Work Text:
The apartment had grown unfamiliar in the way places did when you stayed inside them too long.
The air was stale, heavy with the residue of days spent breathing the same oxygen over and over, of coffee left to cool untouched, of fabric worn without being washed because getting up felt like a task that required a reason he no longer had.
Light crept along the walls in thin, unreliable bands — sometimes too bright, sometimes already fading when he thought it was still morning. Hajime tracked it without meaning to, the way prisoners scratched lines into walls, not because it mattered but because it proved something was still moving.
He had stopped going to training somewhere along the way too. At first it had been exhaustion — a body that felt leaden, joints stiff from too much stillness, muscles aching like they were being forgotten. Then it had become avoidance. Then numbness.
His phone had buzzed often enough that the vibration began to feel like a mosquito whining near his ear, irritating and impossible to swat. He read the messages, sometimes, thumb hovering over the keyboard while entire responses formed and died before they reached his fingers. Nothing felt right enough to send. Everything felt too much. Eventually the buzzing stopped.
Silence settled in its place.
It lived in the corners of the room and pressed against his chest when he tried to breathe too deeply, thick and heavy like humidity before a storm. His thoughts looped endlessly around the fight — not the words so much as the way Gisei’s posture had shifted, shoulders tightening, voice cooling by fractions of degrees until the space between them felt suddenly unsafe. The memory replayed without his permission while his body reacted as if it were still happening: jaw clenching until it hurt, stomach hollowing, pulse racing with nowhere to go.
Nowhere to go.
It hurts.
It hurts so much.
Usually he’d be with a weight next to him, hair against his lips, light in his eyes that made impossible to see blonde strands without them making Hajime partially losing his sight for a few seconds—
He was laying on the bed when the doorbell rang.
Once.
The sound didn’t reach him through the fog of his thoughts, through the dull ache behind his eyes and the heaviness in his limbs that made even breathing feel like effort.
His mind was somewhere else, stuck on the image of Gisei slamming his hands against the table, red palms open near his hips as his voice only got louder and louder. Gisei turning away with a scoff. Gisei closing the door and the finality of that sound—
The bell rang again.
Longer.
Still nothing.
Then again, sharp and insistent, cutting through the apartment like something alive between lifeless bodies.
Hajime flinched violently, heart slamming against his ribs hard enough to make his chest hurt. He pushed himself upright too fast, dizziness blooming at the edges of his vision as the room tilted, dark spots swimming briefly before fading. His hands trembled when he planted them against the mattress, the muscles in his arms weak and uncooperative, given that they hadn’t been used properly in days if not almost weeks.
Another ring.
Jesus Christ, shut up. Just—
He dragged himself to his feet, every step toward the door heavy, distant, like walking through quicksand. His breath was already shallow by the time he reached it, lungs pulling in air too quickly, too thinly, the familiar edge of panic creeping up home in his spine.
He leaned into the peephole.
The hallway was dark, the overhead light flickering weakly at the far end. A shape stood too close to the door to make out clearly, just a tall blur blocking what little light there was. Then he heard it — rain, steady and soaking, the kind that drenched clothes within minutes rather than tapping harmlessly against the ground.
And beneath it, breathing.
Slow. Controlled.
Painfully familiar.
His stomach tightened sharply, nausea curling low in his gut. No one came here anymore — not ’friends’, not teammates, and not him, who seemed to be everywhere else but here.
His hand hovered over the lock, fingers shaking.
Another breath from the other side of the door, close enough that he could almost feel it.
He opened it.
Gisei stood there, drenched just as he imagined.
Water streamed from his hair, darkened his lashes, soaked into the shoulders of his jacket until the fabric clung heavy to his arms. Rain slid down his jaw and neck, disappearing into his collar, dripping steadily onto the floor between them. His posture was rigid in that familiar and controlled way, like he’d walked a long time without letting himself stop, like stillness was the only thing keeping him upright.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The rain filled the space where weeks of absence should have been.
Relief hit Hajime first — sharp and dizzying — followed immediately by something hotter, uglier, twisting up from his chest.
His eyes burned.
He looked away instinctively, shame and fury tangling together until he couldn’t tell which was which, his fingers already curling around the edge of the door.
“Why are you here,” his voice is so quiet he’s not even sure he actually said it out loud. “Why…”
Gisei’s hand caught the door.
Firm. Certain.
“Hajime.”
The sound of his name cracked something open in his chest. He didn’t want to think about what it meant.
“Don’t,” Hajime whispered, throat tight. “Please.”
“Don’t shut me out.”
The rain dripped steadily onto the floor, each drop louder and louder in the silence.
Hajime let out a thin, bitter laugh that didn’t feel like laughter at all. “You don’t get to come back like this,” he started, heat rising in his voice. “Ya don’t get to disappear for weeks and then just— stand here like nothing happened.”
“I didn’t disappear.”
“You fucking did,” Hajime snapped, the word sharp enough to cut. “You did disappear.”
Gisei’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath wet skin.
“I walked away so I wouldn’t make it worse.”
“Is that whatcha told yourself while you were leaving?”
The anger surged, fast and hot, burning up his throat before he could stop it.
“You said I was exhausting,” he continued, voice rising, shaking. “You said everything with me was heavy. You looked at me like I was something you had to survive and fucking bear with!”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Bullshit.
“It is what you said, Gisei!”
His chest heaved, breath coming too fast now, lungs burning slightly with each inhale.
“I stayed here thinking about it every day,” Hajime spat out, hands clenching at his sides. “I thought maybe you were right. Maybe I ruin everything. Maybe loving me is work and you finally got tired of it.”
He exhaled, breathless from talking too much, his throat dry despite the humidity around him.
“What do you think I did for a whole month?” Tears welled in his eyes, fuck no. God, he’s so pathetic. “Thought that you were right — maybe I actually ruin everything. Maybe staying with a fuckin’ lab rat like me is too much work for a psycho like you to deal with, huh?”
“Hajime—”
“Don't act like you still belong here!” His voice broke louder, sharper, years of fear spilling out with it. “You saw that I stopped going to training. I couldn’t sleep, I barely ate, I was in here alone and you couldn’t care less!”
Gisei’s eyes darkened, something pained flashing through them.
“I wasn’t fine,” he said quietly.
Hajime laughed harshly. “You didn’t call or anything.”
“I knew you wouldn’t answer.”
“So you decided to not text me for a month, right.”
The words tore out of him, raw and unfiltered, his body shaking with the force of it.
“You always get to decide when things end,” he shouted. “You always leave first so you don’t have to feel it—!”
Pain exploded suddenly along his forearms — sharp, deep, like fire under the skin, nerves lighting up where old scars pulled tight. His breath hitched violently, the anger stuttering mid-surge as sensation overtook everything.
He folded forward slightly without meaning to, fingers digging into his arms like he could hold the pain back.
“Fuck,” his voice was torn, broken by pain as if it could change its point of origin.
The ache radiated, hot and relentless, dragging memories with it — cold metal, burning skin, the relief that had followed once upon a time. His mouth trembled uncontrollably.
He bit down on his lip hard enough to hurt.
Warmth spread instantly.
Blood filled his mouth, metallic and thick.
The rage lost its edge. Collapsed.
His breath went uneven, chest shuddering as tears flooded his vision again without warning.
Gisei noticed immediately.
His gaze dropped, sharp with concern.
“Hajime.”
The way he said it — careful now, softened — made shame crash in like a wave.
“I’m fine,” Hajime snapped weakly, though his voice shook badly, though his hands were gripping his arms so hard his fingers hurt.
“You’re hurting.”
“Get the fuck away from me,” he whispered, more plea than command.
He took a deep breath — or at least, he tried to. His breath trembled so much that it could be compared to a deer in headlights.
“You have no idea how I felt,” Hajime continued, voice breaking apart like his skin. “God, you don’t understand shit. You said loving me was a burden.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” he insisted, though it sounded fragile now. “You said—”
Fuck. Fuck, his voice is just there. The breaking point. Remembering it was downright agony.
“Y’said everything was heavier with me.”
Gisei stops for a few seconds, recalling what he said as his forehead furrowed.
“I said I... didn’t know how to carry it without drowning.”
The difference hit harder than any shout.
Hajime’s throat closed painfully.
“That was about me,” Gisei continued kindly. “Not you.”
The anger had nowhere left to go.
It burned itself out, leaving exhaustion and rawness behind.
Hajime’s shoulders sagged, his whole body trembling now in smaller, weaker motions.
“I waited,” he whispered. “I kept thinking you’d come back. Then I thought you wouldn’t. I thought I finally pushed you too far.”
Gisei stepped closer, stopping just short of touching him, warmth radiating across the small space between them.
“You didn’t.”
“And you left.”
“And I came back.”
Silence settled again, thick but no longer hollow, filled now with the sound of rain softening against the pavement outside and Hajime’s uneven breathing as it gradually slowed from sharp gasps into shaky inhales that still trembled through his chest.
The anger had burned itself out completely, leaving behind a raw, hollow ache that sat beneath his ribs like something bruised. His arms throbbed where his fingers still dug into them, the old lines beneath his skin pulled tight and angry, sending dull pulses of pain up toward his elbows.
Gisei watched him carefully, eyes tracing the way Hajime’s posture had collapsed inward — shoulders rounded, head lowered, body curling subtly around itself like it was bracing for another impact that never came.
“Hajime,” he said quietly.
Hajime didn’t look up.
His gaze was fixed somewhere near the floor, unfocused, lashes still wet, breath hitching every few seconds as if his lungs hadn’t quite remembered how to work normally again.
“I hurt you,” Gisei continued, not defensively, not apologetically — just stating it the way one acknowledged a wound. “I know I did.”
Hajime swallowed hard, throat tight, jaw trembling.
“ ’m still angry,” he mumbled.
“I know.”
The rain whispered against the concrete.
Another breath passed.
“Would you…” Gisei hesitated, just barely, a fracture in his usual certainty. “Would you let us start over?”
The words didn’t sound hopeful.
But careful.
Hajime’s chest tightened painfully.
Start over.
The phrase landed heavy, complicated — part relief, part fear, part exhaustion. Starting over was a mess, Hajime knew it too well; a chaotic puddle of feelings and things unsaid all tangled up with each other. He didn’t want to go through it again, once was enough.
And yet.
Yet, anger flared weakly again, a last spark that couldn’t quite catch, his fingers tightening reflexively against his arms as another wave of aching pain rolled through the scars beneath his skin.
“Dunno if I can forgive you,” he muttered hoarsely, childish even.
“You don’t have to,” Gisei replied. “Not now.”
The space between them felt suddenly too large.
Hajime’s body gave out before his pride did.
His knees softened, legs trembling as exhaustion finally overtook the tension that had been holding him upright. He folded forward, instinctively curling inward, arms wrapping around himself protectively, forearms pressed tight against his chest where the pain throbbed strongest.
A broken sob tore out of him.
Not loud.
Deep.
The kind that pulled from somewhere under his ribs.
Gisei moved immediately.
He caught Hajime before he could crumple fully, arms closing around him with steady, grounding pressure, one hand firm between Hajime’s shoulder blades, the other bracing his side. Hajime’s forehead pressed into the damp fabric of Gisei’s chest, rain-cold and smelling faintly of wet pavement and familiar soap.
Hajime clutched himself tighter, fingers digging into his sleeves as if holding his own arms together was the only thing keeping him from coming apart.
“I’m still mad,” he choked into the fabric. “I’m so mad at you.”
“I know,” Gisei replied above him.
His chest rose and fell slowly, deliberately, offering rhythm.
Hajime’s sobs shook through him in uneven waves, breath stuttering, shoulders jerking as tears soaked into Gisei’s shirt. The anger burned faintly beneath it all, but fatigue drowned it out, his body too tired to keep carrying the weight of it.
Minutes seemed to blur.
The rain kept falling.
His arms ached relentlessly.
Eventually the crying softened into smaller, weaker shudders.
His breathing slowed, though it still hitched every few seconds.
Without lifting his head, without fully deciding to, Hajime shifted slightly, cheek rubbing faintly against the damp fabric of Gisei’s clothes. The movement was barely there — more instinct than choice — and then, slowly, he tipped his head once.
A small, tired nod.
A surrender to rest.
Gisei’s arms tightened subtly around him, holding him steady.
They stayed like that for a long moment: Hajime folded into Gisei’s chest, breath still uneven, arms locked tightly around himself as if loosening them would let everything spill out again. His tears slowed, but didn’t stop; they simply slid quietly now, warm against cold, damp fabric. Each inhale still trembled, each exhale left him weaker, emptier, the anger reduced to a dull ache that lived somewhere beneath the exhaustion.
Gisei adjusted his stance slightly, careful not to startle him, redistributing Hajime’s weight as his legs began to tremble faintly from holding so much tension for so long. One arm tightened around the other’s back, firm and steady, anchoring him there.
“We should go inside,” he murmured, low enough that it wasn’t a command.
Hajime didn’t answer.
His fingers curled harder into his sleeves instead, knuckles pressing into sore flesh, forearms throbbing sharply where the scars still burned beneath the skin. His head remained bowed against Gisei’s chest, cheek damp, breath warm, body heavy in a way that spoke of enervation rather than resistance.
Gisei waited a beat.
Then another.
When Hajime didn’t pull away — didn’t stiffen, didn’t protest — Gisei slowly shifted his weight forward.
The movement was gradual, deliberate, like testing unstable ground.
One step.
Hajime swayed with him instinctively, clinging tighter, arms locking more firmly around his own body while his shoulder pressed harder into Gisei’s chest. A soft, startled breath left him, but he didn’t lift his head.
Gisei steadied him easily, grip secure, body solid.
Another step.
The doorframe passed behind them.
The rain faded slightly, replaced by the thick, stale air of the apartment and the faint hum of electricity in the walls. Water dripped from Gisei’s clothes onto the floor in slow, uneven rhythms.
Hajime’s breathing hitched again, not from emotion this time but from the shift in temperature, from the unfamiliar feeling of moving after being still for so long.
Gisei kept walking.
Slow. Careful.
Each step carried Hajime with him, their bodies moving as one unit, Hajime’s weight leaning fully into Gisei now, trust settling in not as comfort but as necessity. His fingers trembled where they clutched his sleeves, arms aching but unwilling to release.
They crossed the small entryway.
Past the scattered shoes.
Past the wall Hajime had stared at for days.
The apartment felt different with Gisei inside it — smaller and warmer and... familiar.
When Gisei paused briefly, adjusting his grip, Hajime’s head tipped faintly again against his chest, that same tired, almost unconscious nod repeating, as if confirming he was still there, still willing to be carried forward.
Gisei exhaled slowly.
Then continued.
The door clicked shut behind them.
The sound was quiet and conclusive; not of ending, but of shelter.
Hajime’s sobs had faded to quiet breaths now, body heavy and pliant against Gisei’s frame, anger dulled into something that could rest, even if it hadn’t forgiven.
Gisei walked them deeper into the apartment, steady and unhurried, holding Hajime upright when his legs no longer seemed interested in doing the job themselves.
And Hajime let him.