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It was strange -- no, more than that. It should have been completely impossible. Something that had been normal for months on end shouldn’t have had any place becoming a nightmare once everything had worked out for the better.
No, it made no sense at all, and that improbability was what Ryuunosuke clung to as he woke, not with gasping breaths and fleeting panic, but drenched in sweat and with a heavy weight upon his chest. Grief was a heavy thing, but one that was easy to grow accustomed to carrying. It was heavier now that it had once been lifted, and he cursed its presence aloud into the quiet night with a breathy voice no more than a whisper.
Sweaty palms found their way to his eyes, pressing hard enough that colorful blobs passed behind closed lids as he rubbed them free from the beginnings of tears that had begun to rise. Why? Why had he been on the edge of tears about such a . . . silly nightmare? Why had he had the damned thing to begin with? Everything was well, now. Even during the time it hadn’t been, he’d never reacted like this.
There’d always been so much else to do, so much else to worry about. They’d never been given proper time to linger on the thought of Kazuma’s death, nor to properly mourn. Before he’d even known his friend was dead, he’d been accused of the murder, and proving his innocence had taken a priority it shouldn’t have had to. Following that had come strict preparations for taking Kazuma’s place, which had been both necessary and the only way to truly honor his memory . . . then, all that had followed, one incident on top of another, leaving him far too busy to truly miss what he’d lost aside from during the longest, most sleepless nights.
What had been a certainty then was now a fear; one that still held his heart between cold fingers, threatening to crush. The dream hadn’t been particularly detailed -- his never were -- and there were far more horrific things he’d seen that could have chosen to haunt him. Instead, he’d been left with an abstract sense of loss, and that same certainty that had dwelled within his chest during that time . . . a certainty that his best friend, perhaps more than that, was entirely lost.
Of course, Kazuma hadn’t been lost at all, but his return had come with an entirely new set of problems. They’d worked out for the best, all things considered, though it had taken a lot of work to get to that point. Thus, just as he’d been given no time to mourn Kazuma’s death, there had been no chance to truly be happy that he hadn’t been dead at all. There was far too much in each of their worlds to worry about, and there had continued to be ever since.
A year had passed since he’d left London. It wasn’t an easy job, working as a defense attorney and attempting to improve the country’s justice system with every case. Time had passed quickly, and he’d stayed fairly busy -- it wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of Kazuma at all. They’d written, of course, and it had been pleasant, but they were each off on their own paths. Ryuunosuke hadn’t been worried, not with Kazuma where he belonged, in the country where his ambitions had taken him.
Why had the nightmare found him here? Now? Why did his hands continue to shake even as he ran them through his hair, which he was certain stuck out rebelliously in all possible directions.
After all, Kazuma was alive -- and here.
Perhaps it was some cruel twist of fate; some sort of cosmic joke. Or perhaps that was simply the nature of Ryuunosuke’s luck. Superstitious whispers within his mind continued to spread the illogical -- that it wasn’t the memories of Kazuma’s death that had been the dream, but the events which had proven him to be alive. It was impossible -- now in the waking world, Ryuunosuke could remember clearly the day before how the ship had docked. He, Susato, and her father had gone out to greet it as the trio on board departed. . . even now, he could remember Kazuma’s smug smile as they greeted one another, crossing swords just as they had when he’d departed back to Japan.
Still, the fear wouldn’t fade, and Ryuunosuke knew he wouldn’t be falling back asleep. The covers around him suddenly far too suffocating, he made an effort to kick them off, eventually succeeding in the endeavor and forcing himself to his feet. Perhaps a bit of fresh air would do him good.
As he padded quietly as possible out of his room and towards an exit, he found himself slowing to a stop, eventually to simply stand, lingering, in the hall. The Mikotobas were generous -- enough so to have taken Ryuunosuke in upon his return to the country, as well as their visitors. Somewhere down that hall slept the trio from Britain -- the Great Detective himself, Iris . . . and Kazuma.
When the thought first occurred to him, Ryuunosuke shook his head and forced it away. Don’t be an idiot.
But we need evidence,
the voice within him countered,
that’s how it works. The fear won’t go away unless you use evidence to chase it away.
For a few more moments, he hesitated, then gave in as he’d somehow always known he would.
This is stupid,
he scolded himself as he made his way to the door of Kazuma’s guest room, hesitating outside with his hand on the screen,
not to mention creepy.
I just need to see him,
he countered his own voice of reason, a trial within his own mind. Swallowing, he began to inch the door open -- it would only need to be a crack. Just enough for him to look inside and see that Kazuma was there, alright and breathing -- evidence to prove the fears incorrect.
It was a good plan, all things considered. Perhaps it would have stayed one had Kazuma not been awake.
“Ryuunosuke?”
He was sitting up on his tatami mat, covers over his crossed legs and a book settled in his lap. Perhaps later, Ryuunosuke would wonder how he’d managed to miss the flickering light of the candle at his side, but for now he was too busy staring at his friend wide-eyed like a startled mouse. Kazuma’s brow was drawn together with confusion, or perhaps concern, and he held Ryuunosuke’s gaze as he fumbled to find words with which to reply now that he’d been caught.
Mouth opening and closing several times before he had any sort of success, Ryuunosuke finally managed a “Hi . . .Sorry to bother you, I . . .um . . . ” he cleared his throat and slid the door a bit more open. Perhaps if he attempted to act casual enough, it would seem as if he came to visit Kazuma intentionally.
It was clear by his friend’s expression, however, that Ryuunosuke’s expression had given him away. It was the same look Kazuma had given him on nights when he’d arrived at his house late at night, rain-drenched and upset, and been welcomed inside without a word to be warmed and welcomed. Kazuma had never pressed. . . it appeared he wouldn’t now, either.
Ryuunosuke couldn’t help but wonder what showed in his own eyes as he watched Kazuma’s brow smooth over, lips parting slightly as understanding seemed to dawn. Whether it was simply that his friend read him too well, or that his face had simply given him away, Ryuunosuke wasn’t certain -- perhaps a mixture of both. Had the fear in his heart found its way to his eyes?
Without a word, Kazuma set his book aside and shifted to the side on his bedding. A single hand raised the edge of his covers, leaving them open in silent invitation.
There was no hesitation as Ryuunosuke took the offering and slipped through the opening of the door, shutting it quietly behind him. Even with its precious evidence, the ache in his chest had only seemed to grow, and continued to do so in powerful relief the closer he moved to Kazuma’s side. Only once he’d settled down, face flushed bright red all the way to his ears and eyes looking anywhere but Kazuma’s face, did the feeling begin to fade. It seemed some things were more powerful than embarrassment.
It had been so long since those school nights they’d fallen asleep tangled together by the light of a dying candle, hunched over their books. They weren’t the same people they’d been in those days -- not really. Then again, perhaps they were. . . at least, deep down in the heart where it mattered.
At the very least, Kazuma’s heartbeat sounded the same, pounding steady as it was in his chest near Ryuunosuke’s ear. The sound was the most soothing of lullabies, and caused a breath to pass his hips that carried with it the remains of the pain from his nightmare. The covers had settled over his shoulder, and he closed his eyes as he dimly noted Kazuma snuffing out the candle over his shoulder.
His arm didn’t pull back when the job was done, instead settling down slowly, tentatively, to hold Ryuunosuke close.
No -- they weren’t the boys they’d been before, in those distant days long before they’d departed for English shores.
They were older, each now with their worlds and stories. Now brought together once more, their shared story was now far bigger, far more complicated, and far
better.
With far more to worry about than childish flusteredness, neither hesitated to hold the other tight, no excuses necessary for doing so. Not when they’d so long been deprived of the chance, separated by the sea -- vast as she was, not so nearly an uncrossable border as that between life and death.
“ . . . I couldn’t sleep,” Ryuunosuke finally mumbled into the darkness without removing his head from Kazuma’s chest and the sound of that precious heartbeat. He knew no further explanation would be needed.
“Neither could I,” he heard the familiar voice murmur back, “after all . . .
“The moon’s far too beautiful, isn’t it?”