Daylight fades, and in the blush-red of dusk, the streetlights along their way hum to life. A few streets into a residential area of Rengedai, nightfall becomes a quiet affair. The neighbourhood is a quaint sort of stuffy, with most houses looking like copies of each other. Only a few windows glow orange with artificial light; some homes remain completely dark. Tatsuya pretends to believe that whoever lives there simply isn't back from work yet and keeps on walking.
Next to him, Jun's presence feels familiar and natural, as if it were no different from the warped, elongated shadow sprawling out before his feet. Their steps come mismatched, footfalls filling each other's silences with an offbeat.
"Are you tired?" asks Jun eventually, staring at the ground to keep placing his feet inside the worn outlines of a 'STOP'-marking's final syllable. He glances up at Tatsuya once white paint bleeds into grey pavement. Some ways off, the day's last jingle calling children home rings out.
"Not too much," Tatsuya answers, slowing to a halt. And it's true, in a way, for his fatigue runs much deeper than tired; it's the kind that goes bone deep, permeating marrow and crawling up his spine, until exhaustion bleeds into his brain to infest his mind. It's high-strung and anxious, and sizzles gently in Tatsuya's veins. It's the restlessness of an impending end.
He wonders if this is what Jun has been feeling like, all this time.
For now, though, Jun just looks at him meaningfully until his steps, too, stop— right in the middle of a crossroads. There's certainly some poetic meaning hidden therein— it's all too tedious to pinpoint. A smile creeps onto Jun's face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Then stay with me," he says blithe and breathless, and it's a demand. He looks proud of that fact, Tatsuya thinks, and it seems nonsensical and completely sensible all at once.
"Of course," he replies. Jun nods, then meanders on. It takes Tatsuya the whole of two strides to catch up to him.
Darkness tries to settle completely, but much too close to them, in a courtyard much too familiar, a pillar of light stretches into the sky. Wispy tendrils spill out of it like little rivulets bleeding into starlight, and the silvery beam almost rivals sunshine in its brightness—the night is all the more quiet for it.
They carry on walking a few paces further, until Jun eventually halts. His eyes catch on a vacant playground at the outermost margins of a little neighbourhood park, the place completely cast in shadow. Something in his expression lights up at the sight. "Let's go there," he suggests, and Tatsuya doesn't have it in him to deny Jun something quite as simple. So he nods, and, with a grateful, pretty smile the other boy goes ahead.
The playground isn't much, in terms of equipment—a tidy little sandbox, a seesaw, and a set of swings. Tatsuya can't recall having been here before, and yet, a strong feeling of nostalgia grips his heart and ties his stomach in uncomfortable knots. His steps come to a halt where pavement gives way to dry grass as though it were an invisible boundary. All he can do is stare after Jun as he saunters over to the swings, carefully sitting down on one to see if it can support his weight.
Jun waits a few seconds, his feet idly pushing him back and forth, before the scuffing of his heels against the ground stops. "What is it?" he asks mildly, hands tight and tense around the chains by his sides. Tatsuya swallows, wills himself not to shake his head, suppresses the urge to fidget, and takes a heavy step forward.
It feels like everything is off, if only by a margin—not the sense of endless wrongness embodied by Xibalba, nothing quite as global. Rather, it's as if his presence in this particular corner of the world at this exact moment of time is not right. Everything feels weightless, tilting on its axis, but only by perhaps two degrees; it's enough to sway Tatsuya's footing, but not to make him lose it; to warp the world while not entirely distorting it.
It's strange and indescribable, and even if there were words for it, Tatsuya would be the last to know them. "It's nothing," he dismisses once he comes to stand just a few steps in front of Jun, who looks about to comment on it before thinking better of it.
"Well, come sit with me," he offers instead, extending a hand to pull Tatsuya closer before guiding him to sit on the swing next to him by the arm. The chains barely creak or jump as his weight settles, and Jun's hand rediscovers his in the empty space between them. Feeling the joints of his fingers—knobby and bony and perfectly ill-fitting where they slot between Tatsuya's own— is grounding.
Jun's pulse thrums a calm rhythm beneath his skin; Tatsuya counts every beat of it like a stage-frightened musician awaiting his cue. "Tomorrow, we're going to set things right," Tatsuya eventually says into the patient silence, and Jun's hand clenches around his.
"Yes," he replies, his tone steady even though his fingers begin to tremble. He grinds his teeth audibly but says no more, staring ahead with a resolute, yet faraway look in his eye. Tatsuya doesn't press him, opting to draw his thumb across the back of Jun's hand in senseless patterns.
After a brief eternity, Jun sighs, then sags. "I won't run away," he declares, and meets Tatsuya's gaze, "I never planned to. It's my obligation to see this through. I can't even begin to atone for all my wrongdoings, but this is something I must do. Something I want to do."
"I know," Tatsuya answers before he can as much as think. Quieter, he adds, "I never doubted that."
Jun smiles, slowly. "I know," he echoes, giving Tatsuya's hand a squeeze. "That's why I chose to stop questioning your feelings." He wets his lips and idly tucks some hair behind his ear with his free hand. The swing creaks as his weight shifts, and when he speaks again, his expression morphs into something more helpless and bashful. "It's not because I'm in no position to, but because I trust you."
There's a sudden heat flaring up inside Tatsuya's chest at the words, and he feels breathless because of it. Jun keeps looking at him, open and imploring, but remains silent beyond his confession. "I…" Tatsuya chokes out, only to find every other word dying on his suddenly leaden tongue.
But Jun is always so patient with him, and his palm is still somewhat cold against his, and heavy and unwaveringly there—
Tatsuya doesn't say anything, in the end. Instead, he raises their intertwined hands up, all the way to his mouth, and presses a light kiss to Jun's knuckles. The chains of their swings rattle, the seats swaying. Jun sighs and his lashes flutter shut.
The sky overhead bleeds silver. A bell, awoken by a clockwork-ghost, tolls in the distance as if announcing the end. Jun's hand clenches around Tatsuya's before he lets go. "We can fix this," he declares and stands, staring down Tatsuya with his thin lips in a severe line. Then, softer, "I'm glad you're by my side for it."
"Me, too," Tatsuya replies.
Jun's smile is fond and tender, and hidden by wandering shadows and scattered starlight. "Tomorrow, then?" he asks, awaiting a promise and confirmation and assurance.
Tatsuya brushes his fingertips over Jun's wrist, looking up at him.
"Tomorrow."