"He's gone."
Ryouko speaks for everyone, as always, her words direct and unafraid. Kousuke glances up from his spot on the couch beside her, and at first his eyes swim with confusion, but then he nods, almost imperceptibly, and looks away. Rio is curled up on the floor, and she sighs, softly, her pigtails drooping over her shoulders. And on the lone chair, Eyes Rutherford stares blankly ahead, the words touching him softly and then departing. He has already grieved, already made his peace. The mixed feeling of relief and profound loss (even now they love him, even now it is like losing a brother) is new to them.
"Hizumi?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't..." Kousuke's voice is tinted with rage but the emotion fades almost as quickly as it begins. "No. We didn't need to know about... that."
"It was not our concern." Eyes presses a palm to his forehead, milky white hair spilling through his hands. "Until now."
"Was it... quick?" Rio sounds afraid. "Did he pass peacefully?"
The pianist wishes he could say yes. He cannot, so he says nothing.
Kousuke slides forward, his broken leg dragging on the hardwood floor - the sound of it reminds them all who is responsible for these injuries anyway, who they are grieving regardless of that painful fact - and lifts a water glass from the coffee table. The sun is setting in the windows of Eyes' apartment, and Ryouko turns her face up to the high ceiling of the living room, looking at the light that glints off the their untouched glasses of water. There are three of them - no, four, she corrects herself, as Kousuke puts his glass down beside hers - and the image strikes her so profoundly that she buries her face in her hands and pretends not to cry.
"There were always five," Rio murmurs, and sighs again. Kousuke is too busy consoling Ryouko to reply, and Eyes stares blankly at the ceiling, wondering what heaven is like.