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It's not until he sees Sulu again that he realizes there hasn't been a day in five years that he hadn't thought of him.
Five years isn't much, not in the grand scheme of things, but Chekov still thinks it remarkable that Sulu has barely changed. Another slight crease under his eyes, a single silver strand at his temple, maybe, but his eyes are still warm and strong and when he offers a brief, firm smile it's crooked just slightly in the way that Chekov hasn't ever forgotten.
There's so many things he wants to say, seeing him again, about life, or the Reliant, or Sulu, but everything dries up in his throat when Sulu says nothing at all, only turning back to the console.
The captain says something, and part of Chekov must understand it because he's moving towards the weapons console, but his eyes linger on the crease in the red fabric of the back panel of Sulu's uniform for a moment too long.
He forces himself to look only at his station, but he can't help the glances towards Sulu, just to see if he's looking back. He remembers countless times at the console, like they were linked, always able to sense the other.
Now, their eyes don't ever meet.
After the news of Spock's death, the ship is dispersed and quiet. The captain's inconsolable, and most everyone just seems ready to be home. Chekov finds himself trudging the felt-lined halls before hiding away in a meeting room, watching the distant stars blink by through the rounded windows.
He tries to count them, or find patterns, or do anything but let the memories of the past few days resurface. If he turns his head too fast his ear still aches and he wants it to all go away, like a bad dream. It's impossible to forget, the helplessness as he struggled against Khan's men, the horrible wriggling of the worm creature against his skin. If he had been stronger, maybe...
He tells himself it's not his fault, but the sinking guilt in his stomach stays.
McCoy said he should rest, and he probably should, but the only thing worse than being awake with his thoughts is being asleep with them running rampant through his mind.
Between uselessly trying to count stars and fighting his own mind, Chekov almost doesn't hear the heavy footsteps of Sulu's approach, leather boots against fabric floors, before he hears the telltale hiss of the door mechanism.
But he does hear, and he can't resist turning right away.
The front panel of Sulu's uniform is open, and for a moment as he steps inside, scanning the small meeting room, his brow is knit together in a look of concern, searching for something.
He meets Chekov's eyes, and his face smoothes over into the charmingly aloof expression that had first made Chekov's stomach flutter nearly a decade ago when he sat beside him at the bridge.
"Chekov," he says, his voice belaying no emotion. Chekov's not even sure if he wants it to, or what emotion he's hoping to hear. "I was wondering where you'd be."
He tries not to look like he's staring as Sulu comes to stand by him at the window. He takes his steps carefully, elegantly. He comes to a stop a foot away from Chekov, hands clasped behind his back casually. His dark eyes reflect the stars like diamonds. "Enjoying the view?"
Chekov opens his mouth to speak, his gaze quickly darting back to the pinpricks of light whizzing by outside and offers a small shrug. "I am. Somehow, it was not the same on the Reliant."
A lot of things weren't the same on the Reliant, if he's honest. He swallows the lump in his throat as he thinks back to it for a moment. Lately it feels like he doesn't even have organs anymore, just pangs of fear and frustration and regret that he's fighting to keep down.
"It wasn't even the same on the Enterprise after everyone started to transfer," Sulu admits. Chekov wants to ask the question on the tip of his tongue but he bites it back.
"When is it that you left?" he asks instead.
"When they retired the ship. I had wanted to leave sooner, but..." Sulu's voice trails off, as if expecting Chekov to know what he meant. He doesn't, and anyway the soft lights reflecting against the window make his face look like it's carved from stone.
"Yes. Yes, of course," he says hollowly.
A beat passes and Chekov's heart hammers in his throat. Maybe he's not so empty, after all.
Then Sulu says the words he'd been dreading, the ones he'd heard a dozen times in the last hour alone and never wanted to answer again.
"Are you feeling alright?"
Chekov can't help the mirthless smirk that crosses his face as he gives Sulu a wry sideways glance. The bruise under his eyes twinges as the muscles strain. "Is this a serious question, Commander?"
Sulu's expression remains unmoved, but he raises an eyebrow, bemused. Chekov wonders what he was expecting him to say. "Is there is reason it wouldn't be, Commander?"
He puts an emphasis on the title that sits heavy in Chekov's sternum, like the rank symbols on his chest are weighing him down.
"Dr. McCoy says I will be as healthy as horses soon. So yes, I am fine," he says.
The left corner of Sulu's mouth twitches briefly, but still his face is all but frozen. Chekov almost hates him for it, almost wants to raise his voice and demand an answer, almost grabs him by the collar and puts his tongue down his throat just to get a reaction.
He does neither, only clenching and unclenching his hands at his side, turning back towards the window. A moment passes, and he feels knuckles brush against his briefly.
"You're still a bad liar," Sulu says.
Chekov tries not to sound indignant. "I am not a bad liar! I never was. Russia is known for great liars. You are perceptive, this is all."
Sulu chuckles from somewhere deep in his chest, like a earthquake on a distant planet. Chekov feels is somewhere in his bones and he takes a breath to steady himself.
"Perhaps I am. But you're still a bad liar, Pavel."
Chekov's body tenses to hear the sound of his name in Sulu's voice again, like electricity has been shot through his nerves. Sulu makes most things sound better, and his name has never been an exception. He had never said it much before, sometimes in the mess hall or passing in the corridors, and even back then Chekov didn't think much of it, but now, in the quiet, it feels...intimate. Like a secret, or a promise, and he chances a look over at Sulu.
His dark eyes are fixed on the stars for only a moment before he turns, as if sensing Chekov's intent, to catch his gaze.
Chekov bites his tongue and feels the tips of his ears burn. He shrinks back, almost instinctively, and Sulu catches him with a hand on his shoulder. His hand is broad and warm and for the first time, his expression softens.
"It's alright if you don't want to talk about it. But you don't need to lie. It really doesn't suit you, anyway," Sulu says.
There's a lightness to his voice, something secretive and wholesome that makes Chekov's knees weak. It's a feeling he recognizes all too well so he tries not to think too hard about it.
"And what is it that does suit me, Hikaru?" Chekov asks. His voice comes out dried up and strained, and he swallows thickly. He feels smaller than he has in a long time, and he doesn't like it.
Sulu's eyes drop to the rank indicators for a moment, smiling with an almost unbearably genuine pride. "A command, for starters."
In spite of himself, Chekov grins boyishly. "I bet you did not think I could get this far, hm? Captain Terrel is - "
His tongue sticks and he hears Terrel's yells of pain echoing, remembers his own as the worm tore through his skull, ripping things apart and putting them back together so he couldn't move, couldn't think, unless Khan wanted him to. Helpless, really and completely.
He doesn't realize he's shaking until Sulu's voice cuts in, his brow furrowed.
"Pavel, I'm so - "
Chekov shrugs Sulu's hand off his shoulder, forcing himself to turn away. "I said I am fine, yes? What else is it you need?"
Silence fills the small room for a moment. Chekov feels the ship's engine humming under his feet, a soft, constant sort of motion that he never really appreciates until he's on stable ground and everything feels just a little too still.
Sulu lets out a sigh. It's not really angry, or even irritated. It's almost...sad, in a way.
"I can't say I really need anything. Maybe you don't, either. But I wanted to see how...how my friend was doing."
It feels like the knife that's been sitting in Chekov's gut for seven years just twisted, reopening the wound and sending pain straight to his throat.
Friends. Friends, no matter what he tried or where he went. Five years apart and he's right back to pining for the man he told himself he would give up.
"Are we? Are we still friends, Hikaru?" he murmurs.
"I'd like to think we are," Sulu replies. "Unless you see a reason to change that."
His voice is as calm and practiced as ever, all but apathetic in tone, and something in Chekov's chest snaps and he lets out a frustrated huff, raking his hand through his hair as his gaze jerks towards the ceiling. "You do not understand, even now."
"Pavel, please - "
"This is why I left, how do you not see?"
It had always been this way for Chekov, chasing Sulu like a lovesick puppy. But Sulu had a stoicism to him that Chekov did not and Chekov was always at arm's length, too frightened to reach out himself. Sulu protected him and looked out for him and it started to grate on Chekov, the thought that even the man he thought his friend and equal still looked at him and saw a wide-eyed little kid.
He wanted Sulu in spite of it all, and he hates that he still does.
It all bubbles to the surface and Chekov turns on his heel, blood boiling, teeth bared, "I - "
And Sulu is right there, imposing and firm despite his stature. His face is more open, softer.
"Pasha," he says, and Chekov stiffens. He can smell Sulu's cologne, heady and floral, and they haven't been this close in...ever, so he can't pull away.
Sulu only looks at him expectantly, and for the first time Chekov wonders if he's had it all wrong, if Sulu had all but offered him this chance again and again and he'd been young and foolish enough to miss it every time.
He's not quite so young now, but he feels just as foolish.
He takes a breath, stiff and shaky. He can't lose Sulu. Not again.
"You should not call me that anymore," he says slowly.
"Why not?" Sulu asks. The lilting amusement in his voice is still there, and Chekov might as well be floating.
"I may do something we will regret. And then I will feel like a fool, and you will leave and I will never see you - "
One moment, Sulu's hand is resting at his side. The next, the callouses of his palm and fingertips are resting against Chekov's jaw and all his spiel fizzles away into the sharp sound of his breath catching in his throat.
"It's good to know that after all these years, you still talk too much," Sulu hums. His smile is unmistakable, as is the soft enticing in his eyes.
He runs his thumb over Chekov's lower lip, just enough pressure as if to say "please." A moment later, Chekov's hands are fisted in the thick cotton of Sulu's collar and Sulu has a handful of mousy brown hair tangled between his fingers and they're kissing like the universe is falling to pieces around them.
Their lips are crushed together for only a moment before Chekhov's running his tongue across Sulu's lower lip, because it all feels like a dream and he might as well take full advantage of it. He knows he must seem like a desperate teenager, and he might a well be anytime Sulu's around, anyway.
Sulu's lips twitch in the ghost of a chuckle and he relents. He tastes like something fruity and rich, like wine and chocolate and Chekov wonders how he's lived so long without it.
They part for only a moment to gasp for air, and Chekov knows his face must be scarlet but Sulu's lips are wet and his skin has a ruddy glow that Chekov's never seen and he pulls him back into the kiss greedily. The force makes him stumble and he's pressed against the wall, Sulu's body pressed and folded around each crevice.
It might have been a million years or a single moment when they break apart, and Chekov's face goes red all over again at the strand connecting their mouths.
"Do you have any idea how long I have wanted to do that?" he pants.
He feels Sulu's chest rumble with laughter. "Do you know how many times I caught you staring at me across the console?"
Chekov laughs, looking down. Sulu catches his chin and turns it, admiring him. Chekov doesn't attempt to hide his mimicry of the action. He takes in the sharpness and curves of Sulu's face, freely and unworried. The ship hums beneath them.
"I can't believe I waited this long to do this," Sulu says. His thumb caresses the unbruised skin of Chekov's face and Chekov leans into the touch.
"How long?"
Sulu's smirk widens. "As soon as I realized it was probably the only way to get you to stop talking," he says.
Chekov's face is pink, and he laughs breathlessly.
"I wish you had not waited so long. It would have saved me many sleepless nights," he grins. Sulu grins back, quirking an eyebrow as he chuckles.
It's not the romantic scenario he might have picked. Chekov's been through hell and back and the world isn't going to be the same after this, not for him or the crew or the galaxy, but Sulu is strong against him and he's foolish enough to not be afraid.