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Suo is— a hard person to read. Akihiko is aware that everyone else would call that an understatement, but Suo can be surprisingly earnest when he wants to be. He’s seen Suo when he’s playing with his food enough times to know when he’s not.
Like when he teases Sakura, he doesn’t do it to be mean; his enjoyment at Sakura’s strange-if-not-heartbreaking-at-times reactions is clear, his love for him even clearer. His light annoyance at Tsugeura’s antics, his jokes with Kiryu, even his attempts to get a rise out of Sugishita— all of it is sincere. Or at the very least, not all of it is an act. That difference had never mattered much.
And Akihiko would know, wouldn’t he? He’s been staring at Suo long enough to figure it out. The tilt of his head at something intriguing, the curve of his joyful smile, the shade of his eyes when he’s somber. Even when he’s being cruel— Akihiko notices the disdain. It’s palpable, and a bit scary too, but Suo doesn’t hide that either. He doesn’t have every single thing written down, but he knows the differences by heart.
At least, that’s what he tells himself. Because he thinks he’s noticed that the way Suo looks at him is different, that his smile is softer and kinder, his touch lighter. Suo knocks him down during training but is always there to catch him before he falls. He’s always encouraged him, always been the push against the small of his back to move him forward— it’s not an act. Surely, it can’t be.
Because even on his most self indulgent nights, Akihiko would never let himself believe in it without proof. He has spent his entire childhood being hated by and stomped on and cast out by others, has known exactly what fake warmth feels like— it’s certainly not this. It’s certainly not the way Suo waits for him to catch up nor the way he walks home with him. The way Suo tilts his head at him— the angle of his smile— the look in his eyes when he’s with Akihiko is different, is real. Akihiko wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it for himself a million times over. He wouldn’t bother to get his hopes up over something he can’t definitively prove.
But despite this, despite all his proof and all his memories and all the things he knows by heart: can Akihiko say he knows Suo? Does knowing the depths of his character equal to knowing him? There was a time where he believed otherwise, that not knowing would be fine. All that mattered was that he remained by their sides, that he remained Sakura’s right hand just as Akihiko was Sakura’s left. Hadn’t they been through so much together? Wasn’t that worth it?
Yes, Akihiko wants to say. Yes, it was. But now Suo is no longer here. And what can he do in the face of that undeniable truth? He can retrace each step, each moment, and it still would not change a thing. Akihiko does not know Suo past the surface, and that is, perhaps, by Suo’s design. He jokes— lies?— with a smile that no one bothers to probe past, makes himself just present enough that no one bothers to question the future. Now all Akihiko does is look over the past. For an answer? For a glimmer of— truth?
He knows Suo, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he? From his cruelty to his kindness, Akihiko has seen him in in all his shades. Why would Suo bother to let it show if it wasn’t? Suo is very particular about things, the way he dresses and the way he speaks— see? See? He knows him. He knows him well. No one else has spent as much time with him, has spent so long categorizing each and every reaction. The knowledge he holds in his heart could fill ten, no, twenty notebooks, perhaps even more. His habits, his microexpressions, the brands he prefers, his phone number, the number of strands on his tassels, the material of his eyepatch, the amount of messages they’ve shared, the feel of his calloused hands, the pain of his fingers flicking Akihiko’s forehead, the sound of his laugh— so many things that take up space in his heart, so—
— so why? why can’t he figure it out? Suo had smiled at him so pleasantly as they talked, as they walked in the night, it had given Akihiko so much confidence and giddy nausea that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching for him. And Suo had let him, like he knew he would, because Suo likes to indulge Akihiko. Is that what it had all been in the end? Indulging?Even that gentle wave as he bid him goodnight? As he said ‘see you tomorrow’?
It would be cruel. and Suo can be cruel, but not like that. Not to him. He knows this— even if he doesn’t, he wants to believe it’s true. Wants, so badly, for the tenderness that Suo has shown him to be real, even if it isn’t fully him. Akihiko would accept him, lies and all, his bleeding heart pouring out, endlessly, endlessly. For Suo, he’d accept any part of him. No matter how wicked and cruel he meant or means to be.
All Akihiko wants is for him to stay by his side, by their side. To laugh— get angry— have fun— talk with— be with them again. Akihiko would have never been so careless with the time they had left if he had known. Akihiko would have held onto him tighter. Akihiko would have never let him disappear into the night. No matter how pathetic it’d make him, he would have begged with all his might.
Would he have stayed? In the end? Would it have been worth it in the end? If he did the reducing— if he turned himself small and pitiable and back to his self before Furin, if he did it in Suo’s stead, surely it would have done something. For Suo, he’d do it. He’d do it all just to make him stay. He’d make himself wretched and worthless if that’s what it took. But Suo would never let him, Suo who stays by his side without a second thought in order to protect him, Suo who—
— is no longer here.
(Was he ever truly ‘here’ to begin with?)