Lyrics are Waiting for the World to Fall, by Jars of Clay.

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More Than Make Believe

Doumeki knew as soon as Watanuki stepped out of Yuuko's gate that something was wrong. He'd seen that look one too many times: the distracted, faintly sorrowful expression that meant there was something heavy on his mind. Besides the fact that Watanuki simply fell into stride with him and turned toward his apartment building without protest or name–calling, Watanuki's face alone was enough to concern Doumeki. Given all the things they'd been through in the havoc of the past month – Doumeki didn't ever think he would lean on a windowpane again – this wasn't sitting well at all.

Despite the peace and quiet, Doumeki didn't like this mood. It made him uneasy, and he didn't have his bow right now. Watanuki was often so caught up in his internal reverie that he completely dropped his guard, but what Doumeki hated the most was that he didn't know what was going through Watanuki's head, he didn't know how to make it right again, and he knew better than to ask the younger boy directly. He'd have to watch and wait, like always.

Almost forgotten in the bare moments of recent events, the desire to see Watanuki smile came flooding back.

I'm afraid it's been too long, To try to find the reasons why

When he'd been about to leave, Yuuko had handed Watanuki a wide, flat package. "Another delivery?" He asked, checking the fading sky. "It's kind've late, don't you think?"

Yuuko shook her head, and Watanuki realized her demeanor had changed, despite how drunkenly merry she'd been only moments ago. "It came for you."

Watanuki narrowed his eyes, always distrustful. "From who?" He took it from her, reaching for the seal.

Yuuko shook her head and held out a hand to stop him. "Not here." She made shooing motions with her hands. "At home."

He eyed her as he bent to put on his shoes. "Yuuko–san…?"

Another careful glance. "Your parents."

Watanuki was glad to see Doumeki waiting for him at the gate.

I let my world close in around, A smaller patch of fading sky

"Hey." Doumeki shot at Watanuki. "Are you running another errand?" Doumeki knew he wasn't, of course, not with the way his eyes were glued to the sidewalk, not with the way he was clutching the flat envelope to his chest with one hand. Watanuki ignored him and continued walking. So Doumeki flipped around, walking backwards to face Watanuki, who finally looked up from his feet.

"You're going to trip, moron." The words were familiar but they had no heat to them, and Doumeki's concern shifted from what spirits would attempt to harass Watanuki to what internal storm he was trying to ride out. Well, Doumeki surmised, the only thing that was different at all was the package. The seal wasn't broken so he probably didn't know what was inside, and since Watanuki wasn't choking or covering his mouth, it couldn't be sinister; wherever it had come from was obviously what was upsetting Watanuki.

And since he had just come from Yuuko's, it undoubtedly came from some supernatural source. It wasn't like Yuuko had a mailbox, after all.

Doumeki peered at Watanuki's face, bending slightly for a better look, complete heedless of his surroundings. Watanuki's eyebrows were drawn together, his mouth a tight, pinched line, but his eyes were distant – and suddenly Doumeki felt completely and utterly out of his element.

Things between them were shifting, but he wasn't prepared for this. He wanted to see him smile, damn it. Grumbling, shouting Watanuki he was used to; gentle, giving Watanuki made him happy to see, even if slightly jealous (he hadn't even looked at him when he'd said thank you, damn it). But this was a facet of Watanuki that hurt to see: lost, idly kicking at stones on the sidewalk, knuckles white where they curled around the edge of the package.

Damn it, damn it, damn it. What was he supposed to do? Doumeki felt like he was being pecked apart by a thousand tiny, sharp–beaked birds. Watanuki so obviously needed something, someone and it hurt so bad to see him this way –

Half a block later, it finally occurred to Doumeki.

Watanuki needed a friend.

And now I've grown beyond the walls, To where I've never been

What could be in the package? Why now, when he'd just begun to face the things his near–death experience had brought crashing down on him? It wasn't enough that he'd finally forced himself to admit that maybe the fortune–teller had been right, in her kind way. He needed Doumeki around, and he was even starting to… enjoy it. A little bit. Maybe.

Watanuki huffed a breath through his nose, annoyed that even when he obviously had other things to think about that stupid archer was still in his brain, stuck to the inside like some sort of residue. He tried to think back to what the fortune–teller had said; not much about Doumeki, absolutely nothing about Himawari–chan, mostly about… his parents. They'd saved him twice already; what else would they need to give him? Watanuki closed his eyes, partially to avoid Doumeki's intensely conflicted stare, but mostly to quell the rising wave of sadness that filled him whenever he remembered his parents' voices, the way they encouraged him and coaxed him back into the living world.

He remembered so little from when they were alive; he knew his father had been a great cook, and Watanuki had spent hours with him in the kitchen, learning how to make sticky rice and roll sushi and sift flour properly. His mother had been smiling and patient, teaching him how to mend seams and sweep floors and iron laundry without burning it, all in some form of game he would enjoy: it hadn't occurred to Watanuki until much, much later that they had been preparing him, young as he was, for this life of loneliness.

And the fortune–teller had told him that his parents were proud of the young man he'd become. Why did that, for some reason, seem to hurt the worst?

And it's still winter in my wonderland

Doumeki knew as soon as Watanuki closed his eyes he was going to have a klutzy moment. So he was unsurprised when the tip of Watanuki's shoe caught a crack in the pavement and he pitched forward; Doumeki's hands shot out and steadied him by his shoulders. But he hadn't realized he'd been walking so close that Watanuki's forehead would smack into his collarbone, hard enough to sting.

Doumeki sucked in a quiet breath, but only because Watanuki looked disoriented as he grabbed at Doumeki's forearms to regain his balance, body leaning toward Doumeki's. Watanuki lifted a hand to grab the glasses away from his eyes and rub his forehead, and Doumeki glanced down to make sure he was okay and instead got a faceful of soft, slippery hair that smelled of Yuuko's smoke and apple shampoo and the spices he must've used on his chicken yakitori.

He couldn't help himself as he took a deep breath, and realized it was a mistake. The feeling he'd been channeling into archery and meditation and teasing and his overall concern rushed back in its full–blown, inconceivable form: Doumeki tightened his hands on Watanuki, swallowing hard, as his vision began to narrow at the edges. Not now, not without his bow, not when Watanuki certainly didn't need to be faced with another hurdle, but being so close made it so hard – once it began, Doumeki was wise enough to know, it wouldn't be stopped until completion. And who knew what that was?

I'm waiting for the world to fall

Watanuki's head swam from the knock to the head and the warmth of Doumeki's hands on his shoulders, and Watanuki couldn't miss how solid Doumeki's arms were under his palms. Arms that had carried his unconscious body how far, how many times? Hands that were tightening on his shoulders, as if they were about to push him away or maybe… pull him in?

He felt Doumeki's adam's apple bob against the top of his head, and Watanuki couldn't help leaning into him a little more, taking in the scent of his school uniform, a mixture of incense and skin and laundry soap and the musky wax he used to polish his bow. Watanuki sighed deep as he closed his eyes, still clutching his glasses in one hand. He wanted to straighten, to lean into Doumeki and rest his face in the crook of his neck and feel those arms around him just once when he didn't need to be saved. But no, he wanted the comfort but he wasn't so sure about the person, not that Doumeki could ever be considered comforting, but that scent was the epitome of sanctuary and relief. No. He just let his face hang in the space between their chests, afraid to lift his eyes to see what Doumeki's held. Maybe he couldn't pull away, but he wouldn't crumble either.

"Watanuki." The voice rumbled beneath his forehead, and it struck Watanuki that not once had his name come out of Doumeki's mouth with the standard honorific. He never thought it more than Doumeki refusing to treat Watanuki with common courtesy, a constant veiled insult from the one person he couldn't control himself around. But with Watanuki leaning into him, still holding onto his arm, and Doumeki radiating indecision and pheromones, his hands so, so warm, the sheer intimacy it implied caused Watanuki to panic.

I'm waiting for the scene to change

Watanuki's head shot up, but Doumeki's face was still tilted down. Doumeki hissed in a breath as the top of Watanuki's head smacked into the point of his nose, and he planted a foot backwards to keep upright. It stung, like Watanuki's forehead had, and Doumeki lifted one finger and plugged the nostril he could feel blood beginning to trickle from. Huh. He hoped Watanuki wouldn't start shouting, because then he'd only be able to cork one ear.

But Watanuki just glared, straightening as he put his glasses back on. "Well, if you weren't turned around, that wouldn't have happened."

Doumeki wiped his hand off on his pants, and Watanuki winced. Doumeki tipped his head back, retrieving his handkerchief from a pocket to staunch the flow. "Then it'd be you with the bloody nose."

Watanuki stared at him as if he was crazy. "Will you walk normally? That was a little…" Doumeki narrowed his eyes at the pause, his mind filling in the blank several ways – startling, awkward, tempting – none of which were ever going to come out of Watanuki's mouth. "…Weird." Watanuki finished, bending over to gather up his book–bag and the mysterious package. Well, at least mine were more imaginative. Doumeki shook his head, beginning to walk again, unperturbed by Watanuki's brusqueness but puzzled by the moment that preceded it.

I'm waiting when the colors come

Watanuki stomped ahead, feigning irritation so he could get a moment away from Doumeki's searching eyes. He didn't want Doumeki to know just how unfair that moment could've turned out for the both of them, even if Doumeki ended up with a bloody nose and Watanuki had a nice welt across his forehead. They were both used to physical injury; it was anything else that was dangerous. How weak am I? Thinking about using Doumeki for comfort?

But when they reached the apartment building's door and Watanuki reached for his key, the weight of the package in his hands seemed too heavy to drag upstairs. Watanuki unlocked the door hesitantly, and Doumeki turned to leave once he was inside.

The panic came again, deep and desperate. Humiliation wasn't anything compared to the need to have Doumeki there with him as he broke the seal and spilled whatever was contained inside across his table. Besides, what if it's some sort of trick? Never mind that Yuuko had given it to him or that Doumeki didn't have his bow. It sounded like a good enough excuse, because it was frighteningly clear that he just couldn't do another thing like this alone.

"Wait!" Watanuki snapped his mouth shut with a click, sounding a whole lot more pleading than he'd meant to. But Doumeki was turning around slowly, and Watanuki's brain function ceased at all the things written between the lines of his face: his mouth was set, but his eyes were sly and patient, and Watanuki only saw it for a second before it became a receptive mask. But that look – it had been so much like Haruka's habitual expression that Watanuki was both relieved and bewildered. It was what he needed, that someone to talk to, and he always seemed to forget just how alike grandfather and grandson were. But Watanuki's heart tightened when he realized that maybe Doumeki felt this sorrow every once in a while, too.

Watanuki turned to head up the steps to his apartment, unsure of how much of the night would show to be a mixed blessing. But he was glad, as he was when he'd reached Yuuko's gate, to know that Doumeki was there.

I'm waiting to let my world to come undone

Doumeki slipped off his shoes as Watanuki disappeared into the kitchen, ever the proper host, and Doumeki reached up to switch on the light above the table as he heard the stove click on in the kitchen. He settled himself down, picking up the package from the tabletop and turning it over in his hands. White, flat, broad, no visible markings or address, and whatever was inside shifted against itself. Doumeki had a good idea of what it was.

Watanuki came into the doorway, holding a tray of tea and a small plate of his homemade candies. Doumeki put the package back down onto the table carefully as Watanuki crossed the room, setting down the tea and sitting across from Doumeki. The melancholy look he'd seen at the meteor shower was there again as he picked up the package. "Yuuko said it's from my parents." Doumeki nodded. He'd figured that was where it had come from, if his hunch was correct.

But Watanuki fingered the seal of the envelope before raising his eyes. "Do you miss your grandfather, Doumeki?"

I close my eyes and try to see the world unbroken underneath

Watanuki watched as Doumeki's face went from passively curious to dead still. Oh, no. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. But he needed to know, needed to be reassured that he wasn't alone in this feeling. Hell, wasn't a question better than throwing himself into Doumeki's arms and… the things that might have come of that? Oh, god, why does that sounds like a fantasy?

Watanuki ignored the nagging voice that sounded too much like Yuuko – when had Doumeki begun to permeate his brain? – to zero in on Doumeki. He already knew Doumeki wasn't the type to dwell; he wouldn't wallow in meaningless self–pity. But of course, Watanuki had probably managed to hit a nerve anyway and would likely be greeted with a closing door any second now.

And that calm, calm look scared the hell out of him.

He dropped his gaze back to the seal of the envelope and shook his head as if he could take back the question. He reached for the teapot and poured two cups, shoving one across the table. Foolish to think Doumeki would share something like that with him.

The silence hung so long Watanuki glanced up just to make sure Doumeki hadn't done the scary–and–silent thing and snuck out on him. Doumeki's face was still impassive but his eyes were waiting for Watanuki's, and they held something steady and firm.

"Every day."

Watanuki locked into the gaze, suddenly stricken by the realization that he'd never taken the time to look at Doumeki. He'd be able to recognize his face, rattle off the color of his eyes, that sort of thing. But when had he ever stopped and just looked at him? And now, like always, his face gave away no secrets; it could hold the all the answers to every question that sat in Yuuko's treasure vault and no one would ever know the difference, but his eyes…

Watanuki got the feeling that as long as they never changed, he would be alright.

And already it just might make the life I lead a little more than make–believe

It was photographs, just like Doumeki suspected. A few were, as he thought of them, pre–Kimihiro – showing his parents' wedding day, his mother pregnant, that sort of thing. Doumeki sifted through them, unsurprised that the vast majority of them were of Watanuki.

They were spread across the small table, and Doumeki picked up one after another, drinking in the sight of Watanuki before he'd known him, before Doumeki was necessary. Watanuki as a baby, wrapped in a blue blanket and sleeping with one tiny fist pressed into a cloudy eye; Watanuki and his father, splattered head to toe in tempura batter and grinning at each other; Watanuki no more than five years old, sleeping in his mother's lap on what appeared to be a train. Each portrayed a happy feeling, like they were enjoying every moment of parenthood they had, taking nothing for granted. And since Watanuki's curse was passed down through blood, it made sense that they would treasure it; just how much of their son's hitsuzen had they known?

Doumeki picked up a picture that was face down, intrigued by the simple description on the back: Kimi–chan, age seven. From everything he'd figured out, it must've been merely months before they died. When he turned it over, he was struck: it showed a young, yukata–clad Watanuki at a night fair, booths and lights behind him, proudly holding up a clear plastic bag containing a tiny goldfish. His face clearly revealed the young man he was changing into: the same pointed chin, glasses slightly askew on a delicate nose, high cheekbones, wide, blue eyes filled with glee. But…

That smile, broad and bright and unbroken, was unlike anything Doumeki had ever seen. It was snapshot of pure Watanuki, probably before he realized his curse, before he became jaded and lonely and uncertain. Before everything had been taken away. That was the smile Doumeki needed to see… No. Not see. Create.

When all my skies are painted blue

Watanuki looked up from a picture of himself on a swing–set to see Doumeki engrossed in a photograph; he watched as Doumeki lifted a finger and traced it down the edge. Watanuki caught his breath; Doumeki looked so much like his grandfather had when he'd done the same exact thing in a recent dream. But Doumeki was touching the photograph like it was breaking his heart.

Watanuki thought about how sturdy Doumeki had felt earlier. Why was Doumeki even here? What drew him back to Watanuki, again and again by choice, when all he ever did was shout and fight and lose his temper? Watanuki was very familiar with the pattern of his behavior around Doumeki. And he knew it didn't make sense.

Watanuki trailed his fingers through the pile of photos, a sea of memories of a family that hardly had a chance. Hitsuzen dictated that, just like hitsuzen had dictated the young man who was sitting across from him now: he'd never be able to control the things that it threw at him. It scared him beyond belief to think that it would just take things away, heedless of his needs, and Watanuki thought about that glimpse he'd gotten at Doumeki, his eyes a sudden beacon, never changing. What if that gets taken away, too?

The air in his chest was nonexistent at the thought, and Watanuki set down his cup of tea, wrapping trembling hands around the porcelain.

But then his hands were being pressed into the teacup, cradled from both sides, because Doumeki was leaning across the table, thumbs resting across the knuckle of Watanuki's thumbs, pads of his own barely rubbing, fingertips grazing the outside of his wrists, tickling just a little.

It was comfort, it was safety, it was more than he'd ever ask for, and Doumeki's eyes were on him again. Watanuki's hands stopped their shaking as he realized that to Doumeki, this was just another facet of protecting him, no different from all the physical strain it normally involved. Had he actually thought that Doumeki did it for glory?

Doumeki did it because he was a friend.

Doumeki would always be there, and he'd never think twice about it. Watanuki already knew this, of course, but he didn't know it could feel so right.

And all the clouds don't ever change the shape of who I am to you

Doumeki forgot about all the things that were raging inside him: the uncertainty of their friendship, the ache over the inexplicable memory of his grandfather, the slight awkwardness of being in Watanuki's apartment. Watanuki was gazing back at him, something like expectation in his eyes, and Doumeki didn't know the words.

How could he tell Watanuki that no matter what happened, what did or did not occur between them, he would always be waiting for him? How could he let him know that he didn't care if he didn't exist to Watanuki, as long as he allowed Doumeki to make the world a little less lonely, for the both of them?

How should he tell Watanuki that, in the end, Doumeki didn't have a choice – he couldn't control Watanuki's entrance into his life any more than he could've prevented the death of his grandfather? Because both events were on par as the most profound in Doumeki's life, and while Haruka's passing had shut him down, Watanuki had opened him back up again, so against his will he couldn't see how it could've played out any other way. And how could he tell him that, despite how much he missed Haruka, he wouldn't change the course of his life for the world?

How could he express that he'd never felt anything as wrenchingly blissful as Watanuki's forehead against his chest?

And since Doumeki didn't have the right words, he didn't say anything at all.

And when I catch the light of falling stars

Watanuki took a deep, shuddering breath. He'd make an album out of all these pictures one day, and he'd put it on his bookshelf where he could look at them whenever he liked. But he wouldn't do it now, couldn't do it now; he was content to have them spread across the table.

But Doumeki would be there with him, when he was ready, always waiting to catch Watanuki's eyes when he faltered. Doumeki would sit and munch on cookies while Watanuki organized the pictures into an album. Doumeki would be there when he needed him, Doumeki would be there when he didn't need him, and warmth spread through Watanuki when he realized that there was one thing in his life he could count on: that he could never hide from those golden streaked eyes.

My view is changing me

My view is changing

This wasn't ever going to change, this feeling. Doumeki knew that. If it was there, it wasn't going to leave. Doumeki knew all about responsibility and obligation, he was learning about companionship and friendship. But this, this was frightening – when was the last time he'd felt something so powerful? So all–encompassing?

One day, he'd get that smile back. One day, he'd do much, much more for Watanuki than cradle his hands and comfort him. One day, whatever this was that sat between them over a mess of photographs on a kitchen table, whatever this was that burned and ached and trilled and made Doumeki aware of everything – the temperature of his toes, the flicker of the lightbulb, the way Watanuki's handmade candy coated his tongue – and yet aware of nothing – nothing but Watanuki's eyes gazing into his own like a whole world had just opened up underneath him, nothing but the soft, dry skin under his palms – whatever this was, it was going to blossom and burst, and Doumeki was afraid of that day, yet dying of anticipation all the same.

It was hard to admit, but he knew it was right.

I'm waiting for the world to fall

I'm waiting, I'm waiting

(Because when we break down, so do our barriers.)