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“Mamoru, your tie is crooked. Stay still.”
“Yes, sir!”
Mamoru froze automatically at the command, watching Kouki’s elegant fingers skillfully undo the clumsy knot and retie it with deft motions. Smoothing out a wrinkle, Kouki stepped back, nodding in satisfaction, and Mamoru let out a breath. “Thank you, Kou-kun.”
“You’re welcome.” Kouki flashed a quick smile and lifted the bucket next to him, the cleaning tools within rolling around with a clatter. “Do we have everything?”
“It looks like it,” Ryouta called, making a show of pointing to their luggage in turn. “Cleaning supplies, flowers, Mamoru in something presentable—that should do.”
“We’ve come a long way from when Mamoru first tried to sneak off by himself empty-handed,” Kensuke added, the teasing jab sending a hot wave of embarrassment up Mamoru’s neck, and he hung his head.
“I have nothing to reply with,” Mamoru mumbled. “But everyone looks good in their suits! Too good-looking for your own good! Stupidly handsome idols!”
“Doesn’t that apply to yourself?” Casting a genuinely quizzical glance backwards as he opened the door, Kouki tilted his head. “You look good too, Mamoru.”
“…Ugh!”
“Kou, one of these days you’re actually going to kill him.”
“Hm?”
Four sets of claps resounded through the air, and Mamoru bowed his head and closed his eyes, letting a long sigh escape his mouth in place of everything else he could never put into words.
At what seemed to be a very short time later, he blinked his eyes open to the soft sound of water splashing. Taking notice, Kouki held up the scrubbing brush with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Mamoru, you can keep going. I just thought we should get started cleaning so that we can finish before the sun goes down.” Only a few steps away, Kensuke was brushing away dead leaves and twigs while Ryouta carefully arranged the fresh flowers they had brought into the holders.
Mamoru shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I didn’t realize I took that long.” He gazed up and down the imposing stone before him, tracing the engraved strokes that spelled out his surname.
Kouki came to stand by him, a hand gliding across Mamoru’s shoulder in a gentle pat before he moved towards the gravestone. “I’m sure it’s because you had a lot to tell your parents.”
He couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than nod.
“We had a ton to report too,” Kensuke said cheerfully. “Like about the new song we’re releasing next week.”
“Like about how Mamoru prayed to his plants for an hour straight before finishing the new song this time,” Ryouta chimed in. “It was a new record.”
“Wha- You saw!?”
“And timed it.”
“Ryou-kun!”
Kensuke burst into bright laughter at Mamoru’s flustered expression, while Ryouta managed to restrain himself to a chuckle. From the side, Kouki only smiled a little wryly. “Well,” Ryouta continued flippantly, his gaze sliding away. “It seems like it worked, because the new song is wonderful. How could we complain?”
“Not that we expected anything less of our important, important composer.” Kouki’s words, filled with nearly tangible affection. “We knew you could do it.”
By now, Mamoru was sure he would catch on fire at any moment. “H-Haha, what’s gotten into everyone? You’re all saying some pretty embarrassing things…”
A light fist bumped into his shoulder, and Kensuke passed him the other scrubbing brush, his grin unwavering. “I guess we can’t help but brag a little more than usual whenever we’re here.”
Against the sunset-streaked sky, the now-spotless gravestone seemed to shimmer. Mamoru gave it a final pat before standing from where he had been kneeling, the faint scent of flowers still wafting into his nose. “Thanks for coming with me, everyone.”
“It’s nothing to thank us for,” Kouki replied mildly from behind, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course we’d come.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t still thank you.” Mamoru stared at the gravestone for a moment longer and felt the corners of his mouth curve upwards, before turning to face the three of them.
They looked back at him quietly, warmly, and the words abruptly slipped out.
“To be honest, I thought I’d gotten used to loneliness.”
The way they stiffened sent a stabbing guilt through his chest and Mamoru rushed to continue, the words flowing ceaselessly as a waterfall, with an undercurrent of desperation that he did not know had existed in him. “But after meeting everyone, after becoming Growth, I found out maybe that wasn’t the case after all.”
He saw Kouki’s brow furrow and held up a hand to stop the “Mamoru-” that was already half-audible from their leader’s mouth.
And Mamoru could not stop his smile from spreading even more broadly, abashedly—nor did he want to.
“And I found out I’m a lot more selfish than I thought I was, because I never want to let any of this go.”
Suddenly, he found the air knocked out of him from an impact that sent him stumbling, and Mamoru barely managed to dig in his heels to keep from tipping backwards before looking down in surprise.
Black, gold, and silver filled Mamoru’s vision as the three of them clung to him wordlessly. Slowly, tentatively, Mamoru lowered his arms to wrap around his younger peers in return—or tried to. Despite their unexpectedly childish gesture, it did not change the fact that they were all nearly the same height.
But it occurred to Mamoru, in a flash of somewhat touched awe, that Ken, Ryou, and Kou suddenly seemed their age. In countless times he had marveled at their collective diligence and maturity, all the while feeling an occasional tightening in his chest at the demeanors they had created that were necessary for the life they had chosen, but undoubtably far beyond their years.
He wondered if it was strange that this show of vulnerability now should make him feel such joy, even as he noticed at last that they were trembling slightly.
“You idiot.” Ken’s voice was thick, somehow far more painful than the rest for its contrast to his usual self.
“That’s not fair,” Ryou managed, seemingly caught between genuine anger and anguish.
Never once lifting his face from Mamoru’s shoulder, Kou’s fingers tightened their grip, almost delicately so—but without an ounce of intent to release him. “It’s the same for us.” Out of the three, Kou’s voice was the steadiest, with a burning sort of desperation that Mamoru realized matched his own in intensity. “It’s… the same for us,” Kou repeated, more quietly, and Mamoru heard the unspoken plea.
So please don’t let us go, either.
Ignoring the heat gathering at the corners of his own eyes, Mamoru laughed and lifted a hand to ruffle their hair in turn despite Ryou’s muffled noise of protest.
“Well,” he paused to clear his throat, and patted their backs—as far as he could reach. “I guess that makes four of us.”
one day after another…
…it’s enough.