Chapter Text
Think about holding your breath.
Depriving your body of air comes on an exponential curve; the strain settles in slowly, then all at once. It takes its time as it curls quietly into your chest, twines itself through your ribcage and presses close against your lungs, and then sinks in its claws once it’s gotten comfortable. And there it stays, settling deeper and deeper until your lungs burn and your vision swims.
If you hold it for long enough, there comes a point where letting it out isn’t enough to bring relief. Not right away, at least. That first exhale takes off the edge of immediacy — tugs you back from tipping into unconsciousness, loosens the tightness and tampers down the panic a bit — but it’s only the first step. Alleviating the lack of air without rectifying it isn’t enough. The strain still lingers, and it will continue until you catch your breath.
Think about that moment that comes after the first breath out. That — the short-lived rush of relief, right before it’s subdued by the windedness settling in, the lingering need for air, the nagging unresolvedness — is where Eichi finds himself after Wataru joins fine.
Upon the start of the new school year, the academy is teeming with rebirth. A new system reigns, a new fine takes the stage, and a new link ties him and Wataru together.
He’s done it: he’s closed the distance between them. What was once a mere fantasy, a daydream to occupy him when the passage of time seemed to slow to a halt within the antiseptic confines of hospital rooms, is now a reality. The plunge was taken, the hand extended, the words set into stone — Wataru Hibiki has shed the blood-stained attire of his old self and donned the white uniform of the holy choir.
“White looks good on you,” Eichi had hummed the first time Wataru wore fine’s new uniform. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear it before.”
“It certainly does add to the novelty of it all,” Wataru agreed. “Even more so when considering that white is associated with purity… I think it drives home the impression that I’ve been cleansed of my past sins, no? An image to fit the idea?”
Eichi didn’t wince, exactly, but he couldn’t stop the way his gaze flickered away uncomfortably. Wataru definitely noticed it, if the way his eyes narrowed with interest was anything to go by. “That’s… I didn’t mean it like that,” Eichi said.
“Of course not. But that is the implication that all of this holds in the eyes of the student body, as I’m sure you know.” Wataru tilted his head. “As far as post-death plans go, though, joining the heavenly chorus is among the most dignified ones, don’t you think?”
There’s a residual sharpness left over from the days of the war — of course there is. Eichi doesn’t doubt that his lingering feelings of guilt are palpable, even as he pushes through and manages to face Wataru once more, and it doesn’t help in clearing the air between them. But, like much of the rest of the aftermath, it recedes quickly with the new year as more pressing matters form and rise to the forefront. Eichi can’t help but think Tori and Yuzuru are to be credited for helping dilute the tension some; it’s a lot easier to fall into the swing of things when they’re an actual unit, rather than a patched-together alliance of sorts.
It’s nice, the way being around Wataru begins to feel a little less… weird. Their once-constrained interactions give way a bit; the time they spend together starts to feel a little less forced. There’s still an underlying push-and-pull to it all, but the two of them manage to reach a stability of sorts, one that isn’t defined by solidity so much as equilibrium. They’ve found the balancing point, for now.
Eichi knows that this tranquility is temporary; that the initial relief will fade someday, and that once it does everything will be different. But it’s easier to pretend that it isn’t. At some point between the ostentatious greetings and the melodramatic farewells, the playful back-and-forths at the shoe lockers and the long talks after practice, he’s grown accustomed to Wataru’s presence. Having him by his side like this is a dream come true (in a literal sense just as much as a figurative one) — and if he doesn’t let himself enjoy it while he can, then what has this all been for?
“Behold: the tablet upon which our writings shall be immortalized!”
It’s during this period of repose, this scrapbook page of late spring and playful flirting and long afternoons, that the exchange diary emerges.
A composition notebook drops onto Eichi’s desk. A second later, Wataru drops onto the carpet in the center of the room. Eichi blinks. “Oh. Hey, Wataru. Where’d you come from?”
“Oh, but that’s hardly relevant — my place of origin holds no meaning to me now, you see! Fate has brought me to this student council room, and it’s that by which I’ll define myself. It’s not the starting point of the journey that matters so much as the destination!” Wataru crosses the room to lean against the edge of Eichi’s desk. “…Which is why I will not be disclosing precisely where I obtained the aforementioned tablet upon which our writings shall be immortalized.”
Eichi looks down at the notebook, which landed neatly beside his keyboard. “Oh,” he says, the realization catching up to him as the conversation they had the previous day comes rushing back, “this is for the exchange diary?”
“Correct!” Wataru exclaims, a ding-ding-ding sound effect playing seemingly from nowhere. “I simply couldn’t contain my excitement after our little chat, so I decided to take the leap and make our hypothetical journal into a reality. I’ve got you locked in now, Your Majesty!”
“Rest assured, I had no intention of backing out,” Eichi hums. He shuts his laptop — lunch break has already started anyways, so he may as well stop here — and picks up the notebook to flip through it. “Fufu. I had hoped it would, but I almost wasn’t expecting the idea to actually come to fruition… it’s exciting actually having it in front of me like this. Who should start it?”
“Why, who other than you? Something as monumental as writing the first entry couldn’t possibly fall to a mere jester! That is a power that must be possessed by the Emperor alone!”
Eichi laughs. “I didn’t realize autocracy extended to things like exchange diaries… well, in any case, I won’t say no to taking it first, though I can’t guarantee that anything I write will be particularly groundbreaki— mmfnh.”
A large zipper has appeared over Eichi’s mouth, sealing his lips shut. “Nonsense,” Wataru says with great conviction, “absolute nonsense! Forgive me for refusing your words so insolently, but I simply cannot stand idly by while you scorn your writing. From the bottom of my heart, I am convinced your entry shall be constructed with a level of mastery that challenges — no, fully transcends that of even the most revered authors throughout history!”
Eichi affixes him with an unconvinced look. Wataru grins. “Oh, my. Cat got your tongue? Let me try to reason with it — I do have a way with animals, after all!” He reaches over and unzips Eichi’s mouth; the zipper falls away entirely.
“—Thanks. You know, I can’t tell if you’re trying to encourage me or not when you say things like that. Now that I know the expectations for me are that high, I feel like whatever I end up writing is going to seem even more inadequate than it would otherwise. Are you teasing me on purpose?”
“Who? Me? Never.”
“Hmm.”
“Aside from that,” Wataru says, pushing up off the desk and walking around it to perch at Eichi’s side, “is your self-efficacy high enough to allow you to write your name on the cover, at the very least? Let us carve our names onto—”
“—the tablet upon which our writings will be immortalized,” Eichi finishes at the same time as him. Wataru looks delighted. “Yes, that’s a good idea. I like the thought of making it look a little more personalized.”
“Amazing! Then, by all means…”
A peacock feather quill appears in Eichi’s right hand, already dripping ink. He moves to hold it over the desk, but some of it’s already stained the rug. Oh well. It’s a little difficult given the size of the quill (and the fact that it’s a quill at all), but he manages to sign his name on the cover of the notebook, albeit a bit clumsily.
“Your turn,” he says, handing the feather to Wataru. The moment Wataru takes it in his hands, it transforms into a confetti popper, which proceeds to go off.
“Consider it done! I yield the remainder of my time.”
Eichi blinks, and turns to look at the notebook again. Sure enough, Wataru’s name is inscribed next to his in loopy handwriting, a large ampersand bridging the two. “That’s… well, I won’t even try to wrap my head around how you did that. I already know I won’t get an answer if I try to speculate.”
Wataru’s eyes narrow with amusement. “Fufufu. I can’t deny that. In order to maintain the element of surprise, I must keep at least some secrets! And selfish as it may be, I’d like to hold your attention for at least a little longer, so I shan’t go revealing any just yet.”
“Mm. Well, I don’t intend to force anything out of you, of course, but I would like to think that our association is held together by more than just magic tricks.” Eichi rests his chin in his hand. “My interest in you isn’t nearly as shallow as you’re making it out to be, you know.”
Even as he says it, he knows Wataru is going to refuse to accept it head-on and deflect the topic in one way or another. That’s how these moments of attempted vulnerability always go. Whether it’s an intentional rejection on Wataru’s part or just a lack of interest in crossing whatever bridge Eichi is trying to build, Eichi doesn’t know, but one thing is clear: his words are hitting a wall.
Maybe that’s fine. Maybe he wouldn’t be saying these kinds of things nearly as easily if he knew he was going to get a serious response.
Wataru’s flighty reply is predictable: “Amazing! Your Majesty truly does say some interesting things.”
He’s still smiling. Eichi decides not to chase the topic. Instead, he drops his gaze back down to the cover of the notebook, tracing the names on the cover of the notebook with his eyes. Eichi Tenshouin & Wataru Hibiki .
Binding signatures for something he hasn’t fully grasped yet, perhaps.
Dear Wataru,
Did you see Keito’s hair today?