Setting: SEALED school AU

PoV: Toya

Notes: Toya and Sho are part of the student council.

A few minutes of silence. That was all he wanted to ask for.

There were too many things that demanded his attention, too many things for him to sort out, work a solution, organize data, formulate a plan, inform, execute. Too many things that needed help, his help that he could only afford enough time to give.

From the stack of papers they looked almost harmless, really, but the contents were enough to send his mind into a flurry of questions, data and solutions, ideas and discarded ideas: noise, too much noise. All together it sounded very much like the static emitted from the helpless electronics he used to destroy as a child; an endless scream for silence, an unsettling sound that made him want to free it, if only for his own peace of mind.

A few minutes of silence, just not to think. If only he had enough time for that.

"…ya. Toya?"

A light touch to his sleeve almost made him jump, but he checked himself in time and stiffened his body instead. When he glanced up Sho was already pulling his hand back, as if he had somehow burned Toya from his touch alone. It didn't take much for Toya to notice the tightness around the corners of Sho's mouth and the disguised hurt in his eyes.

Ah, damn. Sho misunderstood. Trying his best to ignore the twinge of guilt in his chest, Toya put on a polite smile.

"I'm sorry. It's not—not that I—yes, what is it?"

Damn again. It wasn't that he had trouble speaking to people; it just seemed to happen with Sho sometimes, especially when he felt guilty like this. This was ridiculous, really: it shouldn't matter to him that Sho misunderstood, and yet it did.

"You're doing it again, Toya. You're doing all of the work by yourself without letting me know."

"That's not—"

"What have you been doing here then?"

His first gut instinct was to keep objecting, but he looked into Sho's eyes and found he couldn't. Sho folded his arms, his voice mixed with equal parts exasperation and concern.

"I'm supposed to help you, Toya, but you're going to have to let me."

Right. Sho was here now, in the student council with him.

Sho's role was to act as his support, to help with the paperwork so that he could actually balance his own schoolwork, get enough sleep and food. A partner to rely on. His equal. Toya tossed the word around in his mind for a moment longer, noting that it made his chest feel unusually full.

When he took too long to reply, Sho's frown deepened. "You're not getting rid of me, so don't even try to talk your way out of this."

Get rid of him? When did Sho get that idea? He looked at the tight line of Sho's mouth and remembered that he didn't rely enough on him, didn't communicate with him, even flinched from contact; all of it born from a habit of being alone for so long that he'd grown accustomed to solitude.

Ah. Another misunderstanding, piled on top of previous misunderstandings.

Trying to explain himself would only end in a mess of thoughts. It was odd how this only happened around Sho, that the words that used to come easily to him seemed to crumble when he tried to express how he really felt. So instead, he decided to keep it short. Sincere.

"I'm not trying to. Thank you, Sho."

Sho opened his mouth to protest, prepared to argue his case against Toya, but there was no case to argue. The words died in his throat and ended with astonished silence, and the off-guard look on Sho's face made Toya want to laugh; a genuine one, not the polite laugh he sometimes had to force himself to make. It had been a long time since he felt like this.

A light tinge of embarrassment coloured Sho's cheeks as he looked away and cleared his throat. "That's, err—well, if you have no objections, then let me do the rest. You've done enough for today."

Looking self-conscious, Sho reached over and grabbed the stack of papers. His arm brushed against Toya's shoulder and the contact made him jump again, but this time for a different reason.

His mind was peacefully quiet. For a few moments, he hadn't thought about the paperwork. He'd even forgotten about them.

It was not silence, but a few moments of peace. And it was more than he had wished for.