Chapter Text
The house was quiet when Yuuji returned home, uncomfortably so. None of the usual sounds of life were present—the soft hum of the refrigerator, the murmur of the tv playing one of Junpei’s favorite old films, the faint shuffle of socked feet across hardwood floors. It wasn’t the normal quiet that meant Junpei had gotten lost in editing with his headphones on, or fallen asleep waiting for him. This felt hollow.
Yuuji paused just inside the doorway, one hand still on the knob, brow furrowing as the silence pressed in on him. The air smelled faintly of cleaner—sharp, lemony, and sterile.
“Junpei?” he called lightly, forcing a teasing lilt into his voice. “I’m home!”
No answer.
Usually Junpei would respond immediately. A soft “Welcome back,” drifting from the couch. Or a distracted “Give me five minutes,” from upstairs. Or sometimes he’d appear around the corner, hair all messy, offering that small shy smile that still made Yuuji’s chest feel too tight even after seven years.
Today, nothing.
Yuuji slipped off his shoes and stepped further inside, heartbeat beginning to drum faintly in his ears. Junpei’s camera sat on the couch. The strap was neatly coiled beside it, lens cap secured. The coffee table was wiped clean. No open notebooks. No half-finished cup of tea. No editing laptop humming softly. Even the throw blanket was folded.
“…Junpei?” Yuuji tried again, voice losing some of its brightness.
He crossed the living room slowly, fingertips brushing the back of the couch as if grounding himself. The house felt wrong under his skin. He headed for the stairs. Each step creaked under his weight—old wood protesting, the sound too loud in the silence.
“Junpei?” His voice echoed faintly upward as he reached the second floor. He checked their bedroom first, pushing the door open carefully. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in soft moonlight that cast long pale shadows across the floor. But no Junpei.
Yuuji’s pulse ticked faster.
He checked the bathroom—empty.
“Junpei?” The name cracked a little now.
He hurried back into the hallway and took the stairs two at a time up to the third floor, the boards groaning louder beneath him. He checked the movie room first. The projector was off. The blackout curtains were half-drawn. But there was no Junpei curled up in the beanbag chair with that distant look in his eyes.
“Babe?” His voice sounded thinner now, stretched tight with unease. He crossed to the spare bedroom. The door swung open with a soft click.
Empty.
“If this is part of your next film project,” Yuuji called, attempting a shaky laugh, “you can get the jumpscare over with!” Silence answered him.
A cold prickle crept up his spine. Junpei wasn’t the type to pull pranks, and he certainly wouldn’t drag one out like this. He also wasn’t the type to leave the house without telling him, especially not today. Yuuji rushed back down to the second floor, checking every door in a blur—guest bathroom, study, linen closet. Nothing.
“Seriously, you’re really freaking me out…” he shouted, breath starting to come uneven.
He pulled out his phone with trembling fingers and dialed Junpei’s number. Yuuji stood perfectly still in the hallway, straining to hear the familiar ringtone echoing somewhere in the house.
Nothing.
The call rang and rang before clicking to voicemail. “Hey, it’s Junpei. I probably have my hands full right now. Leave a message?”
“Junpei, where are you?” Yuuji muttered. He rushed downstairs again, nearly stumbling in his haste. He headed straight for the back door and flung it open. Cool air hit his face.
The garden stretched wide and empty behind the house. Carefully trimmed hedges. The koi pond shimmering faintly in the late light. The small bench beneath the Sakura trees where Junpei liked to sit and write.
Empty.
“Junpei!” Yuuji called, voice breaking. Nothing answered him but the wind. The Sakura branches swayed gently, petals drifting lazily to the ground like pink snow. The pond water rippled softly. The world continued on, indifferent. “Junpei, are you out here?” he shouted again, stepping off the patio.
He looked toward the side gate. Locked.
Yuuji’s fingers felt clumsy as he pulled his phone back out. For a second, he just stared at the screen. His reflection looked pale. He scrolled to another contact and hit call. It rang three times before they answered.
“Itadori,” Megumi’s voice came through calm and even. The faint background ambience of restless shelter animals filtered through the line. “You know I have a night shift tonight. You really shouldn’t be distracting me.” There was no real irritation in his tone.
“Sorry, Fushiguro,” Yuuji said quickly, breath hitching slightly. “This is important, I promise. You were with Junpei earlier, right? Did he say anything about going somewhere?”
There was a brief pause on the other end.
“It’s just that he’s not at the house,” Yuuji rushed on. “And I’m getting kinda worried. This isn’t like him.”
“Yeah,” Megumi replied smoothly. “I was there. But that was hours ago.”
“And he didn’t say anything?” Yuuji pressed, pacing now. “About going out?”
“No.” Another small pause. “But…” Megumi added thoughtfully.
Yuuji stopped pacing. “But what?”
“I will say he felt a bit… off from normal.”
The words sank into Yuuji’s chest like a stone. “Off?” he echoed.
“Yeah.” Megumi’s tone shifted to concerned reflection. “Like he was… I don’t know, thinking really hard about something.”
Yuuji swallowed.
“He just seemed distracted,” Megumi continued. “Quieter than usual. I asked if everything was okay and he said he was fine… but it didn’t feel convincing.”
Yuuji’s heart started racing again. Junpei had been fine that morning. Hadn’t he? They’d eaten breakfast together. Junpei had laughed when Yuuji spilled orange juice on the counter. He’d kissed Yuuji goodbye before he left for work. It was all so… normal.
“…Oh,” Yuuji said quietly. A thousand thoughts spiraled at once. “Thanks, Fushiguro,” he added. “I’ll text you when I find him.”
“Of course,” Megumi said gently. “Call me if you need help.”
The line clicked dead.
Yuuji lowered the phone slowly, staring at nothing. “Thinking really hard about something?” he murmured to himself. What did that even mean? Yuuji headed back inside.
The house still felt wrong.
Did something happen? Had Yuuji missed a sign? A shift in Junpei’s mood? Junpei did have depressive episodes sometimes, but he always told Yuuji when that happened. Always. They’d promised each other no more suffering in silence. But if things had gotten too bad, could the worst have—
Yuuji’s breath hitched violently. “No.” He shook his head hard, as if he could physically fling the thought away. “No. Don’t be stupid.”
Junpei wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Not without talking to him. Not without leaving something more than silence.
Right?
Were there any rooms he hadn’t checked? Any blind spots he was overlooking? He hadn’t properly searched the first floor or the kitchen, though he doubted Junpei could have been in one of those rooms and not heard Yuuji calling out to him.
Unless he was unconscious. Unless he was–
The thought slammed into him so hard it made him dizzy. Yuuji bolted toward the hallway, flinging open doors again with renewed urgency.
First floor bathroom—empty.
The storage room—empty.
The first floor bedroom—empty.
The coat closet— Nothing.
“Junpei!” His voice cracked. He moved toward the kitchen, dread pooling in his stomach. Something sat on the stove. The burner was off, but when he hovered his hand above the pot, he could still feel warmth radiating faintly upward.
It hadn’t fully gone cold. But it wasn’t piping hot either. It had to have been turned off fairly recently.
His eyes scanned the counter. A cutting board sat beside the sink, knife neatly washed and placed to dry. Vegetables had been chopped—some still sitting in a bowl nearby. Two plates were set on the table.
Dinner had been in progress.
“I should try and call him again…” Yuuji muttered to himself, voice thin and unsteady as he moved toward the dining table. His legs felt weak. Every step was slightly off-balance, like the floor beneath him had shifted a few inches to the left without warning. His thoughts were racing too fast to grab onto, he needed to sit down.
He gripped the back of one of the dining chairs and pulled it out, intending to lower himself into it before his knees gave out completely. That’s when he saw it. A small, rectangular piece of paper resting at the center of the table.
A note.
Yuuji stumbled forward so quickly the chair legs screeched against the floor. He nearly tripped over himself reaching for it. ‘Please be okay,’ he thought as he grabbed the paper with trembling fingers. ‘Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be—’
His thoughts shattered.
The words blurred for a second before snapping into cruel clarity.
“Yuuji, things are bad between us. They have been for a while and I just never had the courage to say it. But I can’t take it anymore.
I’m done.
I’m leaving now so I don’t have to see you beg me to stay. I won’t be coming back, and I don’t want you looking for me. I don’t want to see you ever again.
It’s over.”
The world seemed to tilt.
“What…” Yuuji whispered aloud. The word scraped out of his throat like something broken. His eyes dragged over the sentences again.
And again.
And again.
Reading it over and over didn’t change what was written, but he couldn’t stop. If he read it enough times, maybe the letters would rearrange themselves into something that made sense. Maybe he’d misunderstood. Maybe the phrasing would soften. Maybe there would be some hidden joke he’d missed.
His hands started shaking so badly the paper rustled loudly in the silent room. He lowered it slowly back onto the table, like it might explode if he moved too fast. That’s when he processed it, the single silver ring, right where the note had been.
Yuuji’s heart stopped.
“No… no, this isn’t…” His voice cracked violently. He reached for it with hesitant fingers, like it might burn him. “He wouldn’t just—”
Megumi’s words rushed to the front of his mind. “he felt a bit off from normal…like he was… thinking really hard about something.”
Yuuji’s stomach dropped. Was this what he’d been thinking about? Leaving? For how long?
“Junpei?” Yuuji’s voice rose suddenly, sharp and panicked. He shot up so quickly the chair toppled backward behind him with a loud crash. “Junpei?! Are you still here?” he shouted again, like the note might have been some kind of twisted test.
“Babe, please just talk to me!” His voice was frantic now, raw with desperation. “I—I don’t know what I did wrong, but we can work this out, right?!” He bolted for the stairs, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. Back to the bedroom. He threw the door open so hard it hit the wall.
His eyes scanned the room wildly, and this time he saw it. The subtle disarray. Drawers slightly ajar. The closet door not fully closed. Hangers spaced wider than before.
His pulse pounded in his ears. He crossed the room in three strides and yanked open the dresser drawers. Empty spaces. Junpei’s favorite sweaters were gone. Some of his jeans. A few shirts. The overnight bag they kept tucked in the back of the closet was missing. Someone had rummaged through.
Junpei had—
No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Yuuji stumbled back a step. Junpei wouldn’t leave like this. He wouldn’t leave so much behind.
The movie collection was still intact on the shelves upstairs. The limited-edition figurines Junpei adored were still displayed carefully in their glass case. And the camera, he’d left his camera. Junpei wouldn’t abandon that. And he wouldn’t abandon—
Yuuji’s throat tightened painfully. He wouldn’t abandon him. Right?
Yuuji fumbled for his phone again and dialed Junpei’s number for the second time.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Voicemail. Again. This time he didn’t hesitate.
“Junpei,” he started, and his voice immediately broke. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. “I… I read your note, but I don’t understand where this is coming from.” His breath hitched audibly. “Please just call me back. If… if you really want to leave, then… I—I won’t stop you, but I need to hear you explain. Please. Just tell me what I did wrong.”
Tears spilled down his face unchecked.
“I’ll fix it. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. I promise. Just—just don’t disappear like this.” His thumb hovered over the screen for a second before he ended the call. The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
Yuuji lowered his hand slowly, the phone slipping from his fingers onto the mattress as he turned and sat on the edge of the bed.
Tonight was supposed to be good. It was their four-year wedding anniversary. He’d hidden a gift in the trunk of his car—a brand-new filming camera Junpei had been eyeing for months. He’d planned dinner. They were supposed to be celebrating.
Seven years together, four of them married. And now—
“Things are bad between us. They have been for a while and I just never had the courage to say it”
Yuuji’s chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside. Had he missed it? Had Junpei really been unhappy this whole time? A broken sound escaped him before he could stop it. He collapsed fully onto the bed, curling slightly on his side, pressing his face into the pillow that still faintly smelled like Junpei’s shampoo.
The scent made it worse. Everything made it worse.
His shoulders began to shake as sobs overtook him. He clutched at the fabric of the comforter as if it could anchor him, as if holding on tightly enough might somehow rewind the day. But nothing changed.
The ring was still downstairs.
The note was still on the table.
Junpei was still gone.
The house was still too quiet.
And in that suffocating quiet, all Yuuji could do was cry.
~~~~
Megumi replayed the voicemail for the fifth time. Junpei’s recorded greeting came first, then Yuuji’s broken voice.
“I read your note but… I don’t understand where this is coming from…”
Megumi leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, the fluorescent light of the animal shelter casting long shadows across the floor. A slow, dark smile spread across his face.
Yuuji had called Junpei’s phone half an hour ago, and since then he’d sent twenty-three text messages. Each one more frantic than the last. Some long and desperate. Some short and pleading. Some nothing but, “Please answer. Please.”
Things had gone perfectly. Although for a moment earlier, Megumi had worried he might need to switch methods. The cleanup had taken longer than anticipated. That part had been his own fault.
He had planned for efficiency. Strangle him, stage the disappearance, leave the note, remove select belongings, done. But he had ended up getting carried away in the heat of the moment. How could he not? Junpei had been standing there, wearing that soft cardigan Yuuji loved, mocking him.
Megumi’s fingers tightened around the phone as his mind drifted back. He’d remember that moment for the rest of his life.
Junpei had invited him over that afternoon to help with his latest short film project, and Megumi agreed instantly.
He had planned everything down to the minute. The window of time between when Yuuji left work and when he was due home. The fact that the neighbors were distant and rarely paid attention. The fact that Junpei trusted him. He could do it. He could finally eliminate the seven-year-long thorn lodged in his side.
But after he arrived, as he watched Junpei bustling around preparing dinner—setting the table carefully for two, tasting sauce from the pot—his resolve had wavered.
Today was important to Yuuji. He’d been glowing all week, talking about the present he was going to give Junpei, smiling to himself like an idiot almost constantly. Megumi had felt something twist in his chest at the thought of leaving Yuuji heartbroken. ‘You can’t ruin this for him,’ he’d told himself. ‘Yuuji’s happiness is what matters. You’ll be happy as long as he’s happy.’
He watched Junpei step outside briefly to film the Sakura blossoms. Watched him hum absentmindedly while reviewing footage. Watched him live the life that should have been his.
Megumi had almost left with his hands clean. He’d packed his bag, he’d started to walk to the doorway, and then… something snapped.
He couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep lying to himself. He couldn’t keep pretending that watching Yuuji belong to someone else was enough. Every single day that passed with Yuuji smiling at Junpei, touching Junpei, loving Junpei, was driving him closer to the edge.
It had been seven years. Seven years of standing just slightly outside the circle of their life together. Seven years too many.
Megumi wasn’t sure when he’d taken the knife. He didn’t remember crossing the room. He didn’t remember deciding to end the night with bloodshed. He only remembered speaking.
“Junpei,” he said evenly. “About Yuuji. I… there’s something I need to tell you.”
Junpei looked up from the computer, pushing his hair behind his ear. “Huh?” he’d said lightly. “You guys aren’t having an affair, are you?”
Megumi blinked. “What?”
Junpei laughed once, short and humorless. “Well, you sound pretty serious, and it’s obvious how into him you are, that’s totally how it looks.” The words hung in the air. Junpei’s expression shifted slowly. “That’s… not actually what’s going on, is it?”
Megumi felt something cold settle into his bones. “No…” he answered slowly. “What do you mean by ‘it’s obvious how into him I am’?”
Junpei tilted his head, studying him. “Well, you… you have feelings for Yuuji, don’t you?” he asked, almost casually. Like it was an interesting observation. Like it wasn’t the most sacred, fragile, explosive truth in Megumi’s world. “I mean,” Junpei continued, leaning back in his chair, “you think I never noticed how much you stare at him?”
Megumi remembered the heat that rushed to his face. The way his grip tightened around the knife handle behind his back.
Junpei smiled faintly then. “It’s kind of hard not to notice,” Junpei added quietly. “You look at him like he’s the only person in the room.”
The pot bubbled softly on the stove. The sakura petals drifted outside the window. Megumi’s chest felt like it was splitting open.
“You’re not subtle,” Junpei continued, almost conversationally. “But you are Yuuji’s childhood friend, and you’ve never crossed a line, and I trust Yuuji, so it’s fine.”
Fine. Fine?! Megumi’s mind echoed the word like a gunshot, a violent mix of humiliation and rage tightening every muscle in his body. “…So you’ve known this whole time…” he muttered. His voice didn’t sound like his own.
Junpei blinked at him, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “Yeah, but it’s not like I—”
“You’ve known,” Megumi cut in sharply, stepping closer without realizing it. “And you still invited me over? Today of all days?”
Junpei frowned. “What are you talking about?”
The living room suddenly felt too small.
“So you’re just rubbing it in, is that it?” Megumi demanded, voice rising. “Bragging about the fact that you stole Yuuji from me?”
Junpei’s expression shifted from confusion to disbelief. “Stole him?” he repeated. “Fushiguro, what are you even saying?”
Megumi’s grip tightened around the knife hidden behind his back. His fingers were trembling now, though he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or adrenaline. “You think I don’t see it?” Megumi’s voice shook. “You parading your relationship in front of me. Inviting me here. Making me watch you play house with him.”
Junpei slowly began edging sideways along the couch, creating distance. “I didn’t invite you to ‘play house,’” Junpei said carefully. “You said you wanted to help with the filming.”
“You knew how I felt.”
“I knew you had feelings for him,” Junpei corrected gently. “But I didn’t think you were this unstable.”
The word hit like a slap. Megumi crossed the remaining distance in two strides and grabbed Junpei’s wrist before he could retreat further. “You… you have no idea how horrible you’ve made my life for the past seven years,” Megumi hissed.
Junpei winced as Megumi’s fingers dug into his skin. “H-hey, let go—”
“Watching you put your dirty hands all over my Yuuji,” Megumi spat, voice cracking with something dangerously close to despair. “Tainting him. Hoarding affection you never deserved.”
“Yuuji isn’t an object you can claim–”
“He’s mine,” Megumi shot back. With shaking hands, he brought the knife into view. The stainless steel catching the light.
The air changed instantly.
“…Fushiguro,” Junpei breathed, fear finally, fully present in his voice.
“I won’t let you have him any longer,” Megumi whispered, almost tenderly. “Yuuji is mine.”
Junpei wrenched his wrist free with a sudden burst of strength and stumbled backward. He turned to run. He didn’t get far.
Megumi lunged. The blade met flesh with a sickening, resistance-filled push. A direct slice across the abdomen.
Junpei gasped—a sharp, stunned sound—as blood bloomed instantly through his shirt. He staggered, clutching his stomach. Red dripped between his fingers. He looked down in disbelief. As if he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.
Megumi stood a few feet away, chest heaving, then he smiled. “Yuuji is mine,” he repeated softly.
Junpei snapped out of his shock and bolted down the hallway, leaving a staggered trail of blood across the hardwood. Megumi followed immediately. The metallic scent filled the air. Junpei’s breathing grew ragged as he slipped slightly on his own blood, crashing into the wall before trying to regain his footing. He made it halfway down the hall before Megumi tackled him from behind. They hit the floor hard.
“Fushiguro! Stop!” Junpei choked out, trying desperately to push him off. “Yon need to calm down!”
Megumi’s laughter spilled out of him then, completely manic. It echoed down the hallway in sharp bursts. “Don’t worry,” Megumi crooned, voice slurring. “I’ll take goooood care of Yuuji. I’ll love him better than you eeeever could.”
Junpei tried to shove him away, hands slipping on blood. “Please—”
The knife rose and came down straight into Junpei’s chest. The sound was wet. Megumi pulled it out, then drove it down again.
And again.
And again.
Each strike more forceful than the last. Fueled by years of resentment, by the nights spent staring at the ceiling imagining a different life, by every time Yuuji smiled at someone else. Blood splattered across the walls, across the floor, all over Megumi’s sleeves.
Junpei’s resistance weakened, then stopped. But Megumi didn’t, not immediately. He only came back to himself when his arm began to ache. When his breathing burned. When the sound of the knife hitting bone felt distant. He blinked.
The manic grin faded slowly. Beneath him, Junpei was no longer recognizable in any meaningful way. His upper torso was a mangled ruin of red and torn fabric. “Oh,” Megumi murmured, tilting his head slightly. His voice was calm again. “This might have been too much.”
He sat back on his heels, staring at the destruction. This hadn’t been the plan. How much time had passed? Megumi glanced at the clock on the wall. He did a quick calculation in his head. Yuuji would be home within the hour, he needed to move.
Megumi stood slowly, stepping carefully around the spreading pool of blood. His mind shifted gears with unsettling ease. He already had most of the things he needed in the car. He just had to clean up the mess then, proceed with the original plan.
His gaze flickered briefly back to the body, and his eyes landed on the silver ring on Junpei’s finger. Megumi quickly removed it and held it up to the light. He wanted to keep it for himself, he’d more than earned it at this point but… his plan would be more convincing if it never left the house.
Megumi exhaled. “Fine,” he said quietly to himself. “You can keep it a bit longer, but I still won.”
A sharp vibration cut through the quiet. Megumi blinked, pulled from the pleasant haze of memory. Another notification. He glanced down at Junpei’s phone in his hand. Yuuji again. The screen lit up with a preview.
Yuuji: Please, please talk to me! You can just text if you don’t want to call.
A second notification arrived seconds later.
Yuuji: I love you, you know that. I can’t possibly move on like this!
Megumi’s smile faded slightly at that. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that a single note and abandoned ring would undo seven years of love overnight. But some irrational part of him had imagined Yuuji’s heartbreak unfolding in a simpler way. This was more intense than anticipated. More stubborn.
Megumi frowned thoughtfully, thumb hovering over the screen.
Step one would be to position himself as the safe place. Yuuji had already called him earlier. That gave him a free opening. Megumi could return the call under the guise of concern. He would ask if everything was okay. He would let Yuuji talk, let him spiral, let him cry and then he would offer to come over.
He needed to be the first shoulder Yuuji leaned on. The first voice of comfort. The first presence filling the empty space Junpei had left behind. Of course he couldn’t rush it. If he pushed too hard, Yuuji might recoil. If he framed Junpei too negatively too quickly, Yuuji might defend him. The abandonment narrative needed to settle in first.
Megumi looked down at the phone again as another notification buzzed weakly.
Yuuji: Please answer me
Megumi’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. Should he respond? A short message could deepen the wound. Something that reinforced the idea that Junpei truly meant what he wrote. But… Junpei had a specific voice. If Megumi wrote something even slightly off, Yuuji would notice and he might start suspecting things. No, silence was better. Silence forced Yuuji to fill in the blanks himself. He would interpret the lack of response as finality.
Megumi turned the phone over in his hand, studying it. He really should get rid of it. It was incriminating evidence after all. Even if he’d staged everything carefully, leaving this intact too long was reckless. But… He unlocked it again, scrolling through the photo gallery. Megumi’s breath caught faintly.
Yuuji laughing on the couch.
Yuuji asleep with his mouth slightly open.
Yuuji standing under the Sakura trees, sunlight catching in his hair.
Junpei had captured so many sides of him, so many moments Megumi hadn’t been there for. He felt a brief flare of irritation. Those moments should have been his all along. Still, at least he could salvage them. Discarding the phone would have to wait until after he got those pictures transferred to his phone.
A faint beeping sound interrupted his thoughts. Megumi’s eyes flicked toward the hallway. The incinerator alarm. He stood smoothly and walked toward it, movements calm and unhurried. He turned off the alarm and opened the small viewing window. Inside, there was nothing left but gray ash and faint residual heat.
Junpei Yoshino was gone in every physical sense, and Megumi would make sure that the memory of him followed suit.
~~~~
His phone rang at exactly 2:03 AM. The sound cut through the suffocating silence like a blade. Yuuji had been lying on his side, fully clothed, staring at nothing. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t even really blinked. His eyes burned from crying, his head pounded, and his body felt like it weighed twice as much as it normally did. But the moment that first note of his ringtone sounded he shot upright. Hope exploded in his chest so violently it almost hurt.
He lunged for the nightstand, nearly knocking the lamp over in his haste. He didn’t check the caller ID. He didn’t need to. He didn’t want to risk the hope flickering out before he could answer. He swiped to accept the call, breath already shaking.
“Junpei?!” he gasped. “Babe, please! Just tell me what’s going on, I—I don’t understand!” His voice cracked immediately. He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, as if physical pressure could keep the connection from breaking. “I’ll listen, okay? Just—just talk to me.”
There was a pause. A short, heavy stretch of silence. Yuuji’s heart began to race.
“…Um. Sorry,” the voice said quietly. “This is Megumi.”
“Oh,” Yuuji breathed. The word came out hollow. He slowly sank back down to sit on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumping.
On the other end of the line, Megumi let concern bleed into his tone. “I’m guessing that means you haven’t found him yet?” he asked gently. “I got worried when you didn’t text me back, but I didn’t want to assume the worst. After all… you two might have just been busy with your anniversary celebrations.”
Anniversary. The word hit Yuuji like a punch to the chest. His throat closed up. “He—” The sound that came out was barely a word. He swallowed hard and tried again. “Junpei… he…” The tears started all over again. “He left me,” Yuuji choked out.
The words felt unreal even as he said them.
“I don’t understand why!” His breathing grew uneven, hitching between syllables. “He left this note saying things were bad between us but—but he didn’t say what! And now he won’t answer my calls or text back or—or anything!” His voice fractured completely. He pressed his free hand to his mouth to try and muffle the sobs, but they kept breaking through anyway.
“Oh…” Megumi said softly after a beat. “I’m sorry.”
The simplicity of it made Yuuji cry harder. “H-He didn’t say anything to you earlier? Like where he might go or…” Yuuji asked desperately, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm even though it didn’t help. “D-did you say anything to him that could’ve pushed him to—” He stopped himself abruptly. “N-no, sorry. I shouldn’t blame you. I just—I don’t know what’s happening.” His voice trembled violently. “I just can’t believe he would just… leave.”
“He did seem off,” Megumi said carefully. “I told you that earlier.”
Yuuji sniffed shakily.
“Maybe he’d been holding something in for a while,” Megumi suggested softly. “Sometimes people don’t know how to talk about things when they think the other person won’t accept it.”
Yuuji’s breath hitched again. “I would’ve listened to him,” he insisted weakly. “If something was wrong, I would’ve fixed it. I would’ve done anything.”
“I know,” Megumi replied quietly. There was a long pause before his spoke again, “I’m coming over,” he said suddenly.
Yuuji blinked. “W-what? No, you don’t have to—”
“I’m coming over,” Megumi repeated, firmer this time. “You sound like you could use some company.”
Yuuji hesitated. It was late, but the house was so quiet. So empty. Every creak of wood sounded like footsteps that never arrived. Every shadow looked like a memory. The bed felt enormous without Junpei beside him. “I don’t want to be alone,” Yuuji admitted in a small voice.
“I’ll be there soon,” Megumi said.
“Didn’t you just finish work?” Yuuji asked faintly, still caught in the haze of shock. “You’re probably tired right, shouldn’t you–”
“I’ll manage,” Megumi replied smoothly.
There was another silence.
“He left his ring,” Yuuji whispered suddenly, like confessing something shameful. “He left it on the table.”
“Did he?” Megumi murmured.
“Why would he do that?” Yuuji’s voice cracked again. “Why would he just… give up on us like that?” Yuuji let out a broken sob. “I don’t want to believe he doesn’t love me anymore, but— but I…”
“You don’t have to decide what to believe tonight,” Megumi said quietly. “Just… breathe. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
Yuuji nodded even though Megumi couldn’t see it. “Okay.”
The call ended and Yuuji lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen. His chest still hurt. His eyes still burned. Junpei was still gone. But at least he wouldn’t be alone in the silence anymore.