A/N: Because I love this boy too much. And I like to angst him.
The sky was a murky gray outside. It had rained all day, opaque and fierce, and Naoi's hair was still wet from the run, the twist and turns of the roads. The crowds had been busy as usual, even in the darkest of hours, and the people that pushed by were equally relentless, wearing heavy, dark jackets and hoods over their heads, some with plastic ponchos and others with large umbrellas to hide themselves under.
A quick, sharp pain in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Now he was glad for it; the dizziness made things seem farther away.
Of course, Naoi thought, as he locked the door behind him and turned around to face his visitor. Of course; things like these had to be settled in person, didn't they?
"So why did you want to come home with me?" he asked, tired, shrugging his coat off.
Otonashi's face told him everything, with all its lines and sadness: it had been a long time in coming. "You know why."
"Yeah," Naoi said, a sigh stuck in his throat. He knew. After all, it had only been a week ago.
It felt like much longer. Since the confrontation, since the heartache pounding against the silver bars in his chest; since everything.
Otonashi stood awkwardly, hands in his pockets, face tilted down in silent apology. There was nothing to cry about, Naoi reminded himself. There was a weight in his chest where no weight should be.
He sighed. "Go home." There was nothing else to say, anyway. Nothing that 'I'm sorry'—it should be Naoi saying sorry—could fix, and if Otonashi said the words 'You're still my friend', Naoi would have to accuse him of stealing lines from stupid, cheesy dramas. It was the truth, though. Naoi could hear it in the lump in his throat.
"I—I love her," Otonashi said, and Naoi could hear that this was also the truth. The raw honesty that Otonashi rarely let others see, and now it was in the open, in the small space that was Naoi's apartment.
"I'll be fine," Naoi said. "I have instant noodles. It's late. You can go back." A whisper. "She's waiting for you."
Otonashi was no fool. "All right," he said, reluctant but giving in. It was better this way, anyway, Naoi thought as Otonashi walked out the door. A clean cut with nothing left to grow infected, no sweet words they would regret having said.
It was better, but that made it no less hard.
His knuckles were white when he closed the door.
Owari
2010.09.17