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Natsuki thought it was a prank. Not a good prank, but the kind of thing Shin could think of: A gag he might hold onto for a few minutes, just to get back at him. But even Shin wouldn’t stick with such an unfunny joke for longer than a minute, not when he saw the horrified looks on all their faces.
He should’ve realized from the beginning, though. The terror and confusion on Shin’s face when he woke up wasn’t the kind of thing that could be performed—Natsuki knew for himself that he was a terrible actor. They were all gathered in his bedroom when he came to: The only sound in the room was Taro’s voice, soft but tense, while he explained the situation to the doctor over the phone.
It was Natsuki who carried him home, when the dust had settled. Natsuki who refused to let him go, and Natsuki who still knelt by his bedside while the rest exchanged sympathetic looks. Natsuki who noticed first, when his eyes opened: Barely, at first, then wide.
Even with the horror on his face, and even with his body tensed like a spring as he sat up, ready for a fight—Natsuki allowed himself a moment of relief. “How are you feeling?” he asked, the rawness of his throat betraying itself.
“Who…” Shin’s eyes darted between them all, refusing to linger. “... Where am I?”
Aoi was beside Natsuki, and she smiled for the both of them. “Your room, dear,” she said, song in her voice. She knew exactly how to act when one of her kids was under the weather: The moment they arrived home, she’d stripped his shirt and wiped down his wounds, without an ounce of hesitation or revulsion at the blood. Natsuki was glad that one of them could stay calm. “Now that you’re up, I’d like to get your temperature.”
It only took a moment. Aoi leaned over with the thermometer, and Shin grabbed her wrist. Before she could even realize he touched her, he had her on the ground, arm twisted behind her back while his other hand guarded her neck.
“I’m not playing house with you.” Shin spat the words without an ounce of familiarity. “Where the hell am I?”
His gaze was cold, and Natsuki decided it was a terrible joke. It had to be.
It was Taro who acted first, thank god, because Natsuki couldn’t find it in himself to move. Restraining Shin looked effortless. If anything, Natsuki thought he struggled most to hold himself back—because the next words came out acidic, like nothing he’d heard Taro say before.
“The doctor’s on her way. Tie him down, if you have to.”
He left with Aoi, and it was up to Natsuki to hold Shin down to the bed while Lu and Heisuke tied his hands together with a jump rope they found in the corner. The fever kept him weak: He gave up on struggling and sat eerily still, silently eyeing up the rest of them.
“Is he delirious from the fever?” Lu crouched in front of him like a kid testing the limits of a wild animal’s patience. “Or like, psychosis?”
“I can hear you,” Shin snapped, and Lu jumped back.
Heisuke cleared his throat. “Dude, I don’t get what’s going on, but you really need to calm down. Taro’s never gonna forgive you if you hurt someone for real.”
But Shin just laughed, the sound cold. “You clearly don’t know anything about Mr. Sakamoto.”
Natsuki stood, silent, fingernails digging into his palms. Knowing exactly what that unfamiliar glare meant. Praying he was wrong.
#
“Post-injury amnesia.” Sakamoto’s doctor only needed to talk with him for a few minutes before she proclaimed her diagnosis. She didn’t look like the kind of person who Natsuki would trust with medical advice, but it wasn’t as if Natsuki disagreed with her assessment.
The woman spoke to the group outside Shin’s room, with only Heisuke left to keep watch. “Well, it was inevitable there would be complications down the line. That ability of his is dangerous. The kid just pushed himself past his limits one time too many, and he’s paying for it.” She took a long drag of her cigarette while they soaked in the news.
Lu was the first to break the silence. “Amnesia… So that means-”
“No memories,” the doctor interrupted. “At least, no recent ones. It seems like he’s lost everything to do with the shop. He still thinks he’s an assassin.”
Natsuki measured himself with a breath. Steady—good. He could focus, for now. “So, what do we do?”
It didn’t exactly inspire faith to see a doctor shrug at a question like that. “Not much you can do. You could try to jog his memory, but it might be too overwhelming, in his state. It looks like he’s still too burned out to read anyone’s mind. He’s bound to be extra flighty, without the usual defense mechanism.”
Across the room, Natsuki saw Aoi clutch her wrist, still red from Shin’s grip. His stomach lurched.
“But,” she continued, “most cases like these go away with time. For now, keep treating his injuries, and keep an eye on him.”
Natsuki looked to Taro, but he refused to look back. He’d been facing away for a while now.
He ended up being the first to go speak with him; It seemed like Taro wasn’t willing to make a move, and Lu was still shooting him sorry looks. He nodded towards Heisuke to leave the room and slipped inside. Shin was still sitting up on his bed, looking at him like an angry, wounded animal.
“Your idol’s pissed off at you.” Natsuki sat next to him, mindful to keep his distance. “You should apologize the next time you see his wife, at least. It might take him a while to get over it.”
Shin glared, but he didn’t move away. “What the hell do you know? Who are you, anyway?”
“Who do you think I am?” More than anything, Natsuki wanted to hold him right now, to bury his face in his shoulder and beg Shin to forgive him. He folded his hands in his lap, to guarantee that his body would behave.
Shin looked him over. “I don’t believe the ‘doctor’ about you guys. That was the worst interrogation I’ve ever gotten, by the way.”
“So you don’t think we know each other?”
Shin nodded, and Natsuki stood, because he didn’t trust himself to sit so close for much longer. “Then, where do you think you are?”
“... Your base?” He didn’t sound sure—or, maybe he just thought the question was ridiculous.
Natsuki looked around the room before scoffing. “No way I have anything to do with this place—I’d never decorate like this. Way too childish.” He paused in front of the bookcase, looking over it carefully. “It’s like a little kid lives here. I mean, a model motorcycle on the shelf? Seriously?”
“Hey,” Shin started, and Natsuki looked back to see a much more familiar annoyance on his face. “They sell those for adults, alright? ‘Adult collectable.’ If you don’t like the way I decorate my own room, then-”
He paused—shocked even by himself. Natsuki couldn’t kill the little seed of relief in his chest, no matter how much he wanted to be smarter than this. He waited.
“... This is my room.” Shin dropped his head, like just saying it exhausted him.
“Do you remember?” Natsuki strained himself to keep his tone neutral—to not beg him to look back up, so he could see Shin’s gaze light up with familiarity.
“Not really.” Shin did look at him, and his expression was as cold and unyielding as before. “It’s just… A feeling.”
Natsuki’s stomach dropped. But that was what he got for hoping.
“But that doctor can’t be serious. There’s no way Mr. Sakamoto ended up like… He left the game, but he’s supposed to be—he was going to come back. Eventually. And there’s no way I would leave, either. I’m not going to just accept that.”
In the back of his mind, Natsuki remembered what the doctor said about overwhelming him. But he couldn’t help himself. “I can show you,” he said, and he stepped closer, a little desperate. “I don’t know how you’ll feel about it, but I can prove you wrong.”
And so Shin, with his hands still bound, sat shifting anxiously beside Natsuki while he picked out pictures from his phone. He was mindful about what exactly to show him—nothing of just the two of them—the Sakamoto family, mostly, all beside Shin while he wore that awkward smile.
“You really aren’t photogenic,” Natsuki said, and he couldn’t keep himself from sounding fond. This Shin, though, hadn’t learned to read his tone.
“Shut up,” he said, and Natsuki turned at the way his voice caught. With his hands tied, Shin couldn’t cover his teary eyes like he must’ve wanted to.
#
So, it was a start. But for Shin, seeing didn’t mean believing—especially not now.
Natsuki volunteered to take care of him. He would’ve anyway, but with the way that Taro still refused to look at him, it felt even more necessary. So he packed up some of Shin’s belongings and took him to stay at his own place the next day. Just until things settled down, he promised, when Shin eyed him warily at the idea.
“I’ve been here before.” Shin said it with confidence, the moment he stepped through the door. He looked back at Natsuki as if he was proud of the realization, stripping the paper mask from his face so Natsuki could see the smile covering his flushed cheeks.
Natsuki had made himself watch Shin as alertly as he could for the whole train ride home, just to make sure he wasn’t planning on running off. He was too weak to do much, but Natsuki still felt like breathing a fresh sigh of relief the moment he closed the door behind them. “Yeah? You remember something?”
But Shin shook his head. “It’s like… My body remembers. Did I visit you a lot?”
“You could say that. You need me to show you the bedroom, then? Or do you have it covered?”
Shin looked back like a lost animal, and Natsuki slipped past him. He figured it wouldn’t be that easy. “Take your shoes off and follow me.”
Natsuki set Shin’s bags on the bed while he followed sheepishly, peeking his head in the door before entering. Though he said the place was familiar, he still didn’t seem comfortable looking around someone else’s home. “You’ll sleep in here,” Natsuki said, “so make yourself at home.”
In a failed effort to follow that direction, Shin sat stiff on the edge of the bed, like he didn’t want to get the comforter dirty.
Natsuki did his best not to roll his eyes. “I need to check a few things before I leave you alone. Last time someone tried to do this, you nearly dislocated her shoulder, so I’d like for you to tell me that it’s okay first.”
“What would you do, if a stranger tried to put her hand in your mouth right after you woke up?” But he looked flushed from more than just the fever, so Natsuki decided he must’ve been at least a little embarrassed about his initial reaction. “If you’re asking to take my temperature, that’s fine.”
It took a moment of scrounging through his bags before Natsuki found the thermometer. He leaned down in front of Shin, and watched the moment of hesitation slip over his face before he finally opened his mouth.
Natsuki told himself it made perfect sense. If anything, he was lucky that Shin was so accepting of him after so little. He knew the kind of person Shin was, before they met—and he knew how hard it was for him to trust someone. But he couldn’t keep the ugly feeling in his stomach from growing, with every bit of hesitation Shin showed.
“Better than yesterday,” Natsuki noted, and he set the thermometer aside. “Could you take off your shirt? I want to check on your bandages.”
With the same uneasy compliance, Shin lifted his shirt over his arms and let Natsuki examine him. He was very carefully refusing to look at him as he did so: Natsuki made sure his touch stayed clinical, though the limit made something inside of him ache. At the very least, nothing looked like it would be getting infected. If the doctor was right, maybe the rest of him would heal just as easily.
“... So, we were in some kind of big fight?” Shin asked, and Natsuki looked up at him. “And you say that’s why I’m like this.”
He was in a fine enough state, and Natsuki knew anything else would just be a selfish way to prolong the touch, so he stepped away. “Yeah. You won, though, for what it’s worth.” It wasn’t worth this.
“Right. So, if I won, then why…”
“You broke down while the dust was settling.” It hurt Natsuki to recount things, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. Shin, more than anyone, had a right to know. “You just overworked yourself, like always. That ability of yours—you don’t seem to know your own limits.”
Natsuki swallowed the sharp thing in the back of his throat, preventing him from speaking. “And I was there. I was stupid, and getting in the way, and I slowed you down. If you didn’t protect me like you did, then…”
Then maybe you wouldn’t be like this.
On any other day, Shin would’ve been able to read him so easily. He wouldn’t even have to read his mind. But now Shin looked at him cluelessly, and that hurt more than the memory. “Anyway, you’ve been in similar situations before, and it got better with some rest. Losing your abilities, I mean. That part should fix itself, with a little more time.”
Shin stared at him, and Natsuki tried not to falter under the uncomfortable feeling of being examined. “We must be close, if that’s true. Since Mr. Sakamoto left, I fight alone.”
“We’re a lot closer than you realize,” Natsuki said. He decided that meeting Shin’s gaze was too painful to bear. “But I shouldn’t be overwhelming you, right now. Just settle in. I’ll be back in a bit with some food.”
He had to get out before they could say another word. Natsuki wouldn’t let a stranger see him cry, and that was all Shin was to him right now.
#
When he came back, Shin was already asleep. Natsuki left the meal by his bed and tried to pretend it didn’t worry him. At some point, he came to just long enough to eat; The empty plate was evidence enough. Natsuki checked in on him for the rest of the day, found him asleep, always. Sometimes, he sat in the empty space on the bed that he would usually occupy, and watched Shin’s chest rise and fall, just to ease his own worries.
But he wasn’t there when Shin woke. He wouldn’t see him up until the next morning, when he was jostled awake by the sound of Shin conspicuously rooting through his cupboards.
He sat up on his couch, briefly disoriented by the location. The noise stopped the moment he rose, and after a moment Shin poked his head around the corner to look at him from the kitchen, eyes wide. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you. I was just trying to make some breakfast.”
Natsuki wiped at his eyes with his palm. “I guess you’re feeling better, then?” Shin seemed livelier, at least. It was the most energetic he’d been since his brief stint of violence when he woke up.
He nodded and stepped all the way inside, suddenly proud. “Quick, think of a number.”
This is idiotic, Natsuki thought.
“Shut up!”
Natsuki laughed. “So your head’s on right, again? Now I’ll have to watch what I think.”
Shin huffed, but he still looked pleased about himself. “I realized it when you were dreaming earlier. It was about us.”
At this point, Natsuki couldn’t care less if it was something embarrassing. It was stupid to get his hopes up, but… “How about your memory?”
Yet again, he was crushed by Shin’s blank expression. “I was hoping you’d help me with that.”
#
Shin grilled him while Natsuki made breakfast, asking a series of mundane questions about himself which couldn’t possible be connected, but with a fervor that Natsuki didn’t have it in himself to deny. He didn’t stop until Natsuki put an omelet in front of him, and seemed to leave Shin speechless.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Shin looked up from his plate. “You just made it exactly how I like.”
Natsuki stopped himself from saying anything as he sat down across from him. But he felt his stomach sink further—it shouldn’t have been a realization.
“Have you made me food before? When?”
Even as an older brother, Natsuki didn’t know if he could take more of the pestering. “Is it actually helping you when I answer these questions?”
Shin seemed to ponder it as he took his first bite. “I guess I still don’t really believe everything you say. None of it makes any sense. I can’t buy me and Mr. Sakamoto doing what you say we do, either.”
“Then why even ask? Are you trying to catch me in a lie?”
“Maybe.” Shin pushed the food around on his plate. Natsuki remembered that he could turn their utensils into a weapon, if he wanted to. The old Shin, at least, was trained not to hesitate.
But no amount of knowing better could make Natsuki afraid of him. “You already have proof that it’s true. I showed you all those pictures.”
Shin was refusing to look at him, now. He shrugged. “Pictures can be edited.”
They ate in silence. Natsuki tried to imagine how Shin felt, eating across from a stranger. He’d kept a careful eye on Natsuki while he cooked, to make sure he didn’t slip anything in. Though he couldn’t bear to think about it for too long, it was undeniable: To Shin, Natsuki could become an enemy at any moment.
He stood from the table the moment Shin’s plate was clear. “I have an idea,” he said. “It might be easier for you to trust me if we’re as direct as possible.”
Shin seemed confused, but he followed Natsuki to the couch and sat down beside him. Cautious, but cooperative.
“Look at me,” Natsuki said.
“I’m already looking.”
“No,” Natsuki said, and for the first time since he’d woken up, he took Shin’s hands in his own. “ Look at me. Really.”
Shin huffed, and Natsuki could feel his pulse quicken underneath his fingers. But he also saw the almost imperceptible widening of his pupils: He’d practiced to notice it.
“You know I’m not lying,” Natsuki said. Simple.
But nothing was simple with Shin involved, not right now. “There could be a trick,” he said. “It’s happened before. Some people can lie, even in their own heads.”
“You let me touch you. You know I’m not a threat.” But arguing was pointless right now—Natsuki couldn’t let himself get worked up. “Tell me what you see.”
Shin’s sharp inhale spelled trouble, but his exhale was even. “... I work at the store with Mr. Sakamoto. He’s started a new life. We’re living like honest people.”
Shin’s voice was dripping with irritation, like he couldn’t stand the words he was being made to repeat. “What else?” Natsuki asked. “What about the rest of us?”
“Aoi—the woman I hurt, she’s Mr. Sakamoto’s wife. He’s angry with me about that. They have a daughter. She and I-” Shin’s voice seemed to catch, but he made himself continue. “I watch cartoons with her on the weekends, so her parents can have some free time.”
He began to avoid Natsuki’s gaze, so he tightened his grip on Shin’s wrists, forced him to stay focused.
“The girl from before… Lu, she’s a pain. Heisuke, too. They both like to get in the way when I’m working. I met your brother on a mission, and his attitude is the worst. And you… You’re the biggest pain of them all.”
It was pushing his luck. It was so easy to overwhelm him in this state. But Natsuki couldn’t stop himself. “What are you to me?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
Still, Natsuki pressed closer. “In this memory I’m thinking of, right now—what do I say?”
“I can’t, really-”
“It’s only three words. Just say them.”
“You love me.” Shin shoved Natsuki back by the chest. “You said you loved me. And I told you that I loved you.”
His hands were starting to shake, but Natsuki didn’t let go. “Is this better? My memory doesn’t lie.”
“But I don’t remember.” Shin’s voice fractured like glass. Natsuki swore he could feel shards in his skin, just from hearing him break. “No matter how hard I try, or how badly I want to. All your memories—every good thing you say has happened to me—it’s not there.” he looked up at Natsuki, eyes welling with tears. “Seriously, who the hell are you?”
He should’ve held him. He should’ve wrapped his arms around Shin’s shoulders, tight, and refused to let go. He should’ve been able to comfort him, if only with a gesture that small. He owed Shin that much.
But Shin ripped his hands away, and this time, Natsuki didn’t stop him. He couldn’t, not when he was looking at the ceiling like that, the way he did when he didn’t want to be seen crying. It had taken them ages for Shin to break that habit and let Natsuki be the one to wipe his tears.
He looked away, though his whole being told him not to, because he knew it was what Shin wanted. “It’ll come back. You woke up today reading minds. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up with your memory. It’ll all come back. I promise.”
#
Natsuki should never have made a promise he couldn’t keep. It hurt them both, when Shin was no better by the next morning: Even worse on the morning after. But Natsuki continued to promise, anyway. He would do everything in his control to make the next morning different, if he could help it.
Shin’s injuries still needed care, but his fever had almost completely subsided: It seemed an effect of the pressure on his mind, and not his body. That much gave Natsuki hope. If his head was improving, surely, the memories would follow.
“If you’re feeling better,” Natsuki said as he finished his check-up that morning, “we could go pay the Sakamoto’s a visit.”
Without the constant need for rest, Shin had started to bore himself to death in Natsuki’s apartment. It was driving Natsuki crazy, too, so he thought the time away would probably be good for both of them. With how eagerly Shin got ready for the train, he was at least halfway right.
Lu was manning the counter when they got there, and the customer service smile dropped from her face the instant they stepped inside. She rushed at them without any regard for the customers, grabbing Shin by the shoulders. “Are you feeling better? We’ve all been so worried!”
Apparently, Natsuki’s memories hadn’t prepared Shin enough for the touchiness. “I’m fine,” he said, with a robotic pat of her shoulder.
When Lu looked back at Natsuki, he just shook his head.
She withdrew her arms and stepped back with a plasticine smile. “The family is upstairs. Mr. Sakamoto is still a little mad, but I think everyone would really like to see you, if you’re up for it.”
She was about to start leading him by the hand when Natsuki caught her from behind. “Hey, you still have a job to do.” he nodded his head to the line of customers who were shooting Lu bad looks.
She only rolled her eyes. “C’mon, this is more important. I haven’t seen him in days! And you never text back about how he’s doing!”
Admittedly, Natsuki hadn’t been checking his phone much. “He’s fine, see?” Shin had already disappeared upstairs. “He doesn’t need you to fuss over him. And it won’t be much longer before he’s back to annoy you.”
Lu frowned at him. “His memory still isn’t any better, is it? How are you handling it?”
It wasn’t a question Natsuki wanted to answer. “Customers,” he said again, and he started to make his way to the stairs. “I’ll keep an eye on him, so just finish your shift.”
He was halfway up when he heard Hana shouting her excitement over Shin’s return: When he got to the top, he found Shin standing frozen, while Hana hugged his legs and cooed at him. Natsuki tried not to laugh as Shin looked at him with an obvious cry for help. Failed .
“Hana,” he started, and she stepped back to look at him. “Could you go get your parents? Shin wants to see them, too.”
Shin stopped holding his breath the second she scampered down the hall. “I guess that’s the daughter.”
“You weren’t so good with kids before you met her, huh?” Natsuki was only trying to tease, but Shin shook his head solemnly.
Hana was back a moment later, dragging Aoi behind her. “Shin,” she said—surprised, but Natsuki noted with some relief, not disappointed. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better!”
Despite the lightness in her tone, Shin bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, loud and painfully sincere. That much hadn’t changed. “I did something unforgivable. It won’t happen again.”
Aoi laughed, and the sound made Shin’s head shoot up. “Don’t worry. It’s not like you really hurt me.”
“But…”
Aoi moved closer, too natural for Shin to tense, and before he could react she had him pulled into a hug. “You must’ve been scared. I’m just glad you’re alright.”
It felt wrong for Natsuki to watch. He looked away when Shin finally lifted his arms to hug her back.
#
“They really are my family.” Shin had been quiet for most of the train ride home; Dinner with the Sakamoto’s seemed to have exhausted him. It was a good kind of tired, though, the kind that had Shin relaxed into the seat with a sleepy smile.
Natsuki only nodded, because he didn’t want to step on Shin’s words.
“I always saw families like them, in books and movies. All that stuff about forgiving someone, no matter what they do. Loving them unconditionally. And I thought it was totally made up. Just like love stories.” In his eyes, Natsuki saw the soft thing that Shin had done his best not to show, ever since he woke up without his memories. “I didn’t think it would ever happen for me. I might be jealous of myself.”
Natsuki gave a breathy laugh. “It’s your life. You earned it.” He shifted his hand over their knees, leaving it palm up against Shin’s thigh. An invitation.
And Shin took it. “I really hope so,” he said, as he slotted their hands together and squeezed.
It was unfair, but Natsuki was weak, so as they walked home he kept their hands together and imagined things exactly the way they used to be: Pretended that Shin hadn’t lost anything at all. It worked until they stepped inside his apartment, and Shin looked back at him with an unfamiliar apprehension.
“You and I were together.” He didn’t phrase it like a question, but Natsuki knew what he was looking for—confirmation.
“We were dating,” Natsuki answered, without any room for doubt.
“Right.” The way he averted his eyes was almost nostalgic. Natsuki remembered how unnatural this had been for Shin, when they first got together. “So we’ve… Kissed, and stuff.”
Again, a question, whether or not Shin was willing to admit it. “We have. Lots of stuff .”
Shin nearly choked at the implication. For a moment, Natsuki was too distracted with the joy of making Shin flustered to notice the shift in his expression: A look in his eye that meant he was steeling himself for action. It didn’t get his attention until Shin lurched forward to place his hands on Natsuki’s cheeks, and pulled him down for a kiss.
This, too, was nostalgic: The press of their lips was tense and unnatural, the exact way Shin had first kissed him. Natsuki melted into it anyway, letting a hand rest on the small of Shin’s back as he tugged him close. Shin’s muscle memory seemed to take over at the feeling, and his hands fell to Natsuki’s shoulders as he relaxed, enough that Natsuki could forget himself, if he wasn’t careful.
When Natsuki pulled away, it was only to gasp against his lips. “What was that for?”
Shin increased the distance, against all of Natsuki’s wishes. “I’ve seen a lot of movies,” he said, sounded vaguely disappointed. “I thought that might—I dunno.”
Natsuki tried to laugh, but the sound came out cold. “You mean, kid’s movies? You thought I’d save you with true love’s kiss?” If only. God, if only Natsuki could actually help.
“Shut up,” Shin groaned, and he shoved Natsuki back by the shoulder and turned away. The moment disappeared—Shin was already going down the hall, ready to sleep as a stranger once again.
But he looked back at Natsuki just before entering the bedroom, this time.
“You should sleep in here. I don’t wanna kick you out of your own bed anymore. Especially since… I doubt sharing a bed is anything new.”
Natsuki should’ve been polite enough to protest; But his body felt heavy just at the idea of spending another night without Shin nearby. “Fine,” he said, “if you think you can keep your hands to yourself.”
#
Natsuki woke up with Shin’s head against his chest, their limbs tangled in a sweaty mess. It was as natural as breathing, and it took Natsuki a moment to realize that they hadn’t fallen asleep like that—because of course they hadn’t, when Shin hardly knew who he was.
But Natsuki had a hand in his hair before he could think about that. His fingers ran through it automatically, like they had so many times before. He wondered how Shin might react to it, as he was now, but he seemed sound asleep. Natsuki let himself indulge.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, just testing the waters. When Shin continued to breathe steadily against his chest, Natsuki continued. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”
If Natsuki had kept his cool, and read the situation better. if he hadn’t panicked and jumped into action, the moment he saw Shin start to falter. If he hadn’t made Shin defend him, hadn’t made Shin push himself beyond the point of no return in the process-
Shin started to shift, and Natsuki realized too late that he had tightened his hold on him with an uncomfortable strength. He tried to relax, but Shin opened his eyes anyway, and Natsuki knew it was all over.
“Dude,” Shin groaned, voice edged with sleep. “Your thoughts are way too loud.” The familiar tone made Natsuki hold his breath.
The blankets fell back as Shin shifted onto his palms above Natsuki, making sure he couldn’t look past the determined knit of his brow. “I was the idiot who got himself into this mess. And I would do it all over again to protect you. So don’t go thinking idiotic things.”
Natsuki had let himself hope too many times—had let himself be shattered by disappointment, too many times—even still. “Did you…” But he was too scared to finish the question. To find out he was wrong.
Shin’s lopsided grin showed he knew exactly what Natsuki meant. “It’s you,” he said, with a recognition that Natsuki had longed for. He fell back, first to his elbows before resting his head completely against Natsuki’s chest, ear against his heart. “Maybe true love’s kiss has a delayed onset of action.”
Natsuki wrapped his arms around Shin’s back, keeping him close. “The doctor said it would only take time,” he pointed out, too happy to sound pragmatic. But how could he not be?
Shin hummed, like he was considering the two possibilities with equal weight. “I love you,” he said, words Natsuki hadn’t known he was waiting to hear until now. Shin said it like it was nothing. They’d both said it so many times before.
Natsuki held him tighter. “Love you too,” he answered, and Shin knew him well enough not to comment on the way his voice cracked.