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"Touno-san, do you like this town?"
It's been a few days since he was asked this question. At the time, he thought about it, briefly reflected on his past, and answered with an "I don't know." Yes, certainly, it was the truth, but having his honest answer be something so uncertain has been bothering him lately.
Does he like this town?
Even now, it's still hard to definitively say "yes" or "no". On one hand, he can appreciate the community and what it's done for him, but on the other, it still hurts to be here, and every day, he's reminded of what it did to him.
...Well, no, that's not really fair, is it? To say that Vivid Street did something to him. Rather, it's Souma who was afflicted.
(But that's why it hurts so bad, isn't it?)
If it were so simple, he would just answer the question with a yes, and then ever so magically, Taiga would just come right along and tell him everything else he needs to know, so that he can finally surpass RAD WEEKEND all on his own. But things are never simple, and as oddly specific as "liking Vivid Street" is, it isn't actually what he was advised, is it? He's supposed to look at the town, not necessarily like it. Although, liking it is probably part of the point, huh.
Arata heaves a sigh and reclines back in his seat. It's rather annoying to get stuck like this, unable to proceed, and to have to wait for an answer— assuming one will ever come.
(...No,) he thinks. (There's no point in being pessimistic, is there.)
He glances over at the clock. 11:31 PM. Long past when he should've retired for the night.
"Well. I suppose there's no point in overthinking it now."
There's no one in the room to hear him speak, of course. Not in his bedroom. But it makes things a little easier, airing some of these thoughts out— what with how many are trapped inside his head right about now.
"I'll just... keep at it like usual tomorrow. Sooner or later, I'm bound to figure something out."
A dry laugh passes through his lips.
"Especially now that I've gotten everyone's help, right?"
…
(...Right?)
"—I mean, it's just a given, right?"
"...Hm?"
Arata hadn't noticed himself drifting off into his own thoughts, but it seems that must've been the case. He didn't even realize he was being spoken to until just now.
"Sorry, what was that?" he asks, making a bit of an apologetic face as he turns to face his poor neglected conversation partner. The look that he's met with in return is a frown of moderate grumpiness, though he knows quite well that it's not serious. That's just something his partner's face tends to do.
"What– were you seriously not listening?" Souma pouts in a way that makes his cheeks puff out a little. It's a terribly endearing expression, Arata thinks, but he also figures he's probably not supposed to think that when he's clearly in trouble here.
"Ah... Sorry, sorry~. I just got distracted by something. Here, go on. Say it again." He sits up straighter in his seat, even going so far as to lean one arm across the back of the wooden park bench the two are seated on. "I promise I'm listening this time." Despite his words having genuine intent, there’s a bit of a catlike smile that spreads across his face, making it hard to take him seriously. Souma rolls his eyes.
"Geez, you..." In contrast to his partner, he slumps down in his seat, arms crossed as he feigns further offense. Of course, acts like these never last long, and he shifts to a slightly less aggravated expression as he leans his head back to stare up at the afternoon sky. "I was saying , those guys from before were super frustrating! It's like they don’t get it at all, but I dunno how you wouldn't , right?"
Arata's brows draw upwards in a bemused fashion. "Right..." he responds, with an airy and lighthearted tone of voice. "And, remind me what 'it' is, in this instance?"
Souma abruptly jumps back up into an upright position, slapping his palms on the bench and leaning forwards as he gives his partner another pout. "Sheesh, you really weren't listening at all, were you? I'm talking about determination! Resolve! Betting everything you've got on your dream, you know?"
Souma really does tend to get a little heated when it comes to things like this. He's a fiery person, though not necessarily in the sense of having a temper or anything. He just feels so strongly about so many things, it's hard for him not to get overly excited or invested in something he really loves or truly believes in. Ultimately, that's why Arata ended up giving in, ended up doing all of this street music stuff in the first place. His passion is undeniable, and he's a particularly difficult person to say no to. So, yes, naturally, occurrences like this are pretty commonplace. They’ll have some encounter on the streets that doesn't seem to affect Souma so much in the moment, only for him to end up going on and on about it later, until he thinks he's said absolutely everything he wants to on the subject, whether that's through ranting or gushing. It's another series of traits Arata finds endearing about his partner, though saying that out loud would probably be equivalent to stepping on a bed of hot nails.
A couple of birds, sparrows maybe, flitter about overhead, getting their last bit of play in before the sun sets over the horizon. Souma grumbles something under his breath before continuing.
"I just..." He trails off for a moment, finally relaxing into something more neutral as his gaze lazily wanders somewhere else. "...I just think if you’re really passionate about something, you'd be willing to bet your whole life on it."
Betting your whole life on it, huh. A silence fills the air between the two for a moment, but rather than finding it to be uncomfortable or tense, Arata thinks it's actually rather pleasant. What his partner says is true. There's no point in doing something of this scale half-heartedly, especially not when you're going around proclaiming to everyone that you're going to pursue that goal, no matter what. Still, even so, his partner's passion really is admirable. He truly wants to surpass a legendary event like RAD WEEKEND, and he truly believes that the two of them have what it takes in order to accomplish such a monumental task— so long as they have each other.
A moment or two passes, and Souma finally turns to face the other once again, a large and familiar grin plastered across his face.
"I mean, you think the same way, don't you? Arata?"
Arata's own expression softens into something a bit thoughtful, perhaps the slightest bit amused, and maybe even a bit fond. Of course he does. It's practically impossible to think any other way when you're partners with someone like Souma.
But... strangely, when he opens his mouth to speak, he finds that no words come out. Huh? Why? He knows the answer, he knows it well, and he knows he wants to say it. So then, why...?
...ah.
It's raining now. As opposed to the previous yellow-orange glow of the sunset bathing the park, the lighting currently surrounding him is a cold fluorescent hue. The chittering of birds is replaced with a slow mechanical beeping. The bench he was sitting on is now a small and slightly uncomfortable chair, one seated next to a hospital bed.
Arata breathes in a shuddering breath past the clammy hands folded in front of his face, with his elbows resting on his knees.
(Why?) is all he can think. (We... we were only just starting to find our footing. We'd finally gotten some momentum, we've been getting better and better every day, and somehow, we'd even managed to start garnering support— fans, even! So then... why?)
His eyes, whose vision has been blurred for some several minutes now, finally drift up from the side rails of the bed, and land on the unconscious figure before him. The other's chest rises and falls in a slow yet steady rhythm, his breaths fogging up the ventilator attached to his face.
Souma's alive... Despite what happened to him, he's alive... albeit only barely.
Seeing him so injured like this... it hurts . It hurts like something Arata never could've imagined. Just the other day, they'd been talking and singing and going out to eat after practice, just as usual. But now...
...well, now they're here, in the hospital. And while one of them sits idly in a mostly metal swivel chair, contemplating what to do next, the other lies silently in bed, with a variety of medical equipment hooked up to his body just to keep him breathing.
How are they meant to pursue anything like this...?
Arata attempts to breathe in again, but finds himself sniveling instead. He hangs his head, jaw clenched, hands balling up into fists in his lap.
And then, it's midday again, on a clear and sunny weekday. The streets are busy as usual, with people minding their business while on their commutes to school or work or whatever else, and cars passing by on the roads like nothing's ever happened.
Cars... that feel exceptionally loud today.
The crossing light has switched to green probably four or five times now. But for some reason, Arata still finds himself stuck in one spot, a couple meters away from the crosswalk, eyes glued to the pavement. There's a lump in his throat, and his heart is pounding in his ears.
He can't go this way. He can't . He'll have to take the longer route, one far away from this road.
The only path he knows is through Vivid Street, and people are sure to notice he's alone, but... he'd rather bear the sting of the questioning gazes than cross a street that left someone dear to him unable to move half of his body.
Arata finally manages to tear himself away from the intersection and walks in the opposite direction. When he finally comes to a stop, he finds he's back in the hospital hallway, just having exited Souma's room.
Souma's room... that's right. He wasn't awake at the time, so he couldn't properly say goodbye, but... he's decided to leave. Leave this city, this country, to someplace across the sea, where he can learn more and improve in ways he'd never be able to here. After all, that's what Taiga and Nagi did, right? They left, flew all the way to America in order to further their own goals. And he's alone in pursuing their dream now, so he's got to do absolutely everything he can to try and get closer to it.
(And, well. Maybe this city's scenery hurts a little too much to look at much, these days.)
The door clicks as it closes behind him, and without a conscious thought, Arata leans up against it and slides down to the floor, as if his body acted all on its own. A sigh sneaks its way out of his system, and there's a faint thud as his head drops back and comes into contact with the door. Several long seconds (or maybe it's minutes? Hours?) pass by, and before he knows it, his vision is blurring once again.
(...I'm sorry, Souma.)
The sting of tears prickle at his eyes, so he squeezes them shut.
(I... I wish…)
Wish what? That things had been different? That it was him in that position, and not Souma? That they'd spent a little longer messing around before going home? Maybe gone home sooner? Or even that they'd never seen that event in the first place?
Something grabs onto Arata's lungs and squeezes tight, like a vice.
(...God, I... I'm sorry.)
When his eyes next open, the room is dark and oppressively cold. Or... maybe it's too hot? Come to think of it, it's actually not that dark, once his eyes start to adjust to his surroundings. There's a bit of dim light filtering in from the window.
...From the window?
(...Oh.)
It's his window, the one in his room, in his house. He's in his own bed, underneath the covers, with his head starting to slip off the pillow. Which means he'd finally managed to fall asleep last night, and slept for what seems to have been quite some time, before ultimately having a bad dream.
It was... just a dream. A nightmare, maybe. (Just a series of memories, really.)
So then, even despite knowing that it was just a dream, and knowing that it's all in the past now... why is the room getting blurrier again? Why does his body feel like it weighs a million pounds? Why do his heavy eyes feel moist, with newly formed tears threatening to fall down his cheeks?
Fuck.
Arata sniffles hard and forces himself to sit up, wiping at his eyes with the butt of his palm. God... What time is it, even? His gaze drifts to the clock on his bedside, vision bleary, the digital numbers difficult to make out. 4:47 AM, it reads.
Fuck, man.
His hands fall into his lap, with a defeated and utterly drained look on his tired face. It's already getting light out— sitting up like this, he can get a better glimpse of the sun peeking through his blinds. No point in going back to sleep now, is there? Not that he'd be able to, anyways. Not after...
(The image of that hospital room rushes back into his mind.)
...His stomach churns just thinking about it all. It's almost enough to make him feel ill. With a deep and unsteady sigh, he wipes at his face again, this time with both palms (that he now notices are shaking). God, it stings. Not his face, exactly, but just... remembering what happened. It hurts. It really does.
...So, he can't even begin to imagine how Souma's felt in all this time. Stuck in a hospital bed without even getting a proper goodbye, left to deal with his recovery on his own, all while his partner was off in some other country, running away from the pain...
(Is it maybe his fault, somehow? Did he cause all of this, in some way? Does it even matter who started it, if he was the one who was too scared to face the struggle and left it all behind?)
For a moment or two, Arata remains completely still, with his hands lingering atop his face. A deafening silence fills the already quiet room.
And then, after those two, three, five long moments, he decides that... well, maybe it's okay to feel a little, while he's all alone in his bedroom, awake at the asscrack of dawn. It's not like anyone will know. No one except him, anyway. So... maybe it's okay to cry. Just for a little while. And then it's back to the usual. Probably. No, that's too far ahead for him to think much about right now.
Right now, he really just wants to cry.
And so, if you were to ask Arata that same question as before, if he liked this town— if he liked Vivid Street — then, well... here, in this exact moment, the answer would easily and most undoubtedly be "no."