaki to become transparent to his gaze, and Ishigaki's throat won't work on sound even if he knew what to say.
"Ishigaki-kun," Midosuji says then, all at once, his voice as hissingly ordinary as if he's responding to Ishigaki's greeting of minutes before, as if the intervening time has just not occurred at all. Ishigaki has a flush of relief, gratitude that at least one of them is talking, even as his stomach plummets in terrified anticipation of what it is the other might actually say.
Midosuji blinks, as slowly as if he has to think through the motion, his eyes dragging over Ishigaki's face as his head tips slightly to the side. "Ishigaki," he says again, the repetition distraction enough that it takes Ishigaki the span of a breath to realize the oddity of hearing only his last name in the strange sibilance of Midosuji's voice. He takes a breath, the impulse of social norms suggesting some kind of meaningless response, and Midosuji is suddenly right in front of him, his face so entirely dominating Ishigaki's view it is hard to realize it's a shift in perspective, that the other has just leaned into Ishigaki's personal space.
Then the impact comes, dry friction at Ishigaki's mouth, and everything Ishigaki was trying to process falls out of his mental grasp. His hand slips off the door, falls limp at his side to match Midosuji's, and that's when he realizes that Midosuji is kissing him.
He's doing it all wrong. His lips are dry, perfectly still like he's just pressing them to Ishigaki's, outlining an approximation of kissing without understanding the basic premise, and he's breathing through his mouth instead of his nose, the air gusting against Ishigaki's half-opened mouth with every inhale. But Ishigaki's stomach is in free-fall, his heart is pounding in his chest, and when he manages to reach up his hand is shaking so badly the touch at Midosuji's shoulder is more to steady himself than to guide the other sideways and ease him into a better angle.
"Like this," Ishigaki says, faint and shaking. His mouth is catching at Midosuji's with every word, his lips dragging over the other boy's with each syllable. "Tip your head - there, and breathe through your nose."
Midosuji makes a noise, a faint hiss of discomfort in the back of his throat, and for a moment Ishigaki thinks he's going to resist, is going to pull away and retreat and Ishigaki will never have him so close again. But then he exhales hard all at once, mutters "Gross" under his breath, and when Ishigaki leans in Midosuji holds still to let the other carefully fit their mouths together in a kiss far softer than the first attempt.
It doesn't take away the weight of their failure. Ishigaki's thoughts are still freighted with unspoken sympathy, his chest still aching from the loss. But this is a victory in itself, no matter how small it may be, and when Ishigaki closes his eyes, the darkness soothes the lingering burn of his tears.
