#i guess that i traditionally ‘ship’ very rarely as well i just want to explore dynamics that exist in the source material

[callixton]

this is not related either but i will never not think that ship wars are the dumbest thing on earth & i always have. like the decisions ten makes about his attraction to martha (which is like. pretty textual) are so obviously informed by the fact he was in love with rose like how stupid do u have to be to think that it’s one or the other. also it’s the doctor. it is a set fact that he is going to have something with more than one person in his life by nature of the show. people who argue abt this make my head want to explode

[piccolina-mina]

The entire One Chicago franchise is a mess when it comes to the romantic components of the series. But Chicago PD continues to be the most uninspired, boring, and redundant mess when it comes to their romantic ships and how they display them.

It's as if someone holds a gun to their head and says "let's choose the most basic, young, white heteronormative relationships and smack a cutesy name on them. Fandom will eat it up!" And without fail, fandom always does.

It's bad enough that half the Intelligence Unit thinks they can only date or sleep with each other. It's also bad enough that it further contributes to Chicago PD's ongoing issue with rarely knowing what to do with its female characters beyond specific plots I've come to call the "traditionally feminine womanly plots" and tying them in with a male character where everything about them hinges on their connection to a male. And also that "there can only be one" issue where only one of the female characters can serve as the primary one while the others duke it out for screentime, plot, and relevancy (congrats on always winning Lindsay and Hailey).

But they recycle the same things ad nauseum. For eight seasons, they would rather devote all of their time cooking up romantic subplots that exclusively feature a constant rotation of Ruzek and Halstead. I get it, they're attractive, hell, I'm no stranger to thirsting over Ruz myself, but they're the lotharios of the unit as if only they can be desirable, and it's gotten so old. My God.

They would rather give us these two involved with mostly young and white women, especially their squad mates, then devote screentime to literally any alternative couple.

I mean they have SHARED a love interest. Why? The only ships they have ever devoted significant screentime or development to: Halstead and Erin, Halstead and Upton, Ruzek and Burgess, Ruzek and Upton, Burgess and Roman. Qwhite shocking, I know.

Trudy and Mouch have one of the sweetest crossover romances from the franchise, and it's so refreshing to see a middle-aged couple find love, and yet, they've all but cooled off showing them, rarely give that ship screentime, and it tends to stay in the peripheral compared to the big ships.

Dawson had a romance with Brett from Chicago Fire (another character who gets passed around to the point of absurdity), but they did very little with it, and most of THAT even took place on CF.

They gave Dawson something troubling with another law enforcement officer or whatever for like a single episode, but hell, they still devoted more time and actual arcs to the two or three times where they put Halsted in similar relationships because of course they did.

Never forget that the first relationship that dates pre-series was Chicago Fire's Gabby with *spins wheel* you guessed it, Jay Halstead.

And of course there was Erin and Severide. So pretty. So ... basic.

Yet they never attempted to give us more of Dawson and his wife or Olinsky and his. The women were barely characters on the series. It would've been something.

I don't mind Burzek. Out of all the ships, I enjoy them most more often than not, but it has been eight seasons of will they/won't they bullcrap that they've drawn out. All of these ups and downs. The one non-cop related romance Burgess had lasted all of a second and ended in tragedy because heaven forbid they DON'T put that woman through endless pain.

But they've always remained the second place ship of the series, and it's just... enough. Meanwhile, we started the series with Erin and Halstead monopolizing screentime with their romantic situationship drama, and instead of giving it a rest and changing things up when she left, they switched it out with the Halstead and Hailey will they/won't they. Why?

Heaven forbid Halstead or Ruzek don't have a piece of ass.

Ruzek was even Trudy's choice for a relationship ruse to dupe her father.

In the meantime, one of the most outlandish and unrealistic parts of this series is that Kevin Atwater-- young, smart, just as hot as Chicago PD's golden, pretty, white boys hasn't had a real, significant romantic storyline in the eight years this series has been on air.

In what universe does that make sense? Single, eligible, employed, decent black man? Da faq?

Pardon my bluntness but Kevin Atwater should be seeing more ass than a toilet seat. The fact that he isn't batting folks off with a stick is ludicrous.

He had ONE fkd up romantic storyline in his one "very special black Kevin" episode in season SIX and that's it. Pardon me? Do you know how many of those Jay has had? Twice or more than Kevin.

On a series that pairs up colleagues like it's their mission, they never once even considered taking the Burgess and Atwater relationship in any other direction beyond platonic (and even that is underused these days). I'm not even saying I would've wanted that. I'm just pointing out that it made no sense given their track record to not even tease it. But Kevin is only good for platonic purposes, I suppose.

The fact that they put all their eggs in a potential Atwater and Rojas ship, that never even came to fruition, in season SEVEN of a series Atwater has been in since the beginning when characters like Adam and Jay have already had two relationships or more under their belts by then is ridiculous.

And then there's Voight. He's the lead character and never once had a romantic storyline. If he were younger, you already know they would've went there a few times over.

Yet the closest Hank has come to one is an ambiguous scene with him talking to a sex worker in a hotel room back in, like, season two. Are we to believe that he has never once developed feelings for or even had sex with anyone else since his wife died? He's never moved on after that?

They could easily allude to him being on an ace or demi spectrum if they want, even if I would side eye them for choosing the older character to do it, but if that's the case, they should do something with that.

Even a storyline with a widowed, middle- aged hardass finding love or getting some would be infinitely more interesting and at the very least something different than the same old same old Ruzek & Halstead merry-go-round. Damn, the 50 and over crowd need love too.

And yet Chicago PD keeps feeding us the same bland diet repackaged.

Fine. Burzek has been a thing from the beginning. But after Jay and Erin WHY did they need Hailey and Jay? And if they were going to do Jay and Hailey, why in the mother loving fk did we need Hailey and Adam?

The good sis bagged not one but both of the coveted white boys.

I mean, just for variety, Dawson was right there. Kevin was right there. I wouldn't have been a fan, but hell, it would at least be something different. Much better than acting as if Halstead and Ruzek are the only viable romantic options.

Why subject her to that?

Isn't it bad enough that she's more often than not reduced to being Lindsay Lite anyway? They struggle to give her a presence that deviates and distinguishes her from Erin as is. From her troubled past, and her stage of being mini- Voight and challenging his authority, to this thing with Jay.

Hell, they even repeated a whole job offer thing.

Mind you, don't get me started on how they missed what should've been the obvious chance to make Hailey queer. If I'm stepping on toes, my bad, but everything about Hailey screamed bi or lesbian. She radiated queer energy, but INSTEAD they chose to pair her with not one but both of CPD's romantic male leads.

Why beat this well-tread path yet again?

Of all the possibilities, and all the different avenues they can explore, they just keep dipping into that same well, and it's so tiresome. It's so unoriginal and uninspired. Yes, it's just so basic. I'm talking 20th century shipping... CPD is so outdated with this and it makes it hard to invest or care about any of them, especially if you already aren't inclined to ship within the series as is.

Shock me. Thrill me. Intrigue me. Bloody hell.

[shinsoukokuvalentine]

20.,things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear?also i love your blog💘

(Thank you for your patience, nonnie-chan! This one took a while, but I’m really happy with the results. As I said before, I had wanted to do a fic like this for a while, so I wanted to be very careful to give it the time and effort it deserved. Thank you for waiting and for your compliments ^^ I’m so happy you love my blog.

This fic can also be found on Ao3, but as tumblr tends to eat posts with links, I’ll make a separate post for it. Also, this is based on the movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It’s really good!)

185/365: Never-Ending Moonlight

I don’t want to forget.

Ryuunosuke’s eyes open blearily. On his bedside table, his alarm beeps, inviting him to wake to an overcast day and piles of snow.

He sits up, shutting off his alarm, rubbing his eyes. He feels more tired than usual, but he doesn’t remember doing anything strenuous yesterday. Or was that what he didn’t want to forget?

With a groan, he throws his covers off and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He doesn’t remember what he didn’t want to forget, of course, making the morning confusing enough without what appear to be tear stains down his cheeks, which he sees once he looks in the mirror.

Ryuu frowns at his reflection. He never cries. He hasn’t cried since he was a child, abandoned on the city sidewalk like a discarded toy, his confused younger sister gripping his hand.

He had grown up quickly.

He sighs. He turns the sink on, washes the tears off his face, combs his hair. He can’t spend the entire morning trying to remember what he didn’t want to forget, and soon the thought’s gone as if it had been washed down the drain.

As he puts his shoes on, he sees that the shelf near the door looks empty, sparse. There’s an open space in the middle that looks like it would be a good place for a couples’ photo.

Ryuu frowns a bit. He moves things around briefly, eliminating the empty space. He doesn’t need any reminders that he’s single.

Standing at the train station, his scarf pulled over the lower half of his face, Ryuu waits in the middle of the bustling crowd. Snow drifts down from the sky again, and the people around Ryuu grumble at it. He closes his eyes and listens, listens to their words, listens to the crunch of snow beneath dozens of feet, listens to the train arriving on the platform below, bound for the coast.

His eyes open. He doesn’t know what prompts him to movie. Maybe he needs a change, a break from his work. But emotion he can’t explain get the better of him, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s moving, running, sprinting, nearly slipping down stairs. The coast. He has to go to the coast today.

Ryuu isn’t sure why. He isn’t sure why he rushes onto that train car before the doors close. He isn’t sure why he’s going in the complete opposite direction of where he should be going, to work, to his job.

Maybe it has something to do with that thing he can’t remember that he didn’t want to forget.

Even this early in the morning, the ports of Yokohama are already noisy, with people shouting back and forth, crates being unloaded, and cargo ships blaring their horns. Ryuu finds a small diner near the train station, away from the noise, but with a view of the ocean outside the window.

He orders an omelette. Something simple, but a breakfast that he rarely gets the chance to have. Not many patrons sit in the diner’s booths, as many people have undoubtedly already begun their jobs, excluding a few elders and a young man sitting a few seats down from Ryuu.

By chance, their eyes meet, and Ryuu quickly looks down at his breakfast. He thinks he hears the other man give a small huff of a laugh. His cheeks red, Ryuu bites into his omelette like he could blame it for the unwelcome feelings stirring in his chest like trapped birds, fluttering around his ribcage and crashing into his heart.

Why do I fall in love with every cute guy I see?

He’s out of there sooner than he’d like, and yet, not soon enough, leaving behind a silver-haired man with bright eyes.

His feet carry him aimlessly, down the coastline and through busy streets. He pauses at the ocean a few times, watches the ships move, listens to the ocean lap at the rocks below. Winds blow in and cause him to tighten his scarf around his face.

Around lunch, he sees him again. That silver-haired man with wide eyes. He stands at the same bus stop as Ryuu, who’s only there because he wanted to get out of the wind. The other man’s on his phone, typing away with fingerless gloves, not looking up until the bus arrives. As if being led by the pull of a magnet, Ryuu follows him on board.

Outside, Yokohama’s gray sky does little to dull the colors of the city’s many shops and people. Ryuu barely notices them. His attention in focused on the man in front of him, the one with silver hair, the one nodding to the beat of whatever song’s playing through his headphones.

The man suddenly looks behind him, and Ryuu looks away just as quickly. But he’s been noticed.

“Hey.”

Ryuu looks up. The man smiles at him in a polite, friendly way. Ryuu doesn’t respond, so the other man speaks up again. “You were the guy in the diner, right?”

Ryuu nods.

The man with silver hair turns more, resting his arms on the back of his seat, facing Ryuu. “I’m Nakajima Atsushi.” He introduces himself so quickly, so fearlessly.

Ryuu’s sunk further into his seat without realizing it. Normally, he wouldn’t have a problem with not saying anything and coming off as rude, but Nakajima draws an answer out of him with one look from those sparkling eyes of his. Oh…They’re two colors. Purple and gold, like miniature sunsets.

“Akutagawa Ryuunosuke,” he says, bowing his head a little once.

Nakajima’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’d never seen you at the diner before. Are you new around here?” Ryuu nods again.

“I’m from a different district,” he says quietly. Nakajima tilts his head.

“So you’ve never been to Tanizaki’s?” he asks. When Ryuu shakes his head, Nakajima’s wonderful eyes widen. “You have to go there for lunch. They have the best ochazuke.”

Ryuu shrugs a bit. Ochazuke sounds good; he hasn’t had a bowl in a while. “Where is it?” He asks.

Nakajima gives a small chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you,” he says quickly, but he suddenly ducks behind the seat a little bit at his own words, like he realized how straightforward he had been. “That is… If you don’t mind going with me. I would completely understand if you didn’t want to.”

Ryuu’s cheeks have become red again, so he pulls his scarf over his nose and looks to his side, out the window, away from Nakajima’s bicolor eyes. “... I don’t mind,” he says. From the corner of his eye, he sees Nakajima’s smile return.

They spend lunch together. The cafe’s styled traditionally, and its ochazuke really is as good as Nakajima said. He eats two bowls in the time it takes Ryuu to eat one.

They spend the afternoon together. Nakajima shows Ryuu his favorite park, and Ryuu buys him a balloon, partly as a joke, but Nakajima ties it around his wrist and keeps it there for the rest of the day.

They spend the evening together. They walk along the docks, in areas where they’re probably not allowed to be, behind old warehouses and around rusty fences. While exploring like children, they talk. Ryuu talks about his position as an executive in a stuffy company. Nakajima talks about his job as an assistant to a private eye.

“That sounds more interesting than my job,” Ryuu says, climbing over crates in a crumbling storage building. From the top of the pile, swinging his legs over the side, Nakajima huffs.

“You’d think so,” he sighs, “But my boss hardly ever does his paperwork, so while he’s off on cases, I’m left to sort through his files.”

Ryuu hums in understanding as he finally reaches the top, sitting next to Nakajima on the large crate. From up there, they can see the moon through the worn, broken panels of the warehouse’s roof.

“I guess you were off today,” Ryuu says. Nakajima chuckles sheepishly.

“About that… I ditched.”

Ryuu turns to him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like the type,” he points out. Nakajima shoves him a bit, playfully, but hard enough to make Ryuu wonder if his companion doesn’t know his own strength.

“You’ve only known me a day,” he says, apparently not noticing as Ryuu grips the side of the crate a bit harder than before and rubs his shoulder. “Besides, Dazai-san ditches me all the time. It’s about time he got a taste of his own medicine.”

Ryuu watches as Nakajima leans back, laying his back flat against the crate, possibly getting splinters in his hair and jacket. In the small amount of time he’s known Nakajima, Ryuu knows him well enough to assume that he doesn’t care if he gets dirty.

“What about you?” Nakajima asks, peering over at Ryuu. “You weren’t off either, were you?”

Ryuu purses his lips, turning away from Nakajima, pulling his scarf over his nose again, and Nakajima laughs a little. “Knew it.”

“I didn’t plan to skip today,” Ryuu says in his defense. “It mostly just happened.”

Nakajima sighs, watching clouds drift across the night sky. “Same here,” he says. He turns to Ryuu again, smiling, and his eyes are soft as he says to him, “Maybe it’s fate then? Destiny?”

Nakajima’s expression sends Ryuu’s heart into overdrive, but he takes slow breaths, laying down beside him and turning his gaze to the sky.

“I’m not sure it matters how we met,” he says quietly, trying not to jump in the air when he feels Nakajima’s fingers brush his own. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

He looks beside him, and Nakajima’s still smiling. A breeze rustles his hair, his eyes shimmer in the moonlight, and if Ryuu hadn’t fallen in love when he first saw Nakajima, this sight alone would have ensnared him. But since he’s already in love, all he can do is hide his blush.

“Did you have a good time today?”

Atsushi takes his eyes off his phone, looking at the man sitting beside him on the train. Akutagawa looks forward, watching city lights pass by the windows across from them, his hands in his coat pockets. He spoke without turning to Atsushi.

Turning his phone off, Atsushi watches their reflections in the window, looking in the same direction as Akutagawa, but not seeing the same thing.

“I did,” he says quietly, peering at his companion’s dark eyes as reflected in the glass. His heart beats a little faster when he admits it, and he smiles again, hoping to hide his nervousness with it. It’s worked all day.

“Did you?” he asks Akutagawa. The other man shifts a little, and crossing one leg over the other, he nods once. Inwardly, Atsushi lets out a small sigh of relief. Spending the day with Akutagawa has been a joy for him, and he wanted to know that his companion felt the same way, even though he probably hadn’t developed an immediate crush like Atsushi did.

The train’s automated voice cuts through Atsushi’s thoughts, announcing that the next station, Atsushi’s stop, is five minutes away. Atsushi’s knees bunch together as his face falls. Five minutes. He has five minutes left with Akutagawa.

He turns to the side again, looking over his companion’s face. Akutagawa’s the most handsome man he’s ever seen, with hair that looks as soft as doves’ feathers, eyes that constantly reflect the sea at night, and a pale, round face that somehow manages to be both adorable and mature. His expression never wavers, giving him an air of mystery that lures Atsushi in.

And, Atsushi thinks with a sad smile, he’s almost as impulsive as he is.

“Hey,” Atsushi says quietly. Akutagawa turns only his eyes to look at him, leaning back against the seat while Atsushi’s bent over on his knees.

“Yes?” Akutagawa asks in that deep voice of his. Atsushi takes a deep breath, even while his brain reminds him of the many ways that this could go wrong.

“Since, you know, we had fun today,” Atsushi says slowly, inwardly cursing himself for using the word “fun” like a kid, “Would you like to… Do it again?”

Akutagawa doesn’t take his eyes off of him, only blinking once, but staying silent as if he’s mulling it over. Atsushi watches him, almost shrinking back under his intense gaze.

“Yes.”

Atsushi can feel his heart skip a beat. “You mean it?” he asks incredulously, picking himself up, leaning forward towards Akutagawa. His excitement picks up as if pure adrenaline is being pumped into his veins. “You really want to see me again?”

Akutagawa nods, and if he scoots away a little, Atsushi barely notices. His heart’s too busy doing backflips.

“T-then, uh,” Atsushi all but pats himself down, searching through his pockets for something to write on, “w-would you like my number? I mean, it would be hard to meet again if one of us didn’t get the other’s number…” he trails off, stopping when Akutagawa merely holds out his hand to him.

“Your phone,” he says. Wordlessly, Atsushi nods, pulling his phone from his pocket and unlocking it before passing it to Akutagawa. Despite only knowing him for a day, he trusts him with it.

Akutagawa says nothing as he types on the screen, Atsushi leaning over his shoulder, watching as Akutagawa puts himself in Atsushi’s contact list.

“No need to waste paper when you have a phone,” Akutagawa says, handing it back to Atsushi, who stares at the name AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE and the number attached to it as if trying to commit it to memory. “I doubt you have a pen, anyway.”

Atsushi flushes red, and he could swear that the small huff Akutagawa gives is the faintest hint of a laugh.

“Call me tomorrow,” adds Akutagawa, turning away, leaning back again. “I’ll actually be off then.”

If Atsushi can get any redder, he does. Not only does Akutagawa want to see him again, he wants to see him tomorrow . He feels like he might pass out.

Instead, he beams, standing as the train pulls to a stop and the doors open. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Akutagawa-san,” he says. Akutagawa nods again, watching him as he walks to the doors.

“I’ll see you,” he echoes, waving a little, not taking his eyes off of Atsushi until the doors close again and the train pulls away. Atsushi watches it round a corner, making sure it’s completely gone before he leaves the platform, humming to himself, kicking up snow like a child and watching it fall around him.

He’s never felt in love like this before.

Gone, but not forgotten is that feeling when he reaches his apartment. He stops in his tracks, keys in hand, starting at the thing on his doorstep. It’s a package, a large cardboard box with Atsushi’s name and address on it. It sits in front of the door to his apartment, illuminated with yellow light, wet patches on its cardboard from melted snow.

Atsushi frowns. He doesn’t remember ordering anything. He doesn’t recognize the return label, either; it seems to be someone’s personal address, coming from someone named Higuchi Ichiyo. Atsushi’s never heard of them.

Atsushi stares at  the box, watching it as if something might jump from it. But the box is completely still. He shoves it a bit to get to his door, never taking his eyes off of it, surprised at how heavy it is.

Either he’s gullible or his curiosity gets the better of him, but Atsushi takes it inside.

There’s a letter attached to the top of the box, Atsushi realizes once the door’s closed behind it. He opens it first, peeling away the tape that binds it to the package, tearing it open gingerly, almost not wanting to admit to himself how scared he is of its contents.

The only thing in the letter is a harmless piece of paper. Atsushi checks the envelope twice to make sure of this; no powder, no razors, no glitter. Nothing dangerous. Atsushi sighs like he’s just defused a bomb.

But after he’s read the letter, he feels as if someone’s relit it.

Frantically, Atsushi tears open the box. It’s filled to the brim with material, inconsequential things, like plush toys and picture frames and a few crumpled pieces of origami. According to the letter, less than a few weeks ago, these were all Atsushi’s.

And he doesn’t remember any of them.

Atsushi’s heart feels ready to burst from his chest, and not in the giddy way that he felt when he was with Akutagawa. It’s the way that makes Atsushi’s stomach turn, his throat go dry, and his eyes widen in horror. He’s throwing things out of the box now, shaking, realization creeping up his spine like a cold hand. It’s all fake. It has to be.

But it can’t be.

Band tickets. Calendars with dates circled in red. Poems signed by their author, a name Atsushi can’t stand to read. A small blue box, a diamond ring still inside it, never presented.

Breath escapes Atsushi’s lips in ragged pants when he reaches the bottom. Under love letters and fridge magnets, a small flash drive hides, just as Higuchi wrote in her letter.

Atsushi freezes. The words of the letter pierce through his skin like knives, tearing into him, shaking him to his core.

To Nakajima Atsushi.

He takes the flash drive, holding it as if it could kill him if it got too close, but also careful not to let any harm come to it.

I am Higuchi Ichiyo. This may come as a shock to you, but you opted to receive treatment to have your memories of a certain person erased.

Atsushi plugs the flash drive into his computer. His breath catches in his throat when he sees all of them; photos, possibly hundreds of them, all of him and someone he thought he had never met.

Of course, you do not remember receiving this treatment. The memory of that was erased as well.

Atsushi’s never been to these places. He’s never been with that man before. He definitely has never kissed him before, but dozens of photos say otherwise.

I am a former employee of the doctor that carried out treatment for you and many others, Doctor Mori Ougai. It has recently come to my attention that this process is unethical. This is my attempt at making amends.

Atsushi covers his mouth with his hands. Sobs lurk behind his lips, tears slip from his eyes whenever he blinks. He can’t do this. He can’t keep going, can’t look at them anymore, can’t see himself smiling at a man he’d never met before today.

We took everything from you. Every memory, every photo, every object that may carry some trace of that person you wanted to forget. I’m giving them all back to you.

He takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He’s curled up in his desk chair now, knees to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. He has to keep going, he tells himself, even while a whimper escapes his lips. He has to find that final file.

In this package, there’s a flash drive. It includes anything digital that we took, such as photos or videos. You’ll also find a recording of your verbal consent to this treatment there.

Atsushi scrolls past all the photos, not wanting to look at any more of them, but still catching glimpses every now and then, glimpses of a life he can never get back.

I hope you’re able to forgive me and come to peace with this. All the best,

Higuchi Ichiyo

The audio file’s at the very bottom. Atsushi doesn’t hesitate. He clicks on it, letting whatever’s on that file play through his computer’s speakers, echoing through the apartment. This can’t be real, he thinks to himself, still shaking. This can’t be real, and this will prove it.

“What’s your name, sir? ” a faceless male voice says, sounding like it was recorded through a low-quality microphone. Atsushi can feel his shoulders relax a bit; there’s no way a doctor’s office would be using such cheap equipment.

“Nakajima Atsushi. ”

Atsushi freezes. Yes, it sounds horrible through the recording. Yes, it’s nothing like how he sounds in his head. But that’s definitely his voice.

“And why are you choosing to have this procedure, Nakajima-san? ”

The room seems to spin. Atsushi’s vision goes blurry. Every photo he saw in that flash drive feels as if it’s being burned into his memory, leaving scars as a warning to never forget again.

The Atsushi in the recording can he heard taking a deep breath, coming out as static through the poor quality of the audio.

“Because I hate Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.”

"I want to forget Nakajima Atsushi. ”

“He’s irrational. He’s got a naive, childish outlook on life and needs to grow up .”

“Everywhere we go, he wants me to buy him a plush toy. A plush toy! He’s a grown man! ”

“He took a picture from his phone and got it printed and framed. What kind of sentimental idiot does that? ”

“He’s impulsive. I’ve spent so much on his stupid impulses and he never learns. I’ve almost been arrested because of him, all because he wanted to ‘explore.’ This has happened more than once. ”

“He doesn’t know how strong he is. He accidentally broke my arm once. How do you accidentally break someone’s arm?! ”

“He gets jealous if I so much as look at another guy .”

“I hate the way he eats .”

“I hate the way he talks .”

“I hate the way he drags me around .”

“He’s the only person that’s ever made me cry .”

“And… I loved him .”

There’s a pause. The Ryuunosuke in the recording stops for a moment, and he can be heard letting out a breath through clenched teeth as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

“I want to forget about him. I want to forget about loving him! ”

The doorway creaks. Ryuu looks up from his spot on the floor, surrounded by souvenirs and pieces of paper and framed photographs. He’s there, in the standing in the open door, appearing like a phantom but clutching the doorframe like a scared child.

“… Just like he forgot about me .”

“How much of that did you hear?” Ryuu asks quietly, closing his laptop and shoving it away like it offended him. Still standing there, Nakajima doesn’t meet his eyes.

“... Enough,” he says just as quietly, one arm wrapped around himself, the other supporting him against the wall as if he’d fall over if he didn’t have something to hold on to. He clears his throat a bit. “I had your address on a piece of paper. It was in the box,” he admits softly. Ryuu merely grunts in response.

There’s silence for a minute, in which Ryuu looks down at the pile around him. There’s even a shirt in there, decorated in colors he can’t imagine wearing, featuring a arrow with goofy letters beneath it saying “ I’m HIS boyfriend! ”

“Did you really think that?”

Ryuu looks up at Nakajima, a frown on his lips. Nakajima, with his eyes on the floor, doesn’t notice.

“Did you really think all those things?”

Ryuu huffs, causing Nakajima to pick his head up.

“Even if I did, I can’t remember it, can I?” he snaps. Nakajima shrinks back a little, his eyes wide as if he’s been frightened.

Ryuu stares at him, the anger falling from his face as he watches him, scared and confused, like a kicked dog. Ryuu’s shoulders sag and he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Nakajima walks inside, leaving his shoes at the door, his socks stepping gingerly around everything on the floor until he’s next to Ryuu, where he slowly sits.

“... We could try again,” he says softly.

The very idea causes Ryuu to turn away, covering his mouth with his hand, folding his knees beside him. He hears Nakajima sigh.

“I mean, not picking up where we left off,” he says. From the corner of his eye, Ryuu can see him wrap his arms around his knees. “But… Starting over. Going on our date tomorrow, like we talked about. Easy things.”

Ryuu closes his eyes, as if not looking at everything on the floor would cause it to disappear. “It might end up like before,” he whispers.

Slowly, gently, he feels lithe fingers brush against the back of his free hand. He turns, looking down, seeing Nakajima’s hand on his.

“It might not,” Nakajima says just as quietly, his eyes on their hands as well.

Ryuu feels himself begin to tremble. Subconsciously, or perhaps not, he leans against Nakajima, who breathes deep and slow.

“I think that… If I could remember who I was before,” Nakajima murmurs, a bittersweet tang to his words, like strawberries picked too soon, “That version of me… Would be overjoyed that he gets to discover you all over again.”

Ryuu squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t cry. He won’t cry, not in front of someone he’s just met.

But they haven’t just met. They met moons ago, danced moons ago, kissed moons ago. That same moon is still out, and it’s ready to watch them learn to dance once more.