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The prison is silent. It always is nowadays.
The light in Kazui’s cell buzzes faintly, enough to keep him teetering on the edge of consciousness. He’s not even sure what time it is, if it’s morning or night. It feels like he’s slept the past four days away yet the fatigue rests undisturbed in his bones.
Everything feels heavy and slow, his face itchy with stubble, hair slick with grease. The rough material of his uniform scratches at his skin. The leather restraints are tight in all of the wrong places, metal buckles digging jagged shapes into his body.
Kazui breathes deep, in and out. Rolls over in a tangle of thin white sheets. Feels the nagging urge to sleep scratching at the back of his brain.
He thinks about the other inmates, what they might do now that he’s failed to keep everyone in check. A desolate part of himself hopes one of them might try to kill him, grant him the lowest of mercies. Not that he deserves it.
When he blinks his eyes open again, he’s upright. The space around him is colorless, motionless.
“My, you look like a mess.” Shidou says, perfectly poised from where he stands in front of him.
They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Kazui can’t tell if he wants to move closer or run away. At least those feelings hadn’t changed.
“You’re not real.” Kazui speaks clearly, defeatedly. His voice sounds odd to his own ears, distant and apathetic. He hasn’t spoken much recently.
He averts his eyes, clenches a fist at his side, keeps Shidou's silhouette in the corner of his vision.
Shidou gives a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders, the soft look in his eyes all the same. He seems more relaxed. Kazui can’t tell if it’s how he would’ve been without the weight of the prison on his shoulders, or if it’s just how he would’ve wanted Shidou to act.
“Maybe so… But would it change anything if I was?”
He swallows, looks down. The space between them grows smaller as Shidou takes slow steps towards him.
“Everything. It would change everything.”
One foot after another. He stops when there’s barely any space left between them, practically chest to chest.
“Even if…” The words get caught in his throat, an ugly stutter in its place. Kazui swallows, he can’t bring himself look at Shidou even when they’re only inches apart. Get a grip, he thinks, you’ll never get the chance to say it again. He feels himself shudder, tongue heavy in his mouth, “Even if you never felt the same.”
“Who said I didn’t?”
Shidou says it so lightly, as if the truth of that matter doesn’t fall heavy on Kazui’s back with the weight of a thousand anxieties. He squeezes his eyes shut.
“You’re just saying that. What’s there to like about a guy like me?” He breathes shakily, hangs his head, shoulders slouched. He crosses his arms even though his fingers itch to reach forward and touch Shidou. One last time. “I’m dead weight without you.”
It’s silent for a moment longer than Kazui expects, and when he finally peels his eyes open, Shidou is gone.
There’s a split second of panic, white and hot as it shoots down his spine. He can barely register the empty space in front of him when a pair of arms wrap around his waist. Lithe fingers tuck against his sides. He can feel the weight of Shidou's forehead between his shoulder blades.
“You’re not dead weight. You helped protect everyone, did you not?”
“I couldn’t protect you.”
“You’re the only one who blames yourself for that.”
Kazui wheezes a laugh, feels his chest constrict. He can’t tell if he’s in pain or not. He places a hand on Shidou's arms, can’t tell if he wants to hold them there or push them away. Can’t tell if the touch burns or comforts. “You should, though.”
Shidou hums, places his chin on Kazui’s shoulder. “Maybe so. I think you’ve done enough of that for both of us, though.”
Fine silver hair falls into his peripheral, and it takes monumental effort to not turn his head. To not look at his pale skin and long lashes. Shidou was always naturally elegant in a way Kazui couldn’t put into words.
Shidou leans slightly, so his head is resting lightly against Kazui’s cheek, comfortable. He can’t help but feel stiff as a board. His shoulders are hunched to the point of causing pain. Tension runs up and down his back and it makes his breaths come out stilted and unnatural. He feels like he’s falling apart at the seams and Shidou is the only thing holding him together. Maybe he is.
A thumb rubs gentle circles into his side. Somehow, even through the layers of clothing, Shidou feels cold. Kazui supposes he always did. It’s grounding against the constant warmth of his own skin. He tries not to focus on the parallels too much.
“When you wake up, you should trim your hair.” Shidou speaks suddenly, but his words are so off-topic it shocks a laugh out of Kazui. “I’m serious..” He adds, chuckling. Kazui feels some of that tension finally ease.
“I know.” He says, softer than he means to. The affection bubbles at the top of his gut. Kazui struggles to decide if it makes him feel queasy or not.
“And shave. You’re in a prison, not an apocalypse.” Shidou's hold slackens a bit, Kazui turns in his arms.
He breathes deep, exhales. “I will.”
Shidou hums, a pleased sound. He rests his palm against the scruff of Kazui’s jaw. The gesture is so tender it almost leaves him feeling rotten. Shidou’s bangs still fall over his eyes the way they did when he died. He’s untouched by time in a way that Kazui has not been. Something in him aches at the thought.
It’s quiet for a moment. Shidou's eyes are clear and bright in a way they had never looked in the stark lighting of the cells. Kazui curls his arms around his shoulders.
Selfishly, in some self-destructive manner, Kazui leans forward. Just enough to rest their foreheads together. The gentle pressure grounds him a little more.
He can tell Shidou is breathing, his shoulders rising and falling in tandem, but he can’t feel the ghost of the breath against his face. It makes his skin prickle. He toys with the longer hairs on the back of Shidou's neck.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers, feels his throat close up. Shidou bumps their noses together. Kazui feels his lip begin to tremble, like he’s a kid all over again.
“There’s no need to be.” He runs deft fingers across Kazui’s back. “Not over this.”
A gasping, fragile breath. “I miss you.”
Shidou smiles. “I do too.”
Kazui can't tell if he’s lying to himself or not. If Shidou's words ring true or not.
And when he wakes to the painful fluorescent lights of his cell, desperately grasping the empty sheets beside him, he tries to pretend that he feels more put together than he did when he fell asleep. That the ache in his back, the nausea in his gut and the emptiness in his chest are all because he’s old and stiff and tired and not because he’s missing something that’s no longer there.