No matter how much you pray for time to stop, the sands of time didn’t yield to anyone. It didn’t care how much you begged to get just a little more time , when everything was already way past irreversible.

Time was cruel and unforgiving, and somehow it had already been a year since that day he both wished to forget and couldn’t bring himself to stop thinking about. He’d met several Sakura members since then; had cursed them out, lashing out and angry at how they had failed to stop anything from happening. Eventually, they’d left him alone, no more offers to join the church coming. He knew the invitation was standing, but damn it if he was ever going to accept it.

 

Not for the first time during the last 12 months, Amane found himself at the pier, staring at the water. He had spent so many hours here, looking for Misu’s body where the water from the tunnels had come out, only to come up with nothing. Time and time again, he kept coming back here, hoping, even though he’d figured that if anyone was ging to find Misu, it would have happened by now.

Amane’s eyes were trained on the thin trail of smoke carried off by the wind from the cigarette between his fingers. Slowly, the stick was turning into ash. The creased package in his other hand was matted, the slight shine of the pack dulled from how much he’d handled it. He was halfway through the package, not wanting to finish it off. But on the one-year anniversary of Misu's death, it felt, well, not right, nothing ever did anymore, but fitting enough.

 

Technically it had never been in Misu’s possession; Amane had bought it on a morning where he hadn’t been sleeping, momentarily forgetting that Misu wasn’t going to need them anymore, so used to the early morning or late night conbini runs where he’d sometimes refill Misu’s vice along with whatever other junk he’d buy.

That was the first time his brother had caught him crying, clutching the damn box tightly in his hand halfway down the street. He knew it had taken him completely off guard. Sure, Shougo knew he wasn’t doing well, but it was a completely different thing finding him so distraught on his way to work.

Eiri had suggested therapy, but what would he even say? ‘Hey, I used to be a terrorist and my partner sacrificed himself trying to save a country he used to hate, isn’t that fucking hilarious?’ He’d turned down the offer to try to help him find one through the church. He knew he was self-destructing, but that was fine. He’d sort himself out eventually. Maybe.

Lifting the cigarette to his lips, he let the smoke fill his lungs. It made him cough, choking at the taste of it. He’d never smoked enough to get used to the feeling of it, much preferring the flavour of it indirectly through the taste of Misu’s lips.

 

He didn’t notice that someone had joined him until he heard a voice behind him.

 

“You look like shit, Amane.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Misu-san.”

 

He was just about to take another drag of the cigarette when the voice, his own auto-piloted response, registered. He almost gave himself whiplash from how fast he turned around, forced to take hold of the edge of the stone beneath him to keep himself from toppling over.

 

The taste of the cigarette disappeared on his tongue as he stared up into Misu’s eyes. He stumbled to his feet, unable to form a coherent thought.

 

The only thing on his mind was Misu-san . He was standing there, right fucking there . How the hell was he here? His brain didn’t know how to process the sight. Was he seeing things? Was this another dream? He’d had too many dreams like this to count at this point.

Scars were littering what skin he could see, deep and cutting against Misu’s cheekbones, one barely missing his left eye, slicing across the inner corner of it, another splitting his lower lip.

 

After a long silence, Misu’s mouth formed a smile, and Amane could see the emotions swirling in his eyes. “You gonna make up your mind on if you’re gonna punch me or kiss me already?”

Amane finally broke out of his stupor, taking a step forward. Then another, and another, until he was standing face to face with Misu. The grip he took on Misu’s jacket made the fabric scream beneath his fingers, pulling him close.

 

The kiss was rough, almost violent, bruising in its intensity, Misu responding to it with just as much fervour. Tears were rolling freely down Amane’s cheeks, and he could feel Misu’s rough fingers wipe his cheeks. He was crying even as he was laughing, the pure desperate agony of the past year’s grief intertwined with mindnumbing relief.

“Misu-san…” Amane finally choked out between sobs and laughter, almost feeling manic in the way he was both losing himself and finding himself simultaneously in a confusing mess of emotions. One of his hands was buried in Misu’s hair (longer, his roots even more grown out, looking like he hadn’t had his hair cut in ages), his other holding on to his jacket for dear life. Like a lifeline he’d desperately needed for so long. “Misu-san, I, they said there was no way you’d be alive, they said-”

“I don’t know how the fuck I’m alive either,” Misu spoke into his curls, voice soft. “I wanted to come back sooner, but I wasn’t sure, you’re on the straight and narrow, I didn’t want to ruin anything…”

“Nothing could ruin me more than you dying, you fucking asshole.” The honesty made Misu’s voice come out as a gentle laugh, so unprepared for it. “I missed you, you… you absolute dick .”

“I missed you too, Amane.”

 

Misu captured his lips again, the feeling more real than any of his dreams could ever hope to be. He didn’t need to pinch himself to know that this was truly happening.

 

 

They didn’t pull apart until people started to mill about, but even then, Amane didn’t dare fully letting go. Not again, not when the last time he left had ended up so terribly. He’d realised that any time he ran away, things just turned into a mess, and this time he’d thought it had been one that was impossible to clean up, yet here he was, given one more chance. He wasn’t going to squander it.

 

Amane pulled Misu by the hand, ignoring any stray stares they were given at such blatant PDA. He didn’t give a shit, not right now. They didn’t stop walking until they were standing outside the Amane mansion, making Misu pause.

“He’s not here right now, he’s, I don’t even know. China, I think. Shougo’s probably at work by now or something, I don’t give a shit about the staff. Come on. I need to get my stuff.”

He could tell that Misu was quick to pick up on the insinuation. “You’re just gonna abandon whatever you’ve been planning here?”

“I don’t give a shit anymore.” The lock clicked as Amane turned the key. “I wouldn’t have come here if you’d never-” It was hard to find the words, so he fell silent, Misu easily following as he led him toward his room.

 

He didn’t let go of Misu’s hand until the door to Amane’s room closed behind them, the lock turning again so they were finally alone. He could see Misu’s eyes wander the room, taking it in. Amane didn’t waste time, pulling out his bag, starting to shove clothes into it, his laptop quick to follow. The charger to his phone was tucked into one of its pockets.

“Are you sure?” Misu asked from his seat on top of the bed.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Amane said, feeling his cheeks grow hot under Misu’s stare after the admission. “...What?”

“You don’t even know where I’ve been yet, how do you know I have a place for us to go?”

“You’ve been somewhere , haven’t you? Wherever’s fine, I was pretty close to killing myself here anyway. I'm done here. Good riddance. I’m pretty sure Shougo’s close to wanting to leave here too, so I mean, I'm kinda bummed I won’t get to see the look on that asshole’s face when he realises he’s got no heir anymore, but I’ll deal with it.”

“Good to know you’ve been taking care of yourself.” He could hear the exasperation and concern mix in Misu’s voice at how flippantly he talked of ending his own life.

“You don’t have any room to talk after what you pulled. I told you to save yourself, what you did was practically suicide. I really should’ve picked the punch option.”

“Too late for that now.”

Amane’s smile was sharp, but he couldn’t hide the fondness in his eyes as he zipped his bag closed. “Not anymore, it isn’t.” He turned to face Misu, a grin making its way onto his face. “There’s plenty of time for that now.”

 

The grin on Misu’s face matched Amane’s, making something take a hold of Amane’s heart and squeeze.

 

When their lips met this time it was tender, full of all the longing he’d felt for the past year, his arms wounding around Misu’s body, fingers pushing up the back of Misu’s shirt. Misu pulled him even closer, dropping down onto his back on the bed. His scarred fingertips trailed down Amane’s stomach, making him shudder. He quickly threw his jacket to the floor, pulling his t-shirt over his head.

Leaning down, their lips locked again as Amane undid the fly of Misu’s jeans.

“Hey,” he whispered between kisses. “Before we get out of here, wanna make a bit of a mess?”

Misu smiled against his lips. “Let’s give them something to remember you by.”

 

 

It was clear to Misu that Amane had made the leap from his bedroom window countless times when he landed next to him. The grass was worn underneath it, clear signs of his frequent nighttime ventures.

He snorted in amusement when Amane took his hand again, dragging him toward the gates. Really, they could have left through the door, but Amane had wanted to make a more thrilling final escape. After the state they left the room in, he knew that the next person entering would be in for a sight, Amane’s mad scribbles in giant letters carved deep into the wall. The text was barely legible, but undoubtedly made by a knife, sharp lines making sure they would have to rip out the panels and replace them in their entirety.

 

It wasn’t eloquent, nor was it witty, but it had made Amane laugh anyway as he dug the knife into the wood.

 

‘So long, motherfucker’

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