entranceway | 10th side [action]

He’s in Junes. Now there’s a locale he knows by heart. It’s perfect and clear and feels so natural; even though it seems like it’s been a long time he’s not put off at all. The movements are all automatic. He’s always felt a bit like a dog, coming when called and playing a constant game of fetch, but it just made it that much easier to go on and believe that nothing was wrong.

When he sits down for lunch break in the food court, nobody joins him. They never do, and he’s not surprised.

(But there’s always a table where I’m never alone. Where did it go?)

He plays idly with the straw in his mouth, noisily slurping at the icy, watered-down drink at the bottom of his cup, and checks his phone with his free hand. There’s some spam at the top of his inbox, but it’s otherwise empty as usual.

(As usual?)

Well, he does have a pile of saved mail. Saved mail. Since when does he do that? He presses buttons and brings it up.

There are days and weeks and months worth of messages. Any one he randomly choose comes up right away. They’re all from the same sender.

“Hana-chan!”

His head turns towards the voice right away. It brings happiness to his face before he’s even done the motion and he’s not sure why. It’s warm and it tugs at his memory like it was something treasured. Those three syllables, exactly as they were.

Her face, however, was a blur.

No, no, that wasn’t quite right. There were features that he all recognized. When he looked at the eyes, he saw her eyes, or her brow, or her hair. But her face was never altogether one at the same time. He looked and tried and he wanted, but it was simply out of his reach.

Still, there were those sweet words. A dog will always come to the voice of its master, no matter who the voice belongs to. It’s surreal, and even though he knows it’s wrong, he stays. He longs for it so much he refuses to leave. If he did, he’d be trampling over something important.

Besides, the table isn’t there, and there isn’t any mail. When he stands up and she wraps her arms around his, he feels very weak, like she’s holding him up. It’s so perfectly painful he never wants her to let go. For once, someone needs him, and won’t leave. He won’t be alone and he doesn’t have to worry that he will be. It’s so right like that, with the wonderful sound of her voice…

His cheeks ache from smiling.

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"No you didn't." In retrospect, it probably should have hurt to see that dream, but urgency to get Yousuke out of there had overridden any other feelings.

"I did!"

Why is he insisting? Souji just gave him the free and clear! He should be glad! But he just... He hated himself right now. What was that even? The most pitiful display of longing for something he could barely remember, something that he thought he was over a long time ago. He thought he was a better person by now. That he understood she hated him anyways.

It was like getting smacked in the face by how wrong he was; Still just as weak as he was before.

His face contorts through all sorts of ugly emotions as he tries to settle on just one, but it seems impossible. He wanted to run and hide and never come out again.

Souji's quiet for a moment, giving them both a moment to process.

"...Do you want me to be angry?"

Yousuke sits down. and while his hand goes slack, he doesn't force it out of Souji's hand. He just pulls his legs up to his chest, buries his face in his knees, and shakes his head. His body trembles with quiet sobs.

This wasn't how Souji wanted this to go. He didn't exactly have a plan going into it, but this wasn't one of the outcomes he'd planned for.

Letting go of Yousuke's hand, Souji crouches beside him and wraps his arms around him.

He doesn't push him away, but leans into him as he cries, occasionally mumbling "I'm sorry" again. What else is there to say? He's confused and tired and miserable, and being painfully vulnerable. If this was anyone other than Souji, he doesn't know what he'd do.

Souji's sorry too, that he didn't realize before now that Yousuke wasn't as over this as they both thought he was. He doesn't say that, though. He rubs Yousuke's back and holds him, but he stays silent.

It was the kind of thing that rears it's head at the worst time-- really, since when was a breakdown timely?-- but it only happens when you don't think it will. It takes awhile to stew under your skin...

It takes a few minutes, but Yousuke's crying eventually tapers off. He breathing evens out and he leans heavily into Souji. Leaving doesn't cross his mind. The last thing he wants right now is for Souji to feel like he doesn't want to be with him.

Souji still doesn't say anything. He thinks he should feel a little jealous or threatened, but he doesn't. He just hates that he didn't see this coming.

Yousuke heaves a deep sigh.

He lethargically pushes himself off of Souji's support, and wipes at his face with the back of his sleeve. He's sure he looks awful, because he feels awful. His breath is all hot, and his eyes itch, and-- dammit, he has to blow his nose. He wishes he could just put on a brave face and make it look like he was okay, but he couldn't. Instead, he had to make this disgraceful show...

"'Sorry."

What is he even apologizing for now?

Souji shakes his head and helps him to his feet. "Let's find somewhere to rest."

Yousuke staggers a little as he stands, but gains his bearings and follows Souji dumbly. Falling in line is something he can do.

Not wanting to risk walking back into Yousuke's deteriorated dream, Souji finds an empty room nearby and procures a box of tissues for Yousuke, along with some water for them both from the closet.

Sitting down on the bed, he blows his nose noisily, and reaches for the water when Souji hands it to him. When he's done, he drinks.

Words have left him. He'll pause like he's about to speak, but then will do something else like worry at his lip or give a frustrated sigh. He leans forward to put his elbow on his knee and his head in his hand.

Souji sits beside him and drinks his own water. He lets the silence stretch for awhile, but then decides he should at least say one thing.

"I'm not upset."