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Takeshi knocks on Nakamigawa’s door. Once, twice… No answer. He asks if his friend is there. Still no answer. That was weird. Nakamigawa didn’t take this long to respond, usually. He’d open the door with some annoyed quip about his nails or his coat hanger, or, just, something. Was he so mad at Takeshi that he’d decided to stop answering him altogether ?
“Nakamigawa.” he says, soft. “I just want to talk. Please.” Still no answer.
Now that starts being worrisome. Takeshi knocks on the door again, more frantically. He hears noise inside, coughing, gagging, and it clicks in his head. He tries to turn the knob, but the door is locked. Completely locked. And he knows they're unpickable. By the time he'd be able to pick it, it would probably be too late, anyway.
He hears something – someone – hitting the ground, and he can hear the door get unlocked. Probably courtesy of Monomoko.
Takeshi opens the door as soon as it’s unlocked, and almost throws up at the sight of Nakamigawa’s body on the floor. Takeshi rushes to his side nonetheless. A bottle stands out on the ground, right by the designer’s hand, and when Takeshi picks it up, it’s exactly what he expects – Cyanide.
And Takeshi feels himself leaving, going to that place in his mind where everything is so much better, but he tries not to. He tries not to, because Nakamigawa is dead, killed himself, because he thought it was his only option. Because Takeshi didn’t make it in time. And because no matter how nice the world in his head is, no matter how good it would feel to be there right now, he’s stuck in place, holding Nakamigawa’s lifeless body, wishing for another chance, to have been here five minutes earlier, something. Anything for Nakamigawa to still be here.
The body discovery announcement rings, and Takeshi leaves.
— — — — — —
Takeshi wakes up to the familiar sight of his bedroom. His house’s bedroom. Not the accommodations from the killing game.
Right. He made it home. They both made it home, didn't they ? It was just a nightmare. A very bad and realistic nightmare, but a nightmare nonetheless.
Takeshi feels himself checking out, but he tries to stay grounded. He has to. His head is spinning, and he can feel himself losing focus and falling back into a more colorful world where the sun never sets, but he tries to stay present. He breathes in, trying to think of what Nakamigawa would say. “ You’d feel better if you were breathing a bit steadier.” , probably. He was much better at dealing with these…weird attacks than Takeshi himself was, somehow. It made him feel weirdly understood, in a way.
After what seems like an eternity, but was most likely only a couple minutes, he reaches for his phone on his side of the bed, and, still dazed and confused, calls for the designer. The ringing doesn't last long – he can even hear it coming from the other's room, or at least the guest room he occupied most of the time. He never gets an answer to the phone call, because he can hear footsteps going down the hall and to his bedroom, then knocks on his door.
“Takeshi ? You called, I'm coming in.”
By this point, they have their system. Nakamigawa knows that most of the time, when Takeshi calls him in the middle of the night, it's because he needs him around. And if he's crashing at the Ojimas’ house for one of the fifty reasons he has given so far, he doesn't even bother with replying to the call anymore. Because he knows Takeshi would rather have him here. And he'd rather have Takeshi with him too.
The designer enters his room, in his usual t-shirt and sweatpants sleepwear combo, sunglasses still stationed in front of his eyes. Even if it's probably three in the morning or later, and he probably doesn't see anything with them on. He approaches Takeshi’s bed as the latter sits up, putting his phone back on the nightstand.
Nakamigawa sits down not too far, facing the illustrator. The moon shines the slightest bit of light into the room, but enough that Takeshi can see his eyes through the glasses. Concern is clearly visible in them, and the illustrator feels so, so guilty for putting this on him.
“Takeshi.” He starts, voice steady despite the visible concern. “Are you– no, you called me, probably not. Do you… wanna talk about it ?”
“N-Not really.” Takeshi only now notices the tears going down his cheeks, and the lack of a weird weight on his chest. Relief. Relief that his dreams and his reality haven't merged. Something that he sometimes struggles wrapping his head around.
“Th-That’s alright. That's alright.” Nakamigawa’s presence is grounding. He reaches a hand towards Takeshi, which he takes without hesitating too much. It grounds him. “You… do you wanna check out for a bit ?” He asks, worried. “I’ll be there when you’re back, I–I’ll stay.”
They're used to this routine, too. Nakamigawa usually stays in Takeshi’s room until he’s back from wherever he goes, and Takeshi stays in Nakamigawa’s room when he can’t fall asleep. It’s the little things they both do to make the other comfortable that helps so much. But every time, when Takeshi leaves for hours on end, he can’t help but feel this overwhelming dread. It was already there sometimes during their stay at Fujioka. The simple fear that something could happen while he was out, again , was forcing him back to earth. If he’d been just five minutes late , the designer in front of him would…
‘I can’t.” he states. “I–I can’t leave you. N–Not right now.”
Confused, Nakamigawa squeezes his hand. “You can. You always can. You don’t need to–”
“Nakamigawa, please . I can’t. ” He’s practically pleading, crying again. Nakamigawa nods.
“Alright. Do you still want me to stay then ?”
“Please.”
So, Nakamigawa picks up a notebook and a pencil from the nightstand, and he starts drawing, the scratches of pen on paper filling the silence. Takeshi doesn’t even remember when the designer started stashing notebooks in his room – not that he minds, really. He liked watching him draw, actually. Sure, they drew together more often than not, but when he needed company, Takeshi sometimes found it easier to focus on Nakamigawa’s drawings than on his own breathing. It calmed him all the same.
After a few minutes of the designer drawing and muttering complaints about whatever he was doing – the outfit being too…standard ? Or something. – Takeshi still couldn’t get the image from his nightmare. Of Nakamigawa, dead, in his arms, with a ringing discovery announcement affirming his fears. His breathing becomes shaky, and that prompts the designer to turn his attention back to him.
“You okay ?”
“Y–Yeah… Just…G–God, Nakamigawa, I–”
“It’s a nightmare, right ?” he asks calmly. Takeshi nods. “Okay. I won’t force you to talk about it, but…” he lets the notebook go, grabbing the illustrator’s hands once more. “Whatever you saw, whatever it was… Y–You’re safe, now. You’re safe. This is real. Not what you saw. You’re here, and you’re safe.”
“Y–Yeah…”
Takeshi’s breathing calms down again. He’s not crying anymore either. He hears his voice, shaky and uneven, and can still see the concern in Nakamigawa’s eyes.
“I… It was you.” he finally admitted, trying to lessen the designer’s concerns. “I–I was in front of your door, and you wouldn’t reply, and wh–when the door opened, I–” he stopped, taking a deep breath to avoid crying again. “S–Sorry, it’s stupid.”
“It’s not.” is all Nakamigawa answered, understanding.
“F–Fuck, Nakamigawa, you–... I– I was five minutes too late, you’d– I couldn’t do anything.” Nakamigawa doesn’t say anything, drawing circles on Takeshi’s hands. One of too many caring things he knew and did to help him. “A–And I didn’t– I was just there , and you–”
Takeshi’s breathing grows more and more out of control. His head is spinning again, and he wants to leave so badly, but he couldn’t let himself run away. Not again. Not when–
“...It didn’t happen, though.” Nakamigawa’s voice cut through Takeshi’s thoughts. “I–... I’m here. I’m still here, okay ? I… I’m not leaving you.”
“B–But, Nakamigawa–”
“No buts. I’m staying. As long as you’ll need me around, I’ll stay. Okay ? Even if you’re…wherever you go when you’re upset. I’m here. ”
“I– I can’t just– keep leaving whenever I have it hard !” Takeshi retorts, his voice slightly panicked. “I can’t… Wh–What if you need me ?”
“Takeshi, listen to me.” Nakamigawa says softly. He sounds so different in the moments where he shows care, anyone would think he’s a different person entirely. Takeshi knows better. “ I’m okay. You’re doing well, but you don’t need to force yourself to stay. I’ll be fine . Focus on yourself. Okay ?”
Takeshi hesitates for a second, before finally letting out a shaky breath.
“I–I’ll…just be gone for a couple of hours… I–I’m sorry.”
“You’re fine. You’re okay. I’ll be there when you’re back, okay ? You–”
Before Nakamigawa can finish his sentence, Takeshi finally lets himself be pulled away. He leaves, and his vision blurred from tears is replaced by a colorful sky.
— — — — — —
When Takeshi comes back to earth, he feels a strange weight beside him. Not the weight of the covers – something heavier. Unmoving. Or…somewhat moving.
It takes the illustrator a moment to adjust to the light, now so brightly shining in his room, but when his eyes finally do, he can see Nakamigawa, slightly curled into the bed to fit without falling, still holding his hand, but definitely asleep. Takeshi can hear his breathing, steady and real.
He tries moving slightly to not awaken him, but the designer seems to feel it, and groans as he sits up, facing Takeshi.
“Hi…” He wipes his eyes, readjusting his glasses. His voice is laced with sleep, but Takeshi doesn’t mind. “Sorry…I didn’t really expect to fall asleep–...”
“I–It’s okay. You didn’t need to sleep here, y–you could’ve gone back to your room.”
“And leave you..? Why the hell would I do that ? You told me to stay. I stayed.” Nakamigawa says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What time even is it–? God, my eyes…”
“Ah, s–sorry. I can’t sleep with–”
“I know, I know. You’re fine…” Nakamigawa’s glasses get a last slight readjustment before he stops moving them.
“Sorry, still. Y–You could have–”
“Takeshi. You needed the rest. You’re alright. Okay ?”
It takes a little bit for Takeshi to answer. Not because he isn’t used to Nakamigawa, because he very much is , but because he still feels so tired. The sudden light from the sun certainly doesn’t help. Nakamigawa complains again before he can answer.
“Seriously, what time even is it ?” he groans. “It can’t have been that long…”
Takeshi takes a minute to grab his phone from the nightstand. “It’s about one PM.”
“One PM ?! Fuck– No wonder it’s so bright.”
“When did you fall asleep ?”
“Uh…Something like, four AM ? Not that long after you left. I don’t know why, I felt exhausted.”
“Th–That sounds fair, yeah.”
Nakamigawa sits back up on the side of the bed, his hand still intertwined with Takeshi’s. When he looks, Takeshi looks back, without fear or tears this time.
“Hey, Takeshi ?”
“Yeah ?”
“Whatever happens…I won’t try that shit again. I’ll be there with you, okay ? No matter what.” his tone is reassuring. Takeshi smiles apologetically..
“Y–Yeah. I–I’m sorry.”
“You’re alright. I promise, you’re alright.” Nakamigawa squeezes his hand reassuringly.
“Thanks, Nakamigawa.”
Nakamigawa doesn’t say anything, instead scooting over to Takeshi and hugging him. Something the designer doesn’t usually do. Takeshi leans into it anyway.
“I’m not leaving.” he says. “Okay ? I love you.”
“Mm. Thanks. I… love you too.”
Takeshi smiles, leaning his head on Nakamigawa. Their relationship maybe isn’t the healthiest, or the most romantic of all. In truth, they’re messes most of the time, and they show their love through their care for one another rather than what society would consider as traditional. But, it isn’t like either of them minds it.
Takeshi Ojima needs Nakamigawa Hiroaki. It also works the other way around. And neither of them would have it any other way. And for Takeshi, knowing Nakamigawa will stay by his side is more than enough.