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It was hot.
The lights were blinding.
Ritsuka panted heavily, his fingers numb from tearing through syh’s fast-paced debut song.
Hiiragi was shouting something to the cheering crowd. Shizusumi wiped his forehead with a towel, rolling his shoulders, drumsticks already back in his hands.
Another… song?
Ritsuka tried to breathe.
Oh. Right. I’m still on stage.
Everything blurred at the edges. Sound warped, folding in on itself. It hurt—like being pulled into a hollow vacuum.
Then he saw him.
Red hair.
His eyes—
…crying?
Why—
Ah. Right.
Umi e.
I ruined it.
He’s still here. Watching.
I can’t mess this up while he’s watching.
A weak laugh slipped out of him, half relief, half disbelief, as his vision tipped. He closed his eyes just as the floor rushed up to meet him.
The rhythm of the stage.
The roar of the crowd.
The lights—
I did my best.
Ritsuka smiled, faint and apologetic, as he hit the ground—Hiiragi shouting his name, Shizusumi already moving.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Yuki wrote this for Mafuyu.
And I couldn’t even—
…stay standing.
Sound stopped.
He was sure he was screaming.
He just couldn’t hear it.
Mafuyu shoved through the crowd, hands slipping, heart slamming so hard it hurt.
“UENOYAMA-KUN!”
Hiiragi was holding him.
Uenoyama.
Limp.
No.
No, no, no—
He never fainted. He never scared him like this.
“Mafuyu!” Kaji grabbed him from behind. Haruki was there too, arms tight around his shoulders.
“Let go!” Mafuyu thrashed, striking blindly, trying to climb the stage as voices cried out for help.
“We can’t go up there!” Haruki shouted. “It’s dangerous—!”
Mafuyu screamed anyway.
Not this again.
Please. Not again.
The last thing he saw was Uenoyama being lifted onto a stretcher, lights flashing too bright, too fast.
The waiting room was too bright.
Mafuyu sat stiffly in the plastic chair, his knees drawn together, hands folded in his lap.
He hadn’t realized he’d been gripping his sleeves until Haruki gently pried his fingers loose, murmuring something soft he couldn’t quite hear.
Across from him, Kaji leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a cigarette tucked behind his ear out of habit before he’d remembered he couldn’t smoke here. He hadn’t said much since they arrived. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed somewhere past the vending machines, like he was keeping himself together by force alone.
Yayoi stood near the window.
She hadn’t sat down. She paced a few steps, stopped, rubbed her arms, then paced again. Her phone was clenched in her hand, the screen dark. Mafuyu could tell she’d already called everyone she could think of.
She stopped suddenly and turned.
“How long does fainting usually last?” she asked, her voice sharp with fear.
No one answered right away.
Haruki swallowed. “They said exhaustion. Heat. Dehydration.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t stick. “Uenoyama pushes himself too hard.”
Mafuyu nodded. He could only nod. It was easier than speaking.
Because if he opened his mouth, the sound that came out might not stop.
His gaze dropped to the floor tiles. White. Too clean. His reflection wavered faintly in them, distorted.
Not this again.
The thought surfaced without permission, cold and sharp.
He pressed his lips together.
He could still see it — Uenoyama’s body collapsing, the way his knees buckled first, like his body had decided before he did. The sound of the crowd had vanished in that moment, replaced by a ringing that wouldn’t leave his ears.
Umi e.
Ritsuka’s voice wasn’t really there. Mafuyu knew that.
But it felt close enough to hurt.
Haruki shifted beside him. “Mafuyu… hey.” His voice was gentle, careful, like approaching an injured animal. “You wanna drink some water?”
Mafuyu shook his head.
His throat felt too tight.
Yayoi finally sat down, dropping into the chair opposite him. She dragged a hand through her hair, eyes red. “He always does this,” she muttered. “Acts like he’s fine. Like he’s not tired. Stupid. I always told him not to skip his meals. He never listened…”
Mafuyu looked up at her.
She noticed. Her blue eyes—the same as her little brother's—softened immediately. “Hey. This isn’t your fault,” she said, firmly. “Don’t even think it.”
Mafuyu blinked.
“I—” His voice cracked.
He stopped, swallowed. Tried again.
“I wasn’t.”
It was true.
And yet.
He folded his hands tighter in his lap, fingers pressing into his palms until they ached. The ache grounded him, just a little.
I… love him, like this, don’t I?
Loved him in the waiting. In the fear. In the helplessness of not being able to reach him when he needed to most.
Not loudly. Not perfectly.
But deeply.
The door at the end of the hall stayed closed.
Mafuyu stared at it anyway.
Please, he thought, quietly, not to anyone in particular.
Please wake up.
The ceiling was beige.
That was the first thing Ritsuka noticed.
The second was the steady beeping to his left.
“… Oh.”
His throat felt dry. His head throbbed faintly, like the echo of something loud that had already passed. He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it.
“Easy.”
A voice. Calm. Female.
A doctor stepped into view, clipboard tucked under her arm. She glanced at the monitor, then at him.
“You fainted,” she said, simply. “Do you remember anything before that?”
Ritsuka swallowed.
“The lights were hot.”
“That tracks,” she nodded. “You were severely dehydrated. Exhausted. Your body shut down before you did.”
He winced. “Oh.” He hesitated, then added, “Sorry.”
The doctor paused, eyebrow lifting slightly.
“…Sorry?”
“For—” He stopped himself.
For collapsing. For ruining the performance. For worrying everyone. “For… causing trouble.”
She studied him for a moment, expression unreadable.
“You didn’t cause trouble,” she said. “You ignored your limits. That’s different.”
Ritsuka looked away.
“You’ve been running on fumes for a while,” she continued, flipping a page on her clipboard. “Anyone in your condition would’ve gone down eventually. You just happened to be on a stage when it happened.”
Eventually.
The word lodged itself somewhere unpleasant.
“You scared someone,” the doctor added, gently, as if it were an afterthought. “They’ve been waiting outside since you came in.”
Ritsuka’s fingers curled into the sheet.
“… They?”
The doctor nodded toward the door. “I’ll give you a moment.”
She left.
The beeping seemed louder after that.
Ritsuka stared at the ceiling again.
I scared him.
The door opened softly.
Ritsuka didn’t notice at first.
He was still staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady beep beside him, replaying the doctor’s words in his head. Eventually. Like this had always been waiting for him. Like his body had simply gotten tired of keeping up.
Then—
A shift in the air.
Ritsuka turned his head.
Mafuyu stood just inside the doorway.
He hadn’t rushed in. He hadn’t spoken. His hands were folded loosely in front of him, shoulders drawn in slightly, like he wasn’t sure how much space he was allowed to take up.
Their eyes met.
Ritsuka froze.
“Oh—” He tried to sit up again, then stopped, wincing. “Hey. I’m fine. It was just—”
Mafuyu shook his head.
“You collapsed,” he said.
The word landed heavier than Ritsuka expected.
Mafuyu stepped closer, slow, careful. He stopped beside the bed, close enough that Ritsuka could see the faint redness around his eyes, like he’d rubbed them too much.
“I called your name,” Mafuyu continued, voice steady but quiet. “You didn’t answer.”
Ritsuka swallowed.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I just… didn’t realize how tired I was.”
Mafuyu looked at him for a long moment.
Then he reached out and took Ritsuka’s hand.
His fingers were warm. They fit too easily.
“You were shaking,” Mafuyu said. “When they lifted you.”
Ritsuka squeezed his eyes shut.
“I’m… sorry,” he whispered.
This time, Mafuyu didn’t shake his head.
He tightened his grip instead.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said. “But… next time, tell me.”
Ritsuka opened his eyes again.
“…Tell you what?”
“When it’s too much.”
Mafuyu looked down at their joined hands.
“I can wait,” he said. “But I can’t… not know.”
The beeping machine filled the space between them.
Ritsuka let out a shaky breath. All the emotions, feelings, and insecurities he had been running away from seemed to resurface.
It was unpleasant.
He opened his mouth—
“You finished the song. Yuki’s song.” Mafuyu interrupted suddenly.
A sharp exhale—his stomach twisted.
Yuki.
That was the first time he heard Mafuyu say his name. In front of him.
“Why?” Mafuyu asked quietly.
Mafuyu looked up at him.
Ritsuka stared.
“… What do you mean, why?” he said, a little too quickly.
“You didn’t have to,” Mafuyu said. “You could’ve stopped.”
The beeping filled the silence between them.
Ritsuka laughed once. Not amused. More like disbelief.
“Stopped?” he repeated. “You think I could’ve just—what? Walked off?”
Mafuyu flinched.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Ritsuka cut in, softer now. He ran a hand through his hair, then dropped it to his side. “I know you didn’t.”
He exhaled slowly.
“I finished it because… it was already there,” he said. “Because he already wrote it. Because it mattered.”
Mafuyu’s fingers tightened around his sleeve.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Ritsuka added quickly, like he needed to say it before he lost his nerve. “About him. About anything.”
Mafuyu’s eyes widened slightly.
“I chose to play it,” Ritsuka continued. His voice wasn’t loud. It was steadier than he felt. “Not because I had to. Not because you asked me to.”
He swallowed.
“But because… loving someone like that—” He stopped. Tried again. “Because caring that much… isn’t something you run away from.”
Mafuyu stared at him, eyes wide.
Ritsuka looked at him then. Really looked.
“I don’t feel replaced,” he said, quietly. “I just… didn’t know where I stood.”
The words hung there, fragile.
Mafuyu shook his head slowly.
“That song,” he said. “Umi e… it wasn’t him asking me to be sad.”
Ritsuka froze.
“He wasn’t asking me to stay,” Mafuyu continued. “Or to give up my life. Or to follow him.”
His voice trembled, just slightly.
“He just wanted to be heard.”
Mafuyu’s gaze dropped to their joined hands.
“And he is,” he said. “When you play it.”
Ritsuka felt something give in his chest.
Mafuyu looked up again.
“I didn’t lose you,” he said. “I found him there. And… I stayed.”
Silence.
Ritsuka was stunned.
“…You’re … really unfair,” he muttered.
Mafuyu tilted his head.
Ritsuka squeezed his hand.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted. “But I know I don’t want to leave.”
Mafuyu’s grip tightened.
“Then don’t,” he said. “I… want to sing. With you. For the rest of my life.”
Ritsuka blinked.
… Huh?
Did he… hear that right?
Mafuyu grabbed his hands and brought them to his cheek. He closed his eyes and placed his head on the bed.
“Forever,” he repeated softly. “With you. Like this.”
Ritsuka felt his neck warm incredibly fast. Too fast. The beeping of the machine was going faster—
“D… don’t … say stuff like that!” He squeaked, covering his face with his hand and peeking through his fingers at his suddenly-romantic boyfriend. “You make it sound like a proposal!”
Mafuyu hummed, smiling.
It took Ritsuka’s breath away.
That smile.
Right.
Ever since they first met…
No matter how vague he was… how annoying he was at never replying …
No matter how often he left mid-argument and didn’t bother talking to him until the next day…
No matter how much he tried to get his way by pretending to act all cute…
No matter how hard it was for him to express his thoughts…
Ritsuka loved him.
All of him.
Every version.
“Hey. Why… do you like me?” Ritsuka asked suddenly.
The question seemed to surprise Mafuyu. It surprised Ritsuka, too. He’d never asked directly. He was—always had been—afraid of what he’d hear from Mafuyu’s lips.
Mafuyu was quiet for a moment.
Not the distant kind of quiet. The kind where he was actually thinking.
He shifted slightly, still holding Ritsuka’s hands, thumbs brushing over the backs of them as if to make sure he was really there. Then he looked up.
“I don’t know how to say it in a way that sounds… impressive,” he said.
Ritsuka stiffened a little, bracing himself.
Mafuyu tilted his head, eyes soft.
“But you always listen,” he continued. “Even when I don’t finish my sentences. Even when I stop talking.”
Ritsuka swallowed.
“You get angry,” Mafuyu said, like it was an observation, not a complaint. “You get frustrated. You say stupid things sometimes.”
“Hey—“
“But you stay,” Mafuyu went on, squeezing his hands gently. “You don’t disappear. You don’t look away.”
He lowered his gaze, voice quieter now.
“When I sing… you don’t try to fix it. You don’t tell me what it’s supposed to mean. You just… play with me.”
Ritsuka felt his chest tighten.
“I was lonely,” Mafuyu admitted. A rare tone of honesty in his voice. “Even when I wasn’t alone.”
He looked back up.
“You made music feel… alive again,” he said. “Not heavy. Not scary.”
Mafuyu hesitated, then added, almost shyly,
“And when you look at me… it’s like you’re seeing who I am now. Not who I used to be.”
Ritsuka was sure he stopped breathing.
“So,” Mafuyu finished, squeezing his hands once—grounding, certain. “I like you because you’re honest. And loud. And kind in ways you don’t notice.”
He smiled—small, but real.
“And because when I’m with you,” he said, “I want to keep living.”
The room went very still.
Mafuyu blinked, then frowned slightly, as if realizing how big that sounded.
“… Is that strange?”
Ritsuka stared at him, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “It’s… terrifying.”
Mafuyu hummed, leaning in closer to him.
“Then,” he said softly, “I’m glad it’s you.”
Ritsuka closed his eyes.
… Yeah. He was glad, too.
That loving Mafuyu felt like this.