Chapter Text
“Lately, don't you think that C-ta's been acting strange?”
It was a simple comment D-ne made hours ago, back in the old music room as they waited for the other half of their unofficial “club.” Inane, mindless chatter to kill the silence, and yet it was all A-ya could think about on the walk home. C-ta’s voice became mere background noise, but if he tried to concentrate, he could pick out a few fragments before his thoughts would begin to drift again.
Not that it was anything more than small talk, anyway. “You know, I heard F-sensei's finally getting married next week. I'm happy for her. She and her boyfriend have been engaged for—what was it, three years now?”
“Hm,” he added, far more interested in avoiding the puddle on the sidewalk than discussing the love life of their history teacher. C-ta swiftly adjusted to his sidestep, hopping over the puddle and returning to his place by A-ya's shoulder. The umbrella remained centered over their heads, shielding them from the light drizzle.
C-ta's umbrella was really only meant for one, but A-ya left his own behind that day. And though A-ya could have just run home with his bag over his head, C-ta wouldn't hear any of it. In the long-term, his mistake guaranteed at least three weeks of aggressively friendly texts reminding him to bring an umbrella at the slightest chance of rain. The short-term consequence meant being stuck with C-ta on the walk back, knocking elbows as they struggled to stay in step with one another. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but now it distracted him as D-ne’s words rang in his ears.
“Well, I think that he is. I have to admit, all of this pining is becoming unbearable to watch."
The idea that C-ta would be pining over him of all people was, quite frankly, laughable. Whatever reason his childhood friend chose to stick to his side like glue, that couldn’t be it. That was impossible. C-ta, who was both pleasant and charming, smoothing out A-ya’s rough, abrasive edges; good-looking where he was, well—
That train of thought did nothing to improve his gloomy mood, and so he cut it off. No, there was no point dwelling on her words. They were nonsense.
But his eyes kept wandering to C-ta’s shoulder as it grew steadily drenched with the rain. If C-ta had taken the umbrella for himself, he’d be completely sheltered. And yet here he was, letting his bag and his uniform get soaked all in an effort to keep A-ya dry. He was utterly content with it too, chattering away without a care in the world—but that didn’t mean anything, of course. C-ta was always mother-henning him, and they were nothing more than friends. He knew that for sure. D-ne was just trying to kill time while she waited for B-ko. What could she have possibly noticed about C-ta that went completely over his head? Nothing. Their relationship was just the same as it had always been. Unchanging, day after day.
Then he’d focus on that damp shoulder once more and start to think: could there be something to it, after all? Wasn’t it feasible for D-ne, as an outsider, to be more objective about C-ta’s supposed feelings? Words and actions that A-ya would brush aside as C-ta’s over-affectionate nature… to someone else, how would they seem? And, for that matter, why would D-ne suggest such a thing unless she genuinely believed it was true? Maybe she was lying. Maybe she wanted A-ya to bring it up solely for her own amusement. But… no. D-ne could be ruthless in her teasing, but he was certain she would never be that cruel.
God, he was just thinking himself into circles like this. So pointless. He should just ask and be done with it, if only for the sake of his own peace of mind.
As soon as C-ta paused, he seized his chance and changed the subject. “D-ne said something interesting today.”
It was only because he was so close that he heard C-ta’s breath hitch. When he glanced over, though, there was a small smile playing on his lips. “Was she harassing you a little too much?”
“She was talking about you, actually.”
“Ah.” The smile slipped and fell; when it returned, it was strained and uneven. “Nothing too bad, right?”
His expression was simply pathetic, so A-ya turned his eyes back towards the sidewalk with a thoughtful hum. “Well,” he began, carefully sorting out each word one at a time, “she was fed up with our ‘pining.’ She called it… nauseating, I believe, and told me that I ought to do something about it.”
Caught up in his speech, it took him a moment to register the sensation of rain hitting his head. He glanced up, expecting to see the rim of the umbrella above him, but it was gone. So was C-ta. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that C-ta had fallen a few paces behind and stood frozen on the sidewalk.
The umbrella hung low over his eyes, masking his face. When he spoke, his voice was firm, oddly serious. “You shouldn’t listen so much to what she says.” The hand wrapped around the umbrella’s handle trembled, almost imperceptibly. “She—she just wants to mess with people. With us. She goes too far sometimes, but don’t pay attention to it.”
He knew that he should just back off and let C-ta be, but he couldn’t. Not yet. “I know all of that,” he said in exasperation. “I was just curious.”
“Curious,” C-ta repeated, his voice hollow. “...Curious about what?”
He squared his shoulders, determined not to shy away from this until he had an answer. "I was just curious if you felt the same way as me." He said it plainly, without preamble—regardless of the faint tremor in his legs. But he quieted that anxious part of his brain. It would be easy to play it off if need be. Just something he'd said out of boredom, just because he was oh-so-intrigued by how C-ta would react. He'd done stranger things, hadn't he? He'd sent C-ta the most grotesque images and horrific rituals just to watch his face scrunch up in disgust.
If need be, he could play it off as nothing more than a joke, and everything would go back to normal, and he'd never have to wonder about D-ne's words ever again.
Instead of responding, C-ta raised the umbrella. With the shade lifted, he could see the way C-ta gaped open-mouthed and speechless.
Sick of the rain and relentlessly impatient, A-ya marched forward to seek the safety of the umbrella. “Well?” he probed, unflinching as he met his stare. “Do you?”
C-ta fidgeted, clearly caught between wanting to jump back and keeping the umbrella over A-ya’s head. “Well, that's—” He stammered, tripping over his own words as a flush spread across his face. “That's...” With little warning, he shoved the handle into A-ya's hands. “Um, here. Actually, you take this, I'll—” He ducked under the umbrella, weaving around A-ya to walk at a breakneck pace. “I'll go on ahead—”
Without thinking, A-ya reached out and caught his wrist. C-ta flinched, his whole body tensing, but did not try to pull free.
“C-ta,” he tried, squeezing his wrist as if that could compel him to speak. “Talk to me. Say something.”
C-ta's shoulders trembled. A-ya watched until he couldn't bear the sight anymore, and then he stepped forward to lift the umbrella over C-ta's head. As he looked up, distracted, A-ya carefully took his hand.
C-ta whipped around to face him, eyes wide. “Wait—you…” He spoke cautiously, in disbelief, even as his face glowed with happiness. “You really…?”
He let out a sigh but tightened his hold. His palm was damp with rain and clammy and so familiar. A-ya couldn't remember exactly when they'd stopped holding hands, but their fingers interlocked as easily as ever. “Yes.” Then, for emphasis: “Of course.”
That was all that needed to be said, really. They walked home in relative silence, A-ya straining his arm to keep the umbrella up. C-ta kept his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, but A-ya still caught the way he tried to hide his giddy smile behind his hand.
And when they parted ways, when A-ya trudged back home with C-ta’s borrowed umbrella, he felt… content. Like the curtains had shifted, lingering confusion and hesitation making way for revelation. Like puzzle pieces falling into place, they’d finally sorted out their mess of unclear feelings and attachment and childlike clinging. So simple.
Maybe, he thought with a glance towards the dreary sky, maybe this will be what finally kills my boredom.
But he found that nothing really changed between them. Sure, they were in a relationship, but their friendship had always blurred that line just a little. C-ta took him on dates, paying for everything like a gentleman—but he usually did that anyways. He brought A-ya little gifts even though his shelves were overflowing with the knick-knacks and tiny rabbit plushies he’d been given over the years. And if he was a little more affectionate, if the shoulder clasps and hand brushes turned into persistent cuddling when they sat down to watch a movie, well, that was the natural progression of things, wasn’t it? C-ta had always been like that, ever since he was a kid.
Even their walks were just as mundane. Sometimes, as A-ya neared C-ta’s house, he’d find C-ta waiting for him on mornings when he didn’t feel like socializing with his other friends. He’d have toast or an egg sandwich ready for A-ya. Though A-ya was usually too groggy for serious conversation, they tried to exchange some idle chatter. They’d hold each other's hands tight, and C-ta would rub small circles into his skin as they walked.
When the front gate loomed into view, C-ta’s hand would go limp, and then it was time to let go. His friends would call for him from the locker room, and he’d leave A-ya behind with an insincere smile and a promise to meet up during lunch or after school.
Their ordinary days continued, just the same as always.
Fatigue weighed heavy on his eyelids when his alarm blared that morning. He fumbled for the clock, missing a few times before he managed to hit the snooze button. Something sharp dug into his side, and with a small groan, he grabbed his cell phone and flipped it open.
Dead. He’d forgotten to charge it last night.
A-ya buried his head back into the pillow, trying to shut the world out for just a few moments more. He was so tired, and he was sick of waking up tired, of getting up and coming home and lying awake with that gaze until the alarm went off and it all started again. Again and again and again, in an endless, unchanging cycle. He knew that today was going to be just the same, and that fact was the most torturous thing in the entire world.
But then he heard a clatter downstairs, and that—that was new.
A-ya shot up with a start, instantly wide-awake. He listened closely, straining his ears and trying to decide whether or not he was imagining the sounds of movement. And that smell… coffee? But that didn’t make sense. His parents were long gone by now. So who, exactly, was in his house?
On cautious feet, he tiptoed his way to the landing by the stairs. He tried to be quiet, he really did—but the old house with its old, creaky floorboards announced his arrival as clearly as if he had shouted out loud.
Damn. And he couldn’t even use his phone to call for help if need be.
But it was C-ta's face that poked around the corner. The moment they met eyes, he brightened. “Good morning,” he called out. “I’m making breakfast.”
Now, tact was far from his strong suit. But today especially, with his lack of sleep and the sight of C-ta’s stylishly disheveled uniform, all at too-early in the morning o'clock, scrambled his brain. So all he could muster in reply was: “How the hell did you get into my house?”
C-ta just laughed. “Spare key,” he said. “C'mon, hurry up. Let's eat.”
Too stunned to do much more than comply, he made his way down the stairs and to the kitchen where C-ta had already laid out their plates. Eggs over rice, toast, bacon… the meal was certainly more involved than usual. He sat down in a dreamlike haze, but C-ta seemed to be in his element, playfully mussing with A-ya’s bedhead before pouring him a mug of coffee. A-ya never usually touched the stuff, but he’d probably need it on today of all days.
Three bites in, and he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Is this something that happens now? Breakfast, and all that.” He wasn't exactly against the idea, but... “I would've liked a text, C-ta.”
C-ta shrugged, unperturbed. “Well, it can be. I just thought it might be nice.” After a brief pause, he changed the subject: “How’d you sleep last night?”
It may have been meant as small talk, but C-ta had no idea how loaded the question it was. “Fine,” he lied, turning back to his rice. He didn’t particularly want to discuss how harsh the gaze had been the night before. What was the point? He’d already discussed it with the others, and they’d spent countless afternoons trying to come up with a solution. B-ko had proposed that the presence could be Daruma-san, but he never saw anything when he glanced over his shoulder. Besides, he hadn’t participated in any strange rituals, hadn’t gone to any cursed locations. No matter how hard they searched, nobody could find the answer.
Now, if they could just get their hands on the Book and Bookmark of Demise, that’d be a different story; if his observer were truly a supernatural being, their existence would be revealed somewhere in its pages. Until that moment, though, he had no interest in continuing an unproductive conversation. Especially considering how he’d reacted last night: clutching his head under the covers as he screamed at it to go away, go away, go away. He was a little ashamed to have fallen apart so easily from sheer terror and exhaustion, and the idea of admitting that weakness was loathsome.
C-ta stared at him. Judging by the look on his face, he almost certainly didn’t believe him. Still, that was hardly A-ya’s problem. He had an excellent poker face, and he’d never crack in the face of C-ta’s scrutiny.
“Are you sure? You look really tired.”
“Yeah. I slept like a baby,” he said, scorching his tongue as he took a gulp of coffee. He stared right back at C-ta as if challenging him to protest—he knew he was being difficult, but if he had to deal with C-ta’s smothering then he would much rather miss school and go right back to bed.
As he expected, C-ta caved easily. With an exaggerated stretch, he checked the time and told A-ya that he ought to hurry up and eat before he had to get ready for school.
Coffee, as it turned out, was a mistake. By the time he was out of the shower and dressed, he was jittery and restless, bouncing his leg as he waited for C-ta to put the last of the dried dishes away. He’d plugged his phone in, but the battery was only at 23% and would probably die before lunchtime. It was shaping up to be a particularly tiresome day, and it hadn’t even started.
“Maybe I’ll be able to sleep through class once the caffeine wears off,” he mused, looking up at the cloudy sky. Was it supposed to rain? He’d left his umbrella behind, but maybe a rainstorm would finally break this humidity.
C-ta chuckled as he squeezed his hand. “Just don’t get caught like last time.”
It felt as if he had just buried his head in his arms for a desperately needed nap when someone tapped his shoulder.
“Hey.” C-ta stood at his side, one hand in his pocket, as casual as could be. “D’you wanna head back?”
A-ya blinked, trying to clear his sluggish mind. “You’re early,” he mumbled before sitting up with a yawn. Usually, he was left to his own devices for an hour or so after school, if not longer. C-ta had to spend as much time with his friends as he could. His reputation was foremost in his mind, after all. It was beyond irritating. C-ta rarely seemed to enjoy the constant barrage of texts or loitering around with his classmates. Watching those fake smiles from afar always made a vague discomfort settle in his chest, but he’d grown quite adept at pushing it aside.
“Where are those friends of yours?”
“I told them I had plans.”
“Such as?”
He hardly needed to ask, though, not with how C-ta bent down to grab his bag for him. The moment he stood, C-ta flung an arm around his shoulders and grinned. “Hanging out with you, obviously.”
Frankly, all A-ya wanted to do was go back to bed. But C-ta successfully talked his way into A-ya’s house and maneuvered them onto the couch. He wanted to watch a movie or something—“You ought to relax a little, A-ya,” he’d said. Protesting was a useless endeavor. No matter how much he insisted that he wasn’t stressed or overwhelmed, C-ta refused to listen.
As C-ta flipped through channels, A-ya found himself sinking deeper into the couch. Pure exhaustion washed over him as he idly drifted in and out of consciousness. The light in his eyes, the sounds of tinny conversation… those little snippets hardly reached him.
It was the total lack of noise that finally startled him awake. C-ta had muted the TV to scrutinize A-ya's face. “Jeez, A-ya…” he sighed. “You look even more tired than before.”
That observation wasn't worth a reply, he decided. A-ya merely collapsed sideways onto the couch, burying his head into the cushions with a muffled groan.
He felt a shift in weight as C-ta stood. “Okay, you should go back to bed. I’m worried about you—really, have you slept at all this week? It doesn’t seem like it.”
Well, I haven’t. A-ya kept his quip to himself, knowing that he did not have the energy to handle such a serious conversation. He pulled his legs onto the couch, curling up into a tight little ball as he hugged them close. “I’m too tired to move.” Right now, this old, lumpy couch was the softest place in the world for his heavy limbs.
“Seriously, A-ya,” C-ta’s grating voice nagged him back to harsh reality. “You're just going to hurt your back if you sleep like that!”
“What the hell do you know?”
“How many times have I slept on this couch?” he replied, exasperated. “This is silly. Just go to bed.”
“Make me.” At this point, he just felt like being argumentative. Maybe he could annoy C-ta into leaving and letting him take his nap in peace.
But they could both be so stubborn when they wanted to be. “I will,” he warned. “I'll drag you.”
“You can't.”
“I can!” C-ta protested, taking hold of A-ya's wrist and pulling. It was nothing more than a light tug, not enough to hurt and far from enough to make him move. “A-ya, come on…!”
“No.” Tired of this childish back and forth, he rolled over to look C-ta in the eye. But C-ta’s concerned frown was a little too uncomfortable to face, so he slung his right arm over his eyes. “I don’t want to feel it,” he admitted. “That gaze, it doesn’t stop, and I’m sick of it. It’s unbearable...”
Gradually, C-ta’s grip loosened until he let go of A-ya’s arm altogether. And then, to A-ya’s surprise, he turned on his heel and left through the hallway. Propping himself up on his elbows, he peered over the top of the couch and he watched C-ta leave. Just where the hell was he going?
But it only took a few minutes for him to return with some old quilt from the linen closet. He unfurled it with a snap, covering A-ya and tucking him in. “Here.” His voice was delicate, his smile soft and fond as he pulled the hem up towards A-ya’s chin. “If you’re that determined, at least this way you’ll be warm.”
With a light hum of acknowledgment, he curled onto his side and shut his eyes tight. He may have felt C-ta’s presence hovering by his side for far longer than necessary, but soon enough even that was something faint as sleep overtook him.
A slamming door awoke him with a start. Unwilling to get up, he lay still, listening to the faint voices drifting into in his ear. C-ta’s, light and carefree, the words muffled and indistinct. And then his father’s in reply—
Hands ripped the quilt away, viciously ceasing any attempts at dozing. And that was his mother, chastising him for daring to sleep like this when he had a guest over, of all things. A-ya rubbed his eyes, scrunching up his face from the harsh overhead light. “Does he even count as a guest anymore?” he groaned. “He practically lives here.”
“Yes, he counts. We haven’t seen him in ages.” Her voice was short and clipped as if it were somehow A-ya’s fault that their work schedules were so restrictive. She folded the quilt once, twice, and then draped it over the back of the couch for the time being. “Let’s go, get up. We brought pizza.”
They didn’t usually eat dinner together like this. Their hours were so misaligned that A-ya had developed the habit of just eating whenever he was hungry. It didn’t matter whether or not they were actually home. But with a guest, well, that was a different situation entirely; at least, it was in his parents’ eyes.
C-ta, so full of effortless charm, was as dazzling as usual. They grilled him on classes and his grades—excellent, but not too perfect, of course. Far from the top of his class, but more than enough for his parents to heap on praise. They asked him if he had joined any clubs yet, and C-ta somehow managed to explain away their afternoons in the old school building as some sort of study group for his friends.
“That really is something,” his mother gushed. She gave a light, airy glance in A-ya's direction. “You know, A-ya, it might be a good idea for you to stop by too.” With a conspiratorial voice, she leaned in closer to C-ta as if that would stop A-ya from hearing her words. “He struggles so much with math. He really could use a tutor.”
A-ya glowered into his food. “What's the point in that? We're not even in the same class anymore.”
“—A-ya tries to come by when he can.” C-ta interrupted him so smoothly and easily. Like it was second nature. The lie he had spun twisted itself further, only convincing due to C-ta’s earnest voice. “Our class materials aren't exactly the same, but A-ya's made a lot of progress. I think he's going to do a lot better.”
A-ya subtly, but very deliberately, kicked his shin underneath the table.
His parents, however, were far too surprised to notice C-ta's flinch. “Really, A-ya? You never mentioned.”
Refusing to answer, A-ya rested his chin on his palm and kept quiet.
As expected, C-ta was ready to speak in his stead. “I think he's just a little embarrassed. It's a bit of a sore spot for him, after all.”
The smile he gave A-ya was probably meant to be comforting, but A-ya returned it with a blank stare as he mentally begged him to change the subject. And C-ta understood perfectly, turning the questions back towards his parents with ease. How was work going? Did they have any vacation plans? Yeah, say more about the commute, that dreadful commute, how riveting...
In the span of twenty minutes, C-ta managed to hold a conversation that was probably twice as long as the words A-ya exchanged with his parents in a month. And, as it turned out, they were more than happy to talk. Like, oh, apparently, they were going on another business trip soon, one that they had conveniently forgotten to mention to their only son. When? In a few days. How long? Well, it was hard to say, since work was so busy this time of year…
C-ta shot him a faint look of alarm as they spoke, and A-ya decided to finish his pizza and leave the table as soon as possible.
Which was his fatal mistake, really. Because he had just taken a massive bite when his father leaned in over the table, a coy smile playing on his face. “So, C-ta, tell me. I’m a little surprised that you don’t have a girlfriend already. Is there anyone you’re interested in?”
A-ya promptly choked. By the time his parents asked if he was alright, C-ta had already started thumping him hard on the back. “Can you breathe?” His voice was hurried, but unwavering, serious. “Lift your arms up. A-ya, can you breathe?”
Red-faced and sputtering with tears in his eyes, he still managed to nod. It took a moment for his lungs to stop collapsing in on themselves, but then his throat cleared. Once he had stopped coughing long enough to manage a steady breath, he drained his water so fast that it almost made him choke again.
C-ta handed him a napkin to wipe his face, but even as he accepted it, the hand resting on his back didn’t lift. He seemed unwilling to move away, running his hand lightly down his spine.
His father, relieved that A-ya was alright, turned back to his food. But his mother, on the other hand... her brow furrowed in confusion. Her eyes darted back and forth from A-ya's face to C-ta's outstretched arm and back again. He could practically see the cogs turning in her mind, how they were leading her to such an obvious conclusion—
Throwing back his chair, A-ya tore out of his seat towards the bathroom. He ignored his parents’ cries, ignored C-ta’s voice, ignored them all as he ran down the hall and threw open the door. He pressed both palms onto the countertop, leaning heavily as he struggled to even his breath. Because some deep, primal fear had just welled up inside of him at the sight of his mother’s careful examination. He wasn’t ready for her to know. He wasn’t ready for that conversation. He wasn’t ready for whatever semblance of a normal family he’d ever had to fall apart, even if it was a cold, distant imitation.
He’d told himself that it was just how his parents were. It was just work. There was nothing he could do about it, so what was the point in letting it bother him? He knew that they loved him: his father ironed his uniforms, and his mother would cook a week’s worth of leftovers for him to warm up when they were gone.
But there was always some tiny, pessimistic voice lurking in the back of his mind. It whispered that if he were a little different, maybe they would make more of an effort. And now it was screaming, telling him that this could finally make them say that they’d had enough of him.
A tiny knock on the doorframe made him jolt upright. He whipped around, but his sharp inhale died in his chest at the sight of his childhood friend.
C-ta shut the door behind him softly before advancing towards him with sad eyes.
“C-ta, they—if they know, I—”
He barely had a chance to speak before C-ta enveloped him in a hug. It was so fast. Between one blink and the next, he found himself in C-ta’s arms. One hand on his back, the other pressing against his shoulder blades—and they'd hugged before, but never like this, never so tightly. Never this desperate, never this needy, and yet A-ya found himself clutching C-ta's blazer like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. The idea of losing his parents like that was so unbearable, far too terrifying. It made him let out a noise that was horrifically close to a sob, and he tried to muffle it by burying his head into C-ta’s shoulder.
C-ta instantly lifted his hand to tangle it in his hair and cradle him closer. It was incredible, sometimes, how C-ta knew exactly what to do to calm him. As if he could read his mind. He hated leaning on him like this… but when he did need him, he was always there.
But then he opened his mouth and spoke: “It's okay, A-ya. It's going to be okay.” They felt like empty words. False platitudes, utterly meaningless.
“You don't know that,” he spat back.
“I do.” His voice was full of calm, unwavering self-assurance. “If they find out—if things get bad—I’ll be here to protect you.”
A-ya closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. Stupid C-ta. Stupid, bull-headed, overconfident C-ta...
They stayed like that for as long as they could allow. Then A-ya lifted his head, and they disentangled in seconds to smooth out each other’s crumpled sweaters and tousled hair. A-ya messed with the collar of C-ta’s shirt, trying to get the uncooperative fabric to stay down flat. C-ta could talk about fashion and style all he wanted—A-ya thought he looked ridiculous. He had to fight the urge to button up his shirt and slide the knot of his tie up to his throat if only so it was less distracting.
He could feel C-ta’s stare burning into his face as he grumbled to himself, but he refused to acknowledge it. So he was entirely unprepared for C-ta to reach up and hold A-ya’s head in his hands. A-ya’s fingers twitched, but he kept still as C-ta pressed his lips against his forehead. Something about it was so unexpectedly tender that it made his heart catch a little in his throat.
“Okay?” C-ta murmured.
“...Yeah.”
When they came back into the dining room together, C-ta made some excuse about A-ya’s weak lungs acting up. Which didn’t make sense. The bathroom was right down the hall, and if A-ya had still been coughing, they would have heard it.
Neither of his parents pointed that out, and everyone went back to their meal without another word.
That evening, the two of them lingered by the front door. His parents were still in the kitchen as they prepped lunches for tomorrow. That meant that they had just a few minutes entirely to themselves. C-ta seemed to be taking his time as he put his bag together and slipped on his shoes. It was as if he could tell that A-ya wanted to say something.
After turning the words over in his mind, A-ya finally took a breath. “Hey. So...” He scratched the back of his head, fumbling for just a moment. He felt about as awkward as the last time he'd said this, but he truly wanted to—especially with C-ta looking back at him so warmly. “What happened earlier. I just wanted to say thanks for that.”
The moment the words left his lips, C-ta’s eyes went wide. He stood frozen, one hand still hovering on the door handle. The strap of his bag slid further and further down his shoulder, but C-ta did nothing to stop it when it finally fell and hit the floor. A-ya flinched at the noise, almost wondering if he had done something wrong; at least, he did until he glanced up at C-ta’s face. C-ta beamed at him, his eyes crinkling with warmth.
As if in a trance, he said in a reverent sigh: “I love you, A-ya.”
It took A-ya an eternity to process C-ta’s words—from his cadence to their meaning, his mind simply refused to recognize them. By the time he had, by the time he had enough composure to work up some sort of reply, C-ta was already out the door was a laugh and a wave.
“See you later!” he called out.
“...See you,” A-ya said, mystified, as the front door closed with a click.