"I'm sorry."

He said it while using his gaze to trace the purple-blue bruises coloring the underside of Hiyori's left eye and the bridge of his nose. Hiyori shrugged, like it was nothing, and set his secondary pair of glasses down on the table after deciding he didn't need them at the moment.

It was just them today, taking up space at an outdoor table of a café Hiyori frequented. Their table was occupied with pretty, cold drinks and a slice of cheesecake that neither of them were touching. Instead, they just kind of stared across at each other and mutually agreed that no pleasantries were needed for this conversation.

"I was asking for it," Hiyori said, dragging a finger around the rim of his glass. His shoulders swelled and fell with a large but silent sigh, and he squinted across the table. "I have to admit something to you."

Asahi's knee bounced beneath the table.

"I was goading you on." Hiyori shrugged again, and for the first time that Asahi could recall, he looked mildly uncomfortable. "You were angry, but you weren't doing anything about it, and I knew the more you let it sit, the worse it was going to get. I figured it was better to bite the bullet than to let it keep building up the way it was."

Asahi's nose twitched. He let his gaze fall to his fingers and thought about that in silence for a moment, unsure if he really felt anything in particular. It wasn't like he was still angry with Hiyori specifically, and neither was he very surprised. If he was going to expect something like that from anybody it would have been Toono.

In the end, he just reached up to scratch at his cheek and sighed. "Well, then I have to admit something to you too. I've been wanting to do that for a while."

Hiyori allowed a tired smile to reach the corners of his lips. "I know."

"What possessed you to think getting a hit out of me was smart?"

Hiyori tapped a finger on the table. "You were starting to look a lot like me." He chuckled when Asahi made a face. "I know. It wasn't good, and I knew that. I had lived that. It was disconcerting, and I know you're the type of person who registers anger first, but when you weren't addressing that, it started eating you alive, and the rest of us could see it."

About here was when he truly looked upon Asahi with a sheen of compassion in his eyes. His brow dipped, his head tilted just a fraction off center. He frowned, and it was genuine, and it made Asahi uncomfortable, but also he couldn't look away, because it made something in his soul ache with the kind of pain that needed to be stretched out. It was like a continuation of that de-knotting process that just simply hurt, but was necessary. And he knew that, at this point, he was willing to be untangled, because hopelessness didn't work well in his system. Darkness wasn't good for his bones. He wanted to breathe fresh air again.

"I know you don't exactly like me," Hiyori stated, and there was a docile calm to his tone that suggested he had accepted this truth. "But for what it's worth … I do consider you a friend, and I've been worried — about you."

A shudder crawled up Asahi's spine, but he kept his gaze steady.

Hiyori's shifted only once, and then he continued. "I had to watch Ikuya go through a lot for a very long time, and trying to be there for him when there were so many times that he clearly didn't want me to be … It hurt." He shrugged again and tapped his fingertips together. "But I was obsessed with saving him. I wanted to protect him. I wanted to shelter his dreams. I wanted to basically be the only support system that he needed, because … that was the only way I felt like he was going to see me otherwise."

Asahi felt a blossom of warmth in his cheeks and it forced his eyes down to the table. He hunched his shoulders, still wanting to deny that he and Hiyori had anything in common, but the honesty and reality of those words, and how accurately they fit on Asahi's shoulders, wasn't so easy to ignore.

"I didn't realize that what I was doing ultimately cut Ikuya off from what he actually needed. I was smothering him, isolating him, and in doing that, I forgot what the point of it was. I started caring for him less for his sake and more for my own, because I wanted to make myself feel needed. It's just that, that wasn't how I saw it in my head at the time, but it was making everything worse. He was just sinking faster. And eventually we had a fight. He didn't want to talk to me, or see me, or listen to me at all, and it wasn't until then that I realized … I didn't actually have any other friends."

He paused. And in that one brief moment that Asahi watched him anxiously bite at his lip, he maybe — for just a second — felt some kind of empathy.

"I thought that he was the one that was lonely, that needed someone to be there with him and for him. But, in all actuality, he was the crutch that I had been leaning on for years. And once that was gone, I didn't know what to do with myself. And what was worse, I really couldn't blame anyone but myself for it, because I was the only one there."

Hiyori pulled in a breath and sighed it out like he was still releasing his guilt one little bit at a time. When he again focused his gaze back on Asahi, there was a strange bit of wisdom gilding the rings of his eyes this time.

"I didn't want you to make the same mistakes," he said quietly. "You've been so absorbed with wanting to make Kisumi happy — to protect him — and I know you're tired of hearing this, but it's really not in your power to change what's going on in his life. Not a single one of us will deny how strong, and loyal, and necessary you've been, helping Kisumi try to navigate through all of this, but, Asahi … Have you stopped to process how it's all affecting you personally?"

Asahi brushed the tip of his nose with his knuckle and turned his face away. He still wasn't meeting Hiyori's gaze, and he wasn't sure if he could anymore at this point. Being with Toono was like being hot and cold at the same time, and what was the remedy for that other than to sit still? His chest hurt.

"It's not about —"

"I know," Hiyori said. Even though Asahi didn't meet it, his gaze was heavy. "It's not about you. You're right. But that doesn't mean you're not affected by it. That doesn't mean you don't miss Kisumi. That doesn't mean you're not longing for a deeper relationship with him. That doesn't mean you're not tired. That doesn't mean you're not angry. That doesn't mean you're not sad about what's happening to Hayato. Trying to take care of Kisumi is not the only thing you've been doing. You've also been trying to work, and swim, and do school, and stay sane. That's too much for one person all on it's own, even without Kisumi being involved. You can't be there for him in all the ways that he needs you to be there, if you're stretched too thin to begin with. How is anyone supposed to care for someone else if they can't even take care of themselves?"

Asahi rubbed the sting out of his eyes and curled his fingers in his hair, gaze still glued to the table. He didn't say anything, and neither did his company for a while. Hiyori leaned on his forearms and let the breeze weave between them as Asahi absorbed this idea of having pushed himself too far. Ludicrous, is what he would have said at any moment before this — constantly denying he was as tired as he was, when he knew he could barely pick his head up in the mornings, insisting that he needed to work, when he had to drag himself down the street just to get through the doors, entirely putting school on the backburner, because who cared, and not even having the motivation to swim anymore — at all — even though he still slipped his way into the water day after day, after day, after day, and hardly did much more than flounder around until he was too exhausted to do anything but float.

Okay.

What else was there to say about it? What else was there to do? He was stuck on a winding merry-go-round that wouldn't stop to let him off. He was nauseous. He was tired. He was so tired. He was so tired.

"I can't …" He grimaced, partially angry with himself for attempting to admit this, but also just unnerved. "I can't stop."

"Why not?"

"Because what do I do after that?" He finally lifted his eyes across the table. Hiyori's gaze was steady. "What does Kisumi do after that?"

"Kisumi has to find a way to move on — on his own. And so do you."

Asahi exhaled a strained breath as he sat back and tried not to grimace at the ache in his spine. "Move on from what?"

"From the notion that this is all your responsibility alone. From the guilt. From the burden. From the idea that anything that Kisumi is feeling is at all your fault."

"But you said that —"

"I was trying to get under your skin," Hiyori said, squinting regretfully. "It was a bad choice of words. I'm sorry. Maybe you truly did do something stupid, but he didn't leave because of that. I guarantee it. You do stupid things all the time. I'm pretty sure he's used to that."

Asahi huffed out a breath and folded his arms in a pout. Hiyori's lips quirked up just a little bit again.

"Seriously, Asahi," he went on, adopting the look of poignant sincerity from before. "Kisumi's been through a lot. Whatever happened between the two of you, it was never yours to change his mind on whether or not he was going to leave. He's been down for a long time. It's not your fault."

Asahi shook his head, eyes dropping again. "I was just the last domino," he muttered.

He could feel the hesitation in Hiyori's next moment of silence, and then he tapped on the table with a finger again and elected not to address that comment. "Have you heard from him?"

Asahi shook his head again. An ominous chill ran up his arms, and he did his best to ignore it. "He didn't get off the train at Himeji. Sousuke said he never made it there to begin with."

Hiyori shifted. "He probably got off somewhere before that."

The uncomfortable strain of the muscle in his chest started to pull at his anxiety again. It made his chest feel empty but tight, airless but dense. The anger spiked with a shiver, and then settled back down immediately and all he felt was hopeless again.

"His parents filed for a missing person this morning."

Hiyori sighed and nervously scratched his fingers through his hair. "Jesus," he muttered to himself, finally looking away.

"He's going to do it, Hiyori — if he hasn't already."

"Don't speak that into the universe, please." Hiyori picked up his glasses and slid them onto his nose with shaking fingers.

Asahi frowned, a new knot forming in his throat. "I wish I could talk to him," he said quietly, mostly to himself.

Hiyori nodded. "You will."

They met each other's gazes across the table at the same moment, and it was an odd feeling, whatever it was that passed between them. Hiyori's hazel eyes were the most tender Asahi had ever seen them, extending out a palmful of hope that Asahi needed, but no longer knew how to accept. The knot grew and burned his eyes again, but that was all. He struggled to speak.

"Can you be sure about that?" And the way it came out was entirely pleading. Legitimately, he was asking for Hiyori to be sure, asking for some way to make that sure, to make that real — whatever amount of prayers, magic, or miracles it would have to take.

Hiyori's jaw fluttered. "Kisumi's not going to go anywhere without seeing his brother one more time. It's probably better that he didn't make it home."

Again it was freezing hot and steaming cold all at once. He wasn't sure if that helped, but it was a thread of sentiment to latch onto. He'd take it. There wasn't much of a choice.

"Did you ever have to do this with Ikuya?"

Hiyori shook his head. "Not exactly. But he's nearly drowned a few too many times for comfort. I think the fact that Ikuya was always so strung up on past relationships was ultimately what kept him tethered to earth, because they were unfinished and unresolved. Had everything been cut off and tied up in a forceful bow, that might not have been the case. I had to learn to be grateful for what he went through with Haru — and the rest of you, I guess. Maybe …" He shrugged cautiously. "Maybe Kisumi's holding onto unfinished things too."

This time he was the one who looked to Asahi with a plea for some kind of optimism, and it was disconcerting to so visibly see how much Hiyori truly cared about this — about Kisumi. Then again, those two had never really had a problem with each other. Kisumi had made friends with Hiyori easily, and had probably been the very first person out of their group to do so. Clearly, Toono was more than just worried, and Asahi didn't blame him for that.

"I'll take anything …" Asahi admitted.

He turned his eyes this time out toward the street, watching all the milling city folk go about their lives from one corner to the next. Some of them were in a rush, probably to get back to work, others clearly had no time restraints and took the sidewalk a few turtle steps at a time while they scrolled through private messages, and pictures, and social media apps on their phones. And then there were the tourists who spun in lost little circles and stopped every half a block to snap a few dozen photos.

He found himself wishing for their peace, hoping that their lives were in order, and deliberately checking the face of each passerby to see if he could catch a glimpse of anyone who may be on the teetering edge of life, ready to give up. With them, if they were there, he was ready to sympathize, ready to hop up from his chair and throw his arms around them, desperately inform them that there was somebody, probably a lot of somebodies, out there who loved them and were waiting for them to return home, so don't give up please. He hoped that wherever Kisumi was, there was a kind-hearted stranger jumping up to do the same thing.

"… as long as it convinces him to live longer."

Two days went by, and he didn't hear anything. He checked in with Katsumi, called Kisumi's parents. No one had seen or heard a thing. It went without saying, but they all agreed to speak up right away if anything was to change. No one said anything about it to Hayato.

Asahi spent a lot of time visiting shrines, passing through temples, saying more quiet prayers than he had ever bothered to in his life. Kisumi's good luck charm wasn't anywhere in the apartment. Asahi assumed that meant he was still wearing it. He didn't know if there was any merit to believing that a souvenir from Brazil would truly protect its wearer from evil, but it was something. He would take anything.

On day three, they received word that the security cameras had caught a glimpse of Kisumi getting off the train in Osaka. From there he'd taken the subway into the city, but that was as far as the trail went. Once he got off, he continued on foot, and they were still scanning his cards for transactions that hadn't happened yet. They lost him in the crowds of the city.

Whether it was comforting news or not, Asahi couldn't decide. He went to Makoto and Haru's that night. Ikuya and Hiyori showed up a couple of hours later, and the five of them just stayed close. They talked about it while their fingers danced around a pizza that they never ate. There were enough hopeful voices to keep the conversation stable, but they also didn't waste any time pretending that any of them were okay. They took turns being transparent, being vulnerable, admitting to that thing called fear, and opening up to the friends they were surrounded by in the moment.

It was a surprisingly warm and tender experience, even though they had to shove their pride to the side and dig out a box of tissues at one point. No one attempted any teasing jokes. There was no arguing, no name-calling, no miscommunications or misunderstandings, because they took such careful time to listen to one another. It was comforting in a way that didn't really make the fear or the pain go away, but there was no emptiness, no loneliness, no ominous loss of optimism. And that all made it much easier for Asahi to succumb to the literal closeness of his friends practically cocooning him with their limbs.

Saba-Mochi spent a lot of time purring, and never settled down in any one lap in particular. She made a lot of rounds that night, and spent the quiet hours of dusk weaving between their huddle after they fell asleep nestled together in the living room.

They stayed together the next day too, even though they all had something they should have been doing instead — writing papers, working, swimming, whatever. Everyone called out of everything, and Haru cooked. They spent the day watching movies, taking frequent naps, letting the breeze blow through their hair out on the balcony, and distracting themselves and each other from getting discouraged.

The next handful of days were a blur, because Asahi elected to do responsible things. He visited Marron to temporarily quit his job, and Akane made a point to squeeze him very tightly and tell him she was proud. At some point after that, he flagged down Seijuro and had a very long, very honest conversation with him about not wanting to quit the team, but having no amount of mental gumption to swim competitively. Seijuro was suspiciously understanding, and even spent the extra time to help Asahi trace out a new map for his life, regarding what kind of goals he had for himself. Although the results were a little bit vague, there was at least more to it than just swimming and coaching, and he even came away with a tiny seed of an idea to bring up to Makoto later. His status as a member of the Hidaka University Swim Team remained upright on the pretense of "winter doesn't last forever." It was decided he would be pulled out of competitions until further notice, and in the meantime would try his hand at being a team manager instead. He accepted that.

The biggest bull to tackle was all the schoolwork he'd fallen behind on. So, for four days straight, he put his head down and cranked out an impressive collection of assignments that weren't at all guaranteed to get him any points, but the majority of his professors responded to his sudden boost in work ethic rather positively — or at least with a nod of respect. Only when he was satisfied with his own progress did he let up enough to come up for air and try to breathe with freedom.

He came upon a Sunday with no obligations. He spent the morning sleeping, huddled up in the corner of the bed, trying not to notice how quiet the apartment was without an extra body breathing steadily next to him. It wasn't a sound sleep. He'd been managing to find more time to lay in bed and close his eyes, but the quality of the sleep he got was still sub-par, as he was woken every couple of hours and forced to turn over after wiping his eyes dry. He gave it until about nine-thirty on Sunday morning before he allowed himself to sit up and return to reality slowly.

He wasn't hungry, but he made himself breakfast anyway, and sat at the study table to eat it even though it tightened his throat, which made swallowing difficult. He ate slow, sniffed a lot, repeatedly brushed the back of his wrist across his eyes, but he made it through the whole meal. He spent the next half-hour cleaning the kitchen, and then bothering to shuffle around the apartment and pick up stray textbooks, fold abandoned t-shirts, and toss dirty socks into the hamper. He opened the balcony door and allowed sunlight and early autumn air to bring some kind of brightness to the shadows of the apartment, then he peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower.

He lingered there for a while, nearly forgetting to actually wash his body, because he knocked over Kisumi's shampoo by mistake and the cap broke open, spilling orange-scented nostalgia all over the floor of the tub. His body moved to pick it up, but he all of a sudden found himself kneeling in it, and the aroma was so potent that it sent a hurtful tremble through his limbs.

Nostalgia didn't really feel good anymore. It just kind of painted a big hole in front of him that swallowed his chest and sent quiet burning tears down his cheeks. It took him out of the moment, so he was barely aware of his surroundings anymore, that his forehead was planted on the bottom of the tub, that his fingers were pulling through his wet hair, that there was hot water raining down on his back and his quads were shaking. He heard a very sad and broken voice whimpering with pain somewhere out in the distance, and never once recognized that it was coming from his own chest.

He probably spent way too much time there, he didn't know. The passing minutes could have been crawling on all fours or sprinting ahead like an army of track stars, he wasn't going to acknowledge them either way. He was kneeling on the precipice of a black hole, and beyond it was the future, but it was a long way down, and it was awfully dark. He didn't have a light — not anymore. And he didn't know how to proceed without one. Would he get sucked into the darkness if he trepidly stepped forward alone? It certainly felt like it. In fact, he wasn't quite sure if he was already tumbling in or not. It was cold. The compressing atmosphere around him wasn't kind, and felt more like solid walls closing in on every side. Was this drowning or was it falling? Either way, he couldn't breathe. And it hurt.