don't leave me high, don't leave me dry
So it took me a week, and it cost me an essay and a Code Blue update and certainly my potential for a speedy recovery from illness, but. After a week's hard labour, I present... the monster itself.
Eternal thanks to the amazing Faery-jess (sillyangelfaery) for reading through and catching silly little things like switches into second person. Also thanks to my cheerleaders - smokexscribbles, sparklyfanta, andreaphobia, and xturncoatxiii.
Title Blind eyes could blaze
Fandom: xxxHOLiC of course
Wordcount: 8,524
Summary: A year into the aftermath, neither of them has found the answer.
Rain is pouring down the windows in sheets, dripping from the roofs, slapping the pavement like Shizuka's feet as he jogs down the sidewalk from the bus stop to his apartment building. He forgot his umbrella again, which as ever he is bitterly regretting.
It’s not so bad, though, and he is aware that as soon as he gets home and dry he will be seeing this much more clearly. For now, though, as far as Shizuka is concerned there wasn't too much of the ordinary that could go worse. It isn't that he's unhappy with his lot in life. It's just that he is aware of the rain dripping from his hair and down his neck, soaking the clothing under his ineffective coat. Life would be so much easier if the bus stopped a little closer to his home.
As he passes the grocery he makes a mental note to check the contents of his refrigerator; the summer is all but over, which means that he’ll have to feed another mouth sometime soon. Granted, the owner of said other mouth will be doing the cooking, but even so, he’ll be demanding all sorts of ingredients that Shizuka simply doesn’t bother with most of the time (so much for Watanuki's claims of his expensive taste). He can afford it these days; the question is, as ever: does he have room for it?
Reason says no. Determination says yes. Compromise says he will check to make sure.
He's been going out of his way to do things for Watanuki for a long time by now - years, even. Sometimes Watanuki even thanks him for it, though these occasions remain few and far between. After Yuuko released him from his debt, he began a strange floating sort of life, meandering through the world and somehow making a decent living off of it. Shizuka isn't sure quite how he does it, but as he explains it has something to do with talking to the right people and having the right information.
Personally Shizuka thinks he'd do best as a fantasy author, with all he's gone through, but that might well stem from a desire to have him permanently around. Shizuka understands that he's trying to find balance to his life again, since giving up the part of himself that had defined his life for so long. And in the end it was duty and not his wish that had done it, which no doubt still hurt. It makes sense that he would need to find something else to give his life such vividness.
But that's hardly something Shizuka can help as things currently are, and today he is more concerned with the water trickling down his shirt and soaking his socks. The faded numbers that announce his apartment building are visible now, across the street, and he quickens his pace some, determined to get home and dry as soon as possible.
Few things could come between him and his destination at this point, but one of these few things surprises him into standing still: "Doumeki!" calls (snaps) a familiar voice.
Shizuka turns to see Watanuki sprinting up the street after him, suitcase swinging wildly from one hand, umbrella firmly clenched in the other. “Will you wait a moment!” he shouts again, somehow managing not to slip and fall on the slick concrete. There is little point of this further outburst, however; Shizuka is hardly going to go anywhere while this person of all people is approaching.
Finally catching up, Watanuki slows down and stops at Shizuka’s side, breathing heavily. “I just ran three blocks,” he informs his friend and sometime host. “Do you know how ridiculous it feels to be chewed at by something you can’t see?” Allowing no time for Shizuka to reply that yes, actually, he does, Watanuki continues, “And yet I’m dryer than you are. Do you ever remember an umbrella?”
“No,” says Shizuka, feeling that honesty is definitely the best policy when it comes to dealing with Watanuki, Well - most of the time, it is.
“I don’t know why I even bother,” mourns Watanuki. “You really are a lost cause. Let’s get inside, then. It’s only going to rain harder.”
Shizuka doesn’t ask how he knows this - one thing that remains after the fact is Watanuki’s knack for predicting the weather. Perhaps it’s a situation similar to Shizuka’s own leftovers, that this power has developed on its own and without the help of whatever it was that caused Watanuki’s original powers. Something to do with feathers, Yuuko once said.
He doesn’t want to test the theory today, though, and so he claims the suitcase from Watanuki’s grasp and hurries the rest of the way to the building and dryness.
--
They come in from the cold and the wet and Shizuka turns on the heater and a few lights, left off to save power. It's too late to go grocery shopping - he won't squander his time with Watanuki. So they sit in the rather minimalist living room on the only couch, a cheap, blue affair, and they try to get past the block of almost a year of separation.
Conversation is stilted between them, an awkward thing because they’ve so seldom bothered to indulge in it in the past. Back in school Watanuki had yelled and Shizuka had antagonised and there had been a lot of running and eating and (on Watanuki’s part) flailing, not to mention a bit too much blood and on occasion the significant moment or two. These days they’re supposed to be adults, and so they are trying their best. But after the better part of a year of limited contact, not to mention years of habit to break, setting a new precedent is proving to be a difficult task.
“Any luck?” Shizuka asks, pulling a sweater on over still-damp hair. They both know what he means; it’s the immediate question to come to mind, and Shizuka is not one to beat around the bush.
“The earring,” Watanuki replies, grimacing. “I didn’t get it for looks, you know. It doesn’t last, though - it wears off in about a week, which is why I came back a bit early.” His expression alters slightly, takes on a tinge of the old irritation, as if to make clear that this is the only reason he came back and that Shizuka is only an unfortunate side effect.
There is a pause, as Shizuka tries to think of something else to say, and Watanuki very clearly is repressing the urge to speak. They are being Civil, which is a difficult thing to be.
“How’s -” Watanuki begins, but then he stops. Shizuka knows exactly how the question would have finished, though.
“She spoke to her,” he says. “In the spring.”
As did he, of course. But Watanuki doesn’t need to know this; after all, he is severing emotional ties with the spirit world, and to know that Shizuka is still involved with it - or has been - is hardly going to inspire the best of sentiments between them. Shizuka has had the talent of knowing what not to say for all his life, and he takes comfort in knowing that it is still helpful when dealing with Watanuki.
Watanuki's eyes widen, but he says no more on the topic. Shizuka has a feeling that Yuuko's departure is a sore spot and will continue to be such. Perhaps he feels cheated; Shizuka certainly is of the opinion that he was. More likely, though, he misses the madwoman, crazy demands and unreasonable tasks aside.
"And what are you…" Watanuki begins after a moment, but he trails off as if he doesn't know how to finish. "With," he continues just as uncertainly, adding, "this?" as an afterthought. He waves his hands vaguely through the air as if this will communicate his intended question better than his limply flopping words.
It doesn't, but Shizuka does his best to interpret and respond. "I have a job," he says, "and I took a few classes at the community college."
Though a trace of frustration crosses Watanuki's face - not the sought-after response after all, then - he does not correct himself. "What classes?" he asks instead.
"A few courses on religions," Shizuka replies nonchalantly. It could have been anything; his parents had wanted him to take classes and so he'd signed up for a few topics that interested him. And sometime along the line the ownership of the temple would pass into his hands, so he might as well plan for that. The other classes had simply been interesting, ways to pass the time.
"Might've known," Watanuki sighs, shifting in his seat. He looks as if he'd like to add to this, but his mouth doesn't open; he slips into awkward silence. Shizuka can't think of a way to break it.
So they sit there, side by side, never meeting each other's eyes but with no reason to leave. Shizuka thinks back to how he had anticipated this day throughout the year. This reality had never been involved. He wonders then if that almost-year of separation is enough to cut through what remains between them after the ending of Watanuki's working for Yuuko. There'd been hitsuzen, or so Yuuko had claimed, to keep them together before. It stands to reason that without it, without communication beyond the odd letter or that one memorable phonecall, their tenuous friendship would fall apart.
--
Earlier that year - sometime in March - the phone rang at about three-thirty in the morning. Shizuka, who had not been sleeping well, woke up on the couch where he slept and padded over to the phone. He had to steady himself a moment, wake up from his thoughts - his worries - before he could pick it up.
"Doumeki residence," he said, sleepiness lending roughness to his tone that he normally didn't notice.
There was silence on the other end of the line for a while. "It's Watanuki," said the caller.
"Oh," replied Shizuka, even less eloquent than usual at this hour.
"Shit, it's probably really late over there. I forgot - I forgot about the time difference -” said Watanuki, and his fluster was audible. He was never particular together about these things, though, especially not where Shizuka was concerned. It was probably a case of taking him for granted. Not that Shizuka minded at all. "I just wanted to call and -”
He ceased speaking too abruptly to have trailed off, and there was another, shorter silence. "Is something wrong?" Shizuka asked carefully, after a few seconds of this.
"No, nothing's - well - nothing anymore," Watanuki stammered, sounding even more flustered than before. "I got into some trouble. Earlier. But, um, the doctor says I'll heal okay and I should be off crutches before too long and, um…" He pauses again, and Shizuka is severely alarmed by the time he finishes with, "I just thought I should let you know. That I'm all right."
The words 'without you' hung somewhere in the air, not having made it all the way through the line, caught up in a no-signal zone. But Shizuka heard them fairly clearly, and something seized up in his chest like a different sort of fear. "You're all right," he echoed, unsure of what else to say.
"Yes," Watanuki replied, sounding vaguely irritable, more like his old self. "I'm all right."
"All right," said Shizuka.
"All right," agreed Watanuki.
There was another silence.
"I woke you up, didn't I?" Watanuki said at length. "Sorry. I just - I just needed to - well. I said it already. Um, but, if I'm keeping you up…"
"I wasn't sleeping," Shizuka lied. It was almost true, though; he'd hardly been sleeping well. Or consistently.
"What?" Watanuki's tone changed, sharpened. "But - what the hell are you doing still awake? It's not like you have anything to stay up for. You haven't been making a habit of this, have you?"
"No," Shizuka lied again. He did not mention that while he didn't have anything to stay up for, he also had no reason to sleep. It wasn't as if his current life particularly fatigued him.
"You'd better not," Watanuki said, as if there was anything he could do about it from halfway around the world, and suddenly Shizuka felt a bitterness he hadn't expected to return. The last time he'd felt so had been the day he'd shot the woman who'd befriended Watanuki at the expense of Watanuki's life, and had come to terms with the possibility that he might have just lost his friend anyway.
Now he was on the wrong end of the phone line, and facing a similar possibility.
"If you want to," he said slowly, "you can call again." After a moment of consideration, he added, only slightly desperately, "At any time."
"Of course I can," Watanuki retorted, but it sounded forced, like he was trying to cover up for himself. "Well - good night."
"Night," Shizuka replied, and listened to the click on the other end, and then the low beeping that followed. For a few moments, that was all he heard. Numbly he cycled through several stages of worry, confusion, and that strange bitterness, as the room span around him.
"If you have to make a call, please hang up and dial again," snapped the recorded message from the phone, as aggressively as Watanuki ever was. Shizuka hung the phone up and lay down on the couch. He did not sleep at all the rest of the night.
--
Now, the phone is silent.
About fifteen minutes ago (Shizuka is watching the clock despite his best efforts) Watanuki opened the fridge and proclaimed that he was about to expire and so was the milk, look at this, was any of it less than a week old? Then he'd marched out and declared that he was going to the local grocery, and no, Shizuka couldn't come with him because otherwise they'd never get out.
Shizuka is leaning against the wall near the kitchen and trying his best not to count the seconds. On a normal day, he thinks, he would be studying or meditating, maybe walking to the local archery range (it was strange, that he discovered one so near), or testing the last 'gift' Yuuko had ever given him. On occasion he would select one of his grandfather's books and attempt to absorb the wisdom contained within. Today he can't focus on any of these things, on anything but Watanuki's return and his hope that it might mean something, anything.
But there are movements in the currents of otherworldly energy, more so than usual, and Shizuka has a feeling that what it really means is a test. That he is going to have to prove himself to the forces of whatever, that he can and will protect the one most important to him. And then that one will depart again on another leg of his quest and Shizuka will remain behind, paying off his largest debt yet and haunted in every meaning of the word.
He's not too bitter about it; he's had time to adjust. It just strikes him as supremely unfair to both of them that the wrong one now has the gift of sight, that the one who needs it most was now bereft, and that same gift is now what holds Shizuka down against his will. He understands better now Watanuki's constant complaints about never paying off his debt, for he hasn't yet received a sign that he can move on, and time is beginning to drag heavily.
When twenty-three minutes have passed, Watanuki returns with two brown paper bags and shoulders past Shizuka into the kitchen. "Help me put things away," he says, setting them down on the small table, opening the refrigerator. "It's your kitchen, after all, so in theory you should know where everything goes. Not that I have high hopes for that, since it's you and all. You probably put everything in the fruit drawer, don't you? Assuming you ever put anything there."
Shizuka, who always uses the refrigerator drawers for whatever doesn't fit up top, simply acquiesces.
--
That night, Shizuka sleeps on the couch for the first time since he bought the futon (normally rolled up in a corner of the living room since the other choices of room are the kitchen or bathroom). Though 'sleep' is perhaps not the best word to use; he lies awake, listening to Watanuki breathing. He tries not to brood, and in general succeeds, for breathing makes for a calming, near hypnotic sound, and in the light through the window he can study the sleeping Watanuki with a freedom he doesn't have during the day.
Or so he thinks.
"You're not sleeping, are you?" Watanuki asks softly.
Shizuka shifts so that he's sitting instead of lying down. "No," he replies.
"You don't sleep much, do you." It's not a question.
"No," Shizuka says again.
"I didn't think so."
Shizuka thinks of a phone call months ago, and words caught halfway, and that even now there's a static between them that eats up the things they have to say.
--
Watanuki follows him to work next day, proclaiming that he has nothing better to do and besides it's a modicum of safety beyond whatever faltering virtue is left in the earring. Whatever the reason, Shizuka doesn't particularly care so long as it means Watanuki is around. He wonders if this is how a drug addict feels, and if he'll go into withdrawal when they inevitably part ways again.
But it's a better drug than most, he reasons as he watches Watanuki watch the rain outside the bus window. Even if the high is a rare event.
Work itself is nothing special, and is highlighted by the occasions Shizuka doesn't have anything to do and is at leisure to join Watanuki in the storefront. Watanuki has a book in English, and he's not doing badly in his efforts to read it if the pages already turned are any indication. But he puts the book down when Shizuka sits next to him.
"This isn't the kind of place I'd have expected you to work in," he comments, eyes roaming around the store. "It's so… corporate."
"They hired me," Shizuka replies. He does not mention that he took the job because it was the most mindless (though benefits had also factored into the equation) and that he had needed the distraction more than he had needed the paychecks.
"But surely somewhere else - I mean, it's not like you - well, you're…" Watanuki trails off. It is rather obvious that he is looking for a way to convey his thoughts without accidentally complimenting Shizuka, which is actually a compliment in and of itself. "This wasn't the only place that accepted you, right?"
"It was the best," Shizuka replies, and then he is called back to work.
He's probably the best person for the job, which is not necessarily a good thing, since it involves taking customer complaints and often customer rage. But after years of taking Watanuki's rage and complaints, the words of unsatisfied strangers don't really affect him too much. The people he works for admire his impassive expression, and are not particularly inclined to know much more about him; this suits him well. He takes note of each complaint and then just as systematically forgets them, which suits his employers well. Every two weeks he gets a check in the mail.
At four-thirty the customer complaints desk closes, and he returns to where Watanuki is sitting, now only staring out the window where the rain is still falling. "You didn't have to wait here all day," Shizuka says.
Watanuki turns to look at him, vague surprise in his face. "It's not like I had anything better to do," he mutters, going a bit red. "And don't sneak up on me like that."
"You're safe in here." Shizuka has worked here long enough that most supernatural menaces don't bother approaching, perhaps recognising a threat or simply a lost cause. If Watanuki is jumpy because he's expecting an unseen attack, there is no need for him to be.
"I guessed that," Watanuki replies, still maintaining the dull red flush. "It was fairly obvious after I spent the day in one place without being attacked once." He says this with an air of long-suffering, so that Shizuka has to wonder if the reason for this is that daily attacks (at least) are the norm. In his letters, Watanuki always maintained that he was fine, things were going well.
Are you really? Shizuka had wondered every time he read the letters. Were you really? he thinks now.
"Well? Are we going to go, or are you just going to stand there?" demands Watanuki, standing up and waving his book in front of Shizuka's face. "I for one have had enough of this place."
Shizuka snaps back to the present, and turns to the door. "Let's go," he says abruptly.
"That's my line!" Watanuki snaps, catching up.
They walk out into the rain. Shizuka has, predictably, forgotten his umbrella again; by now he has a feeling that it's simply habit. He is amused that Watanuki, staunch defender of forgotten umbrellas, has failed to bring his own along. It looks as though they will both be soaked again when they return to the apartment, but there will be tea and towels and changes of clothes, so Shizuka is not particularly concerned.
The usual bus is not running, so they walk two blocks to the next stop where another route will coincide with theirs. Halfway down the second block, Shizuka halts in his tracks, for a billowing black cloud is slowly blundering its way across the street toward them. His bow is resting against the wall near the door to his apartment; it won't help them now.
"What's wrong?" asks Watanuki, voice tinged (as ever) with impatience. His breath is warm and damp on Shizuka's neck. "I nearly ran into you!"
"Don't move," Shizuka warns him in a low voice. "It can't see you unless you move."
"What can't?!" Watanki demands, but more quietly. "What's there?"
Shizuka does not reply, waits for the sidewalk to clear. He's observed these things for a long time now - the better part of a year - and in that time learned some things that Watanuki simply never had the time to see. The formless spirits, no matter how powerful, are not particularly intelligent. Their hunger drives them, but like animal predators they have limitations - such as their inability to discern unmoving objects from their surroundings. So long as the thing they are stalking does not move, they will most likely pass it by.
Eventually the amorphous black thing disappears through the building to the side of the road. "We can go," Shizuka says as he begins walking again. Once more, Watanuki runs to catch up.
"What was it?" he asks again. Shizuka turns and gives him a look, for Watanuki of all people should know the answer to that question, and besides there is the nature of his price to think of. Even though Yuuko is long gone, the system of prices still holds.
Watanuki may be an idiot, but he's not stupid; his eyes go wide, and it's clear he understands. "But how?" he whispers. "I can't…" Perhaps unbidden, his hand creeps up to touch the skin around his eye - the eye Shizuka gave him.
Shizuka exhales - not a sigh, exactly, but a certain resignation to fate - and turns his gaze ahead. It isn't as if this one small concession makes a difference in the big picture, but it hurts Watanuki, and there's nothing he can do about it. "I can," he says. They are nearing the bus stop now, both more soaked than not, and he doesn't want to see if Watanuki's reaction to his words is showing.
But Watanuki says nothing, so when they reach the bus stop Shizuka chances a glance toward him. Watanuki, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, looks miserable. It's a sight that's bad enough in any given situation, but to know that this is his fault… Shizuka wants to look away again. He wants to think of something to say that will undo what he just inadvertently brought about. But he has never been good with words, and so he simply watches helplessly the effects of what Yuuko might have called inevitable.
It doesn't make it all right.
"When?" Watanuki finally asks, and his voice is fairly normal-sounding. "When could you…"
"Since I gave you that eye," Shizuka replies truthfully. It had begun with him simply being able to see some things Watanuki saw, but gradually it built until Shizuka occasionally saw spirits on his own. The visit to Yuuko after things settled down - after Watanuki left - had just finished the job. Yuuko's theory had been that he had simply learned the knack through osmosis, since he and Watanuki had 'such a deep connection'.
But connections fade, Shizuka thinks, so where does that leave us now?
They don't speak as they wait in the rain, and they don't speak on the bus. At their stop, Shizuka only gestures to indicate that they should get off, and then they remain silent as they walk back to his apartment building. Once inside, Shizuka gives Watanuki a towel and lets him barricade himself in the bathroom, and then collapses against the wall and drips desperately all over the floor.
--
"I'm not angry at you," Watanuki says later that night, when they are both pretending to sleep in the darkened living room. He adds something else under his breath, something that might be "for once," which Shizuka doesn't catch. "It's not like it's your fault I -”
In another instance Shizuka might be amused. Apparently neither of them can state the fact outright, though for different reasons. He would apologise, though, if there were anything to apologise for. As is, there is little he can say, and nothing he can do.
"It's just not fair, is all," Watanuki continues. "And you don't have to say that life isn't fair, because I know that already. Yuuko-san -” he breaks off again. "I'm upset, but it's not your fault. Or it is, but there's nothing you can do about it, so -”
"Watanuki," Shizuka says, exhausted, "I know."
There is silence for a while, and Shizuka begins to wonder if he was too harsh. Then Watanuki speaks again. "I don't know what I'm going to do now," he admits. "I can't just go around looking for something I don't even know exists for the rest of my life! And then what?"
Shizuka wants to say that that's where he comes in, but maybe that should simply go without saying. After all, if Watanuki is comfortable showing up without announcing the time of his arrival, he has to know that he is welcome here.
"I just," continues Watanuki, and then he stops, audibly inhales, audibly exhales. "I don't know," he repeats.
"Neither do I," replies Shizuka, because honesty really is the best policy when it comes to Watanuki and he has no better answer to give.
--
The next day is Friday and Shizuka only works until lunchtime, so he does not bother waking Watanuki up before he departs. He does leave a brief note on the kitchen table, though, stating that he's gone to work and that the apartment is also as safe as a secular building is going to be. There may be Words later on, when he returns, but even Watanuki's belligerent rants are better than the silence of the day before.
He listens to three old ladies complaining about noise, customer service, and décor respectively, and then two businessmen with vaguely similar concerns. After a brief break he returns to face the particularly angry mother of a squalling child and doesn't really understand a word she says over the noise her son makes. Shizuka tells her that the company will look into the matter and watches her depart with substantial relief; the main problem with his job is that he can't cover his ears and still seem attentive.
At twelve-thirty he puts up the 'complaints desk closed' sign and picks up the umbrella that he only remembered because it had fallen over in front of the door sometime in the night. Outside it is still raining, though he is fairly certain he heard it stop while he was taking complaints. There is no evidence of this now; the sky is thick with clouds and the sidewalk and streets are as soaked and puddle-ridden as ever. It's only drizzling, though, so Shizuka doesn't bother opening the umbrella as he walks the two blocks to the new bus stop.
He is very much taken aback when, just as he nears it, Watanuki comes sprinting across the street and skids to a halt in front of him. He's gasping for breath, hair clinging to his forehead, dripping with rain or sweat or both, eyes wild. "Is it -” he attempts, then is interrupted by a coughing fit as he breathes too quickly.
Shizuka takes hold of his shoulders, steadying him. "Breathe," he says, even as he scans the streets for a hint of whatever had Watanuki running all the way here. There is nothing, though, only a few people across the street who are walking to various somewheres and haven't a glance to spare for the two across the street.
He thinks, we're still just boys, accidentally meddling with fate. The world is awash with things that humans cannot or do not understand, and events beyond his control pushed him into contact with all of them. And why him? Despite what Yuuko constantly said of hitsuzen, Shizuka has a feeling that the only reason he is here now is the fact that it was he who had the knowledge needed, that he was in the right (or perhaps wrong) place at the right time. Watanuki is one of a kind, but the things that single Shizuka out are all things accessible to others or learned along the way.
You could have had anyone, Shizuka thinks. But you got me.
"Is it still there?" Watanuki asks, and, "Is something wrong with my face?" Shizuka realises he's been staring at him, still holding onto his shoulders, and shakes his head no.
"There's nothing there," Shizuka says, and lets go. He doesn't ask if Watanuki is all right, although he wants to; Watanuki already seems unhappy having to ask for everything, having to admit to helplessness in a situation he once had a little power in. It is a terrible thing, to be helpless, and Shizuka has learned this over and over again.
The bus arrives with a great air of anticlimax, and though Watanuki does not meet his eyes once after they board, he doesn't stiffen every time their shoulders brush.
Maybe things will get better, Shizuka thinks. Or maybe they already are.
--
Once home and dry (for this daily soaking is well on its way to becoming a habit), Watanuki picks up his umbrella again and goes to the door. "We are not sitting around all afternoon and being awkward at each other," he declares. "I don't know what it is you do for fun, if you do anything at all, but we are leaving these two rooms."
Shizuka does not say, "As you wish," but he figures he doesn't need to. They both know he means it.
They wander for a while, Shizuka allowing Watanuki to lead the way, familiarise himself with the area. Then Watanuki points out that houses and corner groceries are all very well, but the point is that they enjoy themselves (adding something about how this is probably a foreign concept to Shizuka) and so shouldn't they go elsewhere?
Shizuka suggests they take the bus instead of walking, and they catch the necessary one just before it pulls away from the stop near where they stood. Traffic makes for a fairly slow ride, but they don't have far to go, and about fifteen minutes later they disembark. It doesn't take long for Watanuki to analyse the area and devise a plan of attack, but Shizuka's not paying attention.
He's watching the crowd across the street, where a head of very familiar hair is visible. Shizuka doesn't need its owner to turn around; he recognises Himawari when he sees her - especially now, with that pronounced aura of hers. What he can't figure out is why she's here, in this place, at this time. After six months of no word at all, for her to suddenly show up is bizarre, to say the least. There's only one explanation Shizuka can think of, and he doesn't like it.
But there's no need to bring it up with Watanuki, who seems insistent upon enjoying himself today. Shizuka allows Himawari to fade back into the crowd, with only a brief sense of regret.
After all, she chose her new life, just as Shizuka chose his.
Then Watanuki regains his attention with some well-pitched words ("Hey, I'm talking to you!" and "Pay attention, you moron!"). "Are we going?" he demands, having secured Shizuka's attention. "Or do you plan on standing there all afternoon?" He taps his foot impatiently, which is amusing enough that Shizuka momentarily contemplates stating plans to stand here. But he doesn't have that much leeway, and what he wants is a comfortable and happy Watanuki, not an angry one.
"Let's go," Shizuka says, counting on Watanuki to automatically take charge of direction.
The afternoon progresses as a series of meaningless conversations and wanderings that are all the more important for the fact that they are so casual; when Watanuki replies offhandedly and a second later neither knows what they're talking about anymore, Shizuka mentally pronounces it a success. This isn't about what they do, what they say. It's about the fact that they're doing and saying it at all. That they're spending time together, and being functional about it.
They aren't necessarily being Civil anymore, but some of the old comfort with each other is returning. That's more important, Shizuka thinks.
The rain, which has been fading all afternoon, stops completely around five thirty, and umbrellas are closed, trailing on the ground and scuffing on the wet concrete. "I can make dinner," Watanuki says uncertainly, "if we go back now."
Shizuka does not ask, "Can you?" but instead glances up into the yet-cloudy sky, showing blue and pink in some places, and then back at Watanuki. "Let's go," he says.
--
The bus ride back possesses a sort of serenity that they have been lacking these past few days; a sort of serenity that perhaps they never had, even before everything changed. They sit should to shoulder and Shizuka stares past Watanuki and out the window, almost smiling. Somehow things today have gone about as right as they went wrong yesterday. It may be a foolish hope, but he hopes nonetheless that this is a sign of what's to come.
He's gazing at the buildings they pass as they near their stop, buildings Shizuka recognises with the vagueness that comes of familiarity through osmosis. Really, he's not seeing them, but instead is still hoping, still thinking of progress made and lines crossed and how when Watanuki turned up just two days ago he never expected this. And then next to him Watanuki starts, as if in surprise, and blinks a few times as Shizuka glances at him.
"I thought this was my good one," he mutters, rubbing his right eye. The eye Shizuka gave him, a few years back; the eye that once got him out of a number of tight spots. Shizuka hasn't seen anything through it for a long time.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Oh - nothing, it's fine now," Watanuki replies. "There was just a moment when it wouldn't focus right. There were all these rings of light…"
Shizuka blinks and looks back outside. Since the day Yuuko gave him the full sight, Shizuka has seen strange halos around everything. At first they were irritating beyond belief, but after a while he learned to live with and eventually ignore them. Now that he thinks of them, they are all there, clear as day. Shizuka feels the beginnings of shock.
"There it is again!" Watanuki says, rubbing his eye again, more fiercely. Then he stops, and very carefully closes his right eye, and then both eyes. After a moment he snaps both open and turns to glare at Shizuka. "I can still see it with my eyes closed," he declares, aggressively.
Shizuka is about to say something, when the bus announces their stop, and then there is a break in the bewildering series of events as they exit and then stand around awkwardly on the sidewalk.
"I hope you know how disconcerting this is," Watanuki snaps. "My vision is bad enough even with contacts, and now I'm seeing different versions of everything in each eye and I'm sure I'm going to fall over if I try walking any more." He crosses his arms and loses balance in the vehemence of his gesture; Shizuka has to grab his shoulder to keep him from toppling over.
"You weren't walking then," Shizuka feels compelled to point out.
"I'm aware," retorts Watanuki. "That was, that was your fault too. Now close your eye and let go of me."
"Lie back and think of Japan?" Shizuka can't help but submit.
Watanuki snapped both eyes open and stared at him in confusion. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Never mind." Releasing Watanuki's shoulder, Shizuka closes his right eye, then his left for good measure, and thinks of nothing at all for a second or two before opening them again. "Any better?"
Arms still crossed, face still scowling, Watanuki nods curtly. "What just happened?" he demands.
"You saw what I saw," Shizuka replies.
"I know that! I'm not stupid. What I want to know is how I saw out of your eye! It was always the other way around before!" Watanuki takes a breath, returns wildly gesticulating arms back to his sides. "You haven't seen anything out of this eye, have you?"
"No," says Shizuka.
Overhead, the streetlight flickers on, and Shizuka notices how dark it has grown since they got off the bus. "Let's go back," he says, already walking, secure in the knowledge that Watanuki will follow. It's the easiest way of going somewhere immediately, for otherwise Watanuki is often inclined to protest, and this way he has to catch up first. It's just one of those ways of managing Watanuki, because if not managed Watanuki will often as not get himself into trouble.
And indeed, moments later Shizuka hears the soft plish-plash of feet hitting the wet sidewalk. "Wait up!" says Watanuki, He draws level with Shizuka, slowing to a walk, glaring impotently at the other who has not altered his pace at all. "Do you ever listen to me? I said to wait up!"
"Yes," replies Shizuka.
"But you didn't!" wails Watanuki,
"Yes, I listen to you," Shizuka clarifies.
There is a pause, and when Shizuka glances over at Watanuki, it is to find that he has gone bright red and is very definitely Not Looking at Shizuka. This persists for a few blocks, and Shizuka has a few near misses in which he is too focused on watching Watanuki to see obstacles ahead.
As they cross the street to Shizuka's block, Watanuki stops looking determinedly away and actually meets Shizuka's glance for a moment. "I thought of something," he says.
"Oh?"
"When you saw through my eye, it was when I saw weird stuff that affected me," he continues. "I mean, it got me worked up. First it was Raiju and fireworks in the rain, right?"
Shizuka considers; he has a feeling he knows where this is going, but he'd rather be sure. "What's your point?" he asks.
"All I saw were houses," Watanuki says. "With strange lights around them, true. But just houses! I didn't see anything strange! And you looked just as disinterested as ever until I told you about it." He glances sidelong at Shizuka, as if sizing him up or trying not to be noticed. "So either I've been wrong about you all along, and you're just scarily good at looking like you don't care about anything, or it doesn't work the same way this time."
Honesty is the best policy, Shizuka reminds himself. This doesn't stop him from feeling slight wonder at the fact that Watanuki as good as called him a normal human being, and slight regret that the second option is the one that explains the circumstances best. It doesn't work the same way it used to, he thinks. The evidence is that Watanuki is the one seeing through Shizuka's eyes in the first place.
"I wasn't particularly worked up," he admits.
"That's good," Watanuki replies. "I don't think I could have realigned my reality that much." His expression borders irate, but his words are not nearly biting enough, and after a few moments Shizuka recognises with a start that Watanuki just made a joke - and at his own expense, no less.
"Don't bother," Shizuka advises him, in the spirit of things. "It'll only change again."
Watanuki shoots him a Glance, significant enough to warrant a title of its own. "I'm doomed," he complains, looking ahead again. "Not only am I unable to see what's coming, as soon as I've got it figured out it's going to change on me. Why must you make things so complicated?" Again, the light tone indicates that Watanuki's words are not to be taken seriously.
Shizuka wonders what he did right today, what he has missed up until now. Or maybe this is just the cumulative effects of years of fighting for acceptance, that suddenly Watanuki has as good as accepted him. Maybe it would have happened sooner, had things not fallen apart last year. Maybe the past two days sorted out what issues needed immediate sorting, and now they are back to where they would have been. Or maybe Watanuki finally realised that Shizuka's life goal is not to ruin his.
Whatever it is, Shizuka's grateful for it. Looking back at Watanuki and smiling, ever so slightly, he replies, "Someone has to."
--
That night, much to his surprise, Shizuka finds himself drifting off to sleep at an alarmingly quick pace. There's a weight that has been lifted from his mind, and the insomnia he has suffered for the past year has (at least for tonight) disappeared.
He thinks of the day gone by, remembering little things like seeing their reflections in a colourful puddle of oil and water, hearing Watanuki laughing at an admittedly ridiculous advertisement for some brand of clothing, and the smell of pastry from a shop that Watanuki stalked past as if he felt threatened. Then he thinks of other outings when there were three, and remembers that one glimpse of Himawari he caught today.
Shizuka is fairly certain that he knows where she has gone - and if this is the case, she had to know they would be there today. Perhaps allowing Shizuka to see her was a goodbye of a sort, for he will probably have no need of the place she has gone anymore.
"You know," Watanuki murmurs, only just visible on the floor, in the dark, "I could have sworn I saw Himawari-chan today."
There are many things Shizuka could say to that, but they are not his to say, and he has a feeling that Himawari probably has a good reason to keep her choices to herself. "It's possible," he says instead.
"She hasn't been around much, has she?" Watanuki continues. "I mean, you never really mentioned her, and you two were friends. Insofar as you're friends with anyone." The 'but me' goes unsaid, but Shizuka knows it's there and smiles into the dark.
"No," he replies. "She hasn't been around much."
"I hope she's happy, wherever she is now," Watanuki says, and his voice is warm and kind. "She deserves that much, at least." He shifts, perhaps turning to face another way, perhaps sitting up some.
Shizuka feels himself slipping, falling asleep, but he fights to keep his eyes open just a little longer. "I think that's the most anyone can hope for," he says softly.
There is silence for some time, and Shizuka has finally given in to his eyelids' demands to shut themselves when Watanuki speaks again. "What about you?" he asks, near inaudibly. "Are you happy here?" He sounds genuinely curious, and Shizuka regrets that he cannot consider the question to his fullest capabilities. But sleep is beyond inevitable; it's also now.
--
Saturday morning Shizuka did not intend to spend asleep, but when he wakes up the sun is high, filtering through the open window and into his eyes. Blinking, he sits up and looks around in understandable bemusement; the futon is rolled up in the corner, and the whole room is noticeably tidier than it normally should have been. There is only one reason for this, Shizuka thinks wisely, and he is probably in the kitchen.
Indeed, Watanuki is sitting at the table, reading one of Shizuka's grandfather's books that had been salvaged from the temple storeroom. He looks up when Shizuka walks in, and unexpectedly, for only a split second, he smiles. It's gone in an instant, but the point is that it was there, and Shizuka is understandably flabbergasted.
"I've made breakfast," Watanuki says. "I figured that since you haven't been sleeping I'd let you make up for it, even though really I should be making you learn from your mistakes. But I, the Great and Forgiving Watanuki-sama, have decided that the lesson can wait."
"Wait?" Shizuka asks, raising both eyebrows.
"Until next week," Watanuki clarifies. Then he seems to lose his confidence and adds, in a much less self-important tone, "That is, unless you'd rather I stay somewhere else. In - in which case, you'll have to live with your own shortcomings."
Shizuka smiles faintly - a record, he thinks vaguely, to smile this much in twenty-four hours. "You can stay here," he says, because it is preferable to insisting or imploring. "I like your cooking better."
"Like that one!" exclaims Watanuki, though he goes a little red as well. "Ingratitude! After all the trouble I go through -”
While Watanuki complained, Shizuka has taken the opportunity to help himself to breakfast; Watanuki breaks off from what may have become a sizeable speech to stare in outrage as Shizuka begins eating.
"Do you never change?" Watanuki explodes.
"No realigning necessary," Shizuka offers.
There is a slightly longer pause than usual as Watanuki considers this and Shizuka eats. Much as he enjoys derailing Watanuki's various trains of thought, on some occasions it's best to let things sink in. If only for the range of faces Watanuki makes as he mulls things over - which, as ever, are quite interesting to watch.
"I'm not sure which is worse," Watanuki says at length, "the fact that you actually made a good point, or the fact that you used my own words to say it with."
"A sign of an idiot is that he disagrees with himself," Shizuka replies, because he can.
"You are terrible," Watanuki tells him, and then adds, "And I'm not the idiot here."
Perhaps not the only one, Shizuka thinks, but this he keeps to himself as he finishes his breakfast and stands up. He washes his bowl and his chopsticks, thoughts returning to the curious incident of shared sight yesterday, and as he rinses the bowl something occurs to him.
"When I first started seeing those things, it was through this eye," he says, pointing to his right eye with a soapy finger.
Watanuki looks up, startled, then guarded. "I know that," he replies. "You let me know it enough then."
"Maybe," Shizuka adds, "it's the same for you."
"I," Watanuki begins, and then seems to think the better of it, mouth remaining open as he ponders. "You mean you think I'll - learn to see spirits again?" His eyes are wide and hopeful, so terribly hopeful that Shizuka wonders if perhaps he should have kept silent in case he turns out to be wrong. "Without Yuuko's help?"
Or Himawari's, Shizuka adds silently. "It's possible," he says, observing that this is becoming his stock reply when Watanuki's questions concern Himawari.
Watanuki does not say anything more, but the expression on his face is enough to spell out the turmoil, the sudden surge of hope unsuccessfully checked by reason. That clinches it, Shizuka thinks. Watanuki cannot be allowed the disappointment of failure now.
--
Shizuka retreats to the other room to inspect his grandfather's books, selecting first the book that had once contained the method to reclaim an eye stolen by a spider. That part is gone now, devoured by some monstrosity that Yuuko called a bookworm, but the rest of the book remains intact. Shizuka flips through it page by page, seeking something, anything, about learning to see the unseen.
Three pages from the end there is a short section titled simply "sight". It reads simply that if shown glimpses of the "second world", anyone can grow to see it on their own, which is heartening, though Shizuka would have preferred a more immediate solution. But he can understand the need for time spent searching, for hard work before rewards - after all, that is how he lives his life. Especially when it comes to Watanuki.
Which leads him to a happier thought: that for now Watanuki will have no reason to leave and every reason to stay. For now, the only distance between them will be what they create themselves, and maybe - just maybe - by the time Watanuki can see on his own again, things will have changed again between them and he will choose to stay of his own volition.
Shizuka smiles again. That makes five, he thinks.
Watanuki looks up again when Shizuka returns to the kitchen. "You asked me something last night," Shizuka reminds him. "What was it?"
"Oh," Watanuki says, looking away for a moment. "It was a stupid question to ask. Forget about it."
"Tell me," says Shizuka.
"You're terrible," Watanuki informs him. "It was - it was silly, okay? I asked you if you were happy here. We were talking about Himawari, and I just - I just wondered. Like I said. Forget about it."
But Shizuka does not forget about it; he turns the question over in his mind, even as he forms a plan for the day in an instant, even as he offers a hand to pull Watanuki to his feet (which is accepted, as it never would have been before). "We're going to a park near here," he says in response to Watanuki's unspoken question. "There are a lot of spirits there."
"And yes," he adds as they walk out the door, "I am."
Eternal thanks to the amazing Faery-jess (sillyangelfaery) for reading through and catching silly little things like switches into second person. Also thanks to my cheerleaders - smokexscribbles, sparklyfanta, andreaphobia, and xturncoatxiii.
Title Blind eyes could blaze
Fandom: xxxHOLiC of course
Wordcount: 8,524
Summary: A year into the aftermath, neither of them has found the answer.
Rain is pouring down the windows in sheets, dripping from the roofs, slapping the pavement like Shizuka's feet as he jogs down the sidewalk from the bus stop to his apartment building. He forgot his umbrella again, which as ever he is bitterly regretting.
It’s not so bad, though, and he is aware that as soon as he gets home and dry he will be seeing this much more clearly. For now, though, as far as Shizuka is concerned there wasn't too much of the ordinary that could go worse. It isn't that he's unhappy with his lot in life. It's just that he is aware of the rain dripping from his hair and down his neck, soaking the clothing under his ineffective coat. Life would be so much easier if the bus stopped a little closer to his home.
As he passes the grocery he makes a mental note to check the contents of his refrigerator; the summer is all but over, which means that he’ll have to feed another mouth sometime soon. Granted, the owner of said other mouth will be doing the cooking, but even so, he’ll be demanding all sorts of ingredients that Shizuka simply doesn’t bother with most of the time (so much for Watanuki's claims of his expensive taste). He can afford it these days; the question is, as ever: does he have room for it?
Reason says no. Determination says yes. Compromise says he will check to make sure.
He's been going out of his way to do things for Watanuki for a long time by now - years, even. Sometimes Watanuki even thanks him for it, though these occasions remain few and far between. After Yuuko released him from his debt, he began a strange floating sort of life, meandering through the world and somehow making a decent living off of it. Shizuka isn't sure quite how he does it, but as he explains it has something to do with talking to the right people and having the right information.
Personally Shizuka thinks he'd do best as a fantasy author, with all he's gone through, but that might well stem from a desire to have him permanently around. Shizuka understands that he's trying to find balance to his life again, since giving up the part of himself that had defined his life for so long. And in the end it was duty and not his wish that had done it, which no doubt still hurt. It makes sense that he would need to find something else to give his life such vividness.
But that's hardly something Shizuka can help as things currently are, and today he is more concerned with the water trickling down his shirt and soaking his socks. The faded numbers that announce his apartment building are visible now, across the street, and he quickens his pace some, determined to get home and dry as soon as possible.
Few things could come between him and his destination at this point, but one of these few things surprises him into standing still: "Doumeki!" calls (snaps) a familiar voice.
Shizuka turns to see Watanuki sprinting up the street after him, suitcase swinging wildly from one hand, umbrella firmly clenched in the other. “Will you wait a moment!” he shouts again, somehow managing not to slip and fall on the slick concrete. There is little point of this further outburst, however; Shizuka is hardly going to go anywhere while this person of all people is approaching.
Finally catching up, Watanuki slows down and stops at Shizuka’s side, breathing heavily. “I just ran three blocks,” he informs his friend and sometime host. “Do you know how ridiculous it feels to be chewed at by something you can’t see?” Allowing no time for Shizuka to reply that yes, actually, he does, Watanuki continues, “And yet I’m dryer than you are. Do you ever remember an umbrella?”
“No,” says Shizuka, feeling that honesty is definitely the best policy when it comes to dealing with Watanuki, Well - most of the time, it is.
“I don’t know why I even bother,” mourns Watanuki. “You really are a lost cause. Let’s get inside, then. It’s only going to rain harder.”
Shizuka doesn’t ask how he knows this - one thing that remains after the fact is Watanuki’s knack for predicting the weather. Perhaps it’s a situation similar to Shizuka’s own leftovers, that this power has developed on its own and without the help of whatever it was that caused Watanuki’s original powers. Something to do with feathers, Yuuko once said.
He doesn’t want to test the theory today, though, and so he claims the suitcase from Watanuki’s grasp and hurries the rest of the way to the building and dryness.
--
They come in from the cold and the wet and Shizuka turns on the heater and a few lights, left off to save power. It's too late to go grocery shopping - he won't squander his time with Watanuki. So they sit in the rather minimalist living room on the only couch, a cheap, blue affair, and they try to get past the block of almost a year of separation.
Conversation is stilted between them, an awkward thing because they’ve so seldom bothered to indulge in it in the past. Back in school Watanuki had yelled and Shizuka had antagonised and there had been a lot of running and eating and (on Watanuki’s part) flailing, not to mention a bit too much blood and on occasion the significant moment or two. These days they’re supposed to be adults, and so they are trying their best. But after the better part of a year of limited contact, not to mention years of habit to break, setting a new precedent is proving to be a difficult task.
“Any luck?” Shizuka asks, pulling a sweater on over still-damp hair. They both know what he means; it’s the immediate question to come to mind, and Shizuka is not one to beat around the bush.
“The earring,” Watanuki replies, grimacing. “I didn’t get it for looks, you know. It doesn’t last, though - it wears off in about a week, which is why I came back a bit early.” His expression alters slightly, takes on a tinge of the old irritation, as if to make clear that this is the only reason he came back and that Shizuka is only an unfortunate side effect.
There is a pause, as Shizuka tries to think of something else to say, and Watanuki very clearly is repressing the urge to speak. They are being Civil, which is a difficult thing to be.
“How’s -” Watanuki begins, but then he stops. Shizuka knows exactly how the question would have finished, though.
“She spoke to her,” he says. “In the spring.”
As did he, of course. But Watanuki doesn’t need to know this; after all, he is severing emotional ties with the spirit world, and to know that Shizuka is still involved with it - or has been - is hardly going to inspire the best of sentiments between them. Shizuka has had the talent of knowing what not to say for all his life, and he takes comfort in knowing that it is still helpful when dealing with Watanuki.
Watanuki's eyes widen, but he says no more on the topic. Shizuka has a feeling that Yuuko's departure is a sore spot and will continue to be such. Perhaps he feels cheated; Shizuka certainly is of the opinion that he was. More likely, though, he misses the madwoman, crazy demands and unreasonable tasks aside.
"And what are you…" Watanuki begins after a moment, but he trails off as if he doesn't know how to finish. "With," he continues just as uncertainly, adding, "this?" as an afterthought. He waves his hands vaguely through the air as if this will communicate his intended question better than his limply flopping words.
It doesn't, but Shizuka does his best to interpret and respond. "I have a job," he says, "and I took a few classes at the community college."
Though a trace of frustration crosses Watanuki's face - not the sought-after response after all, then - he does not correct himself. "What classes?" he asks instead.
"A few courses on religions," Shizuka replies nonchalantly. It could have been anything; his parents had wanted him to take classes and so he'd signed up for a few topics that interested him. And sometime along the line the ownership of the temple would pass into his hands, so he might as well plan for that. The other classes had simply been interesting, ways to pass the time.
"Might've known," Watanuki sighs, shifting in his seat. He looks as if he'd like to add to this, but his mouth doesn't open; he slips into awkward silence. Shizuka can't think of a way to break it.
So they sit there, side by side, never meeting each other's eyes but with no reason to leave. Shizuka thinks back to how he had anticipated this day throughout the year. This reality had never been involved. He wonders then if that almost-year of separation is enough to cut through what remains between them after the ending of Watanuki's working for Yuuko. There'd been hitsuzen, or so Yuuko had claimed, to keep them together before. It stands to reason that without it, without communication beyond the odd letter or that one memorable phonecall, their tenuous friendship would fall apart.
--
Earlier that year - sometime in March - the phone rang at about three-thirty in the morning. Shizuka, who had not been sleeping well, woke up on the couch where he slept and padded over to the phone. He had to steady himself a moment, wake up from his thoughts - his worries - before he could pick it up.
"Doumeki residence," he said, sleepiness lending roughness to his tone that he normally didn't notice.
There was silence on the other end of the line for a while. "It's Watanuki," said the caller.
"Oh," replied Shizuka, even less eloquent than usual at this hour.
"Shit, it's probably really late over there. I forgot - I forgot about the time difference -” said Watanuki, and his fluster was audible. He was never particular together about these things, though, especially not where Shizuka was concerned. It was probably a case of taking him for granted. Not that Shizuka minded at all. "I just wanted to call and -”
He ceased speaking too abruptly to have trailed off, and there was another, shorter silence. "Is something wrong?" Shizuka asked carefully, after a few seconds of this.
"No, nothing's - well - nothing anymore," Watanuki stammered, sounding even more flustered than before. "I got into some trouble. Earlier. But, um, the doctor says I'll heal okay and I should be off crutches before too long and, um…" He pauses again, and Shizuka is severely alarmed by the time he finishes with, "I just thought I should let you know. That I'm all right."
The words 'without you' hung somewhere in the air, not having made it all the way through the line, caught up in a no-signal zone. But Shizuka heard them fairly clearly, and something seized up in his chest like a different sort of fear. "You're all right," he echoed, unsure of what else to say.
"Yes," Watanuki replied, sounding vaguely irritable, more like his old self. "I'm all right."
"All right," said Shizuka.
"All right," agreed Watanuki.
There was another silence.
"I woke you up, didn't I?" Watanuki said at length. "Sorry. I just - I just needed to - well. I said it already. Um, but, if I'm keeping you up…"
"I wasn't sleeping," Shizuka lied. It was almost true, though; he'd hardly been sleeping well. Or consistently.
"What?" Watanuki's tone changed, sharpened. "But - what the hell are you doing still awake? It's not like you have anything to stay up for. You haven't been making a habit of this, have you?"
"No," Shizuka lied again. He did not mention that while he didn't have anything to stay up for, he also had no reason to sleep. It wasn't as if his current life particularly fatigued him.
"You'd better not," Watanuki said, as if there was anything he could do about it from halfway around the world, and suddenly Shizuka felt a bitterness he hadn't expected to return. The last time he'd felt so had been the day he'd shot the woman who'd befriended Watanuki at the expense of Watanuki's life, and had come to terms with the possibility that he might have just lost his friend anyway.
Now he was on the wrong end of the phone line, and facing a similar possibility.
"If you want to," he said slowly, "you can call again." After a moment of consideration, he added, only slightly desperately, "At any time."
"Of course I can," Watanuki retorted, but it sounded forced, like he was trying to cover up for himself. "Well - good night."
"Night," Shizuka replied, and listened to the click on the other end, and then the low beeping that followed. For a few moments, that was all he heard. Numbly he cycled through several stages of worry, confusion, and that strange bitterness, as the room span around him.
"If you have to make a call, please hang up and dial again," snapped the recorded message from the phone, as aggressively as Watanuki ever was. Shizuka hung the phone up and lay down on the couch. He did not sleep at all the rest of the night.
--
Now, the phone is silent.
About fifteen minutes ago (Shizuka is watching the clock despite his best efforts) Watanuki opened the fridge and proclaimed that he was about to expire and so was the milk, look at this, was any of it less than a week old? Then he'd marched out and declared that he was going to the local grocery, and no, Shizuka couldn't come with him because otherwise they'd never get out.
Shizuka is leaning against the wall near the kitchen and trying his best not to count the seconds. On a normal day, he thinks, he would be studying or meditating, maybe walking to the local archery range (it was strange, that he discovered one so near), or testing the last 'gift' Yuuko had ever given him. On occasion he would select one of his grandfather's books and attempt to absorb the wisdom contained within. Today he can't focus on any of these things, on anything but Watanuki's return and his hope that it might mean something, anything.
But there are movements in the currents of otherworldly energy, more so than usual, and Shizuka has a feeling that what it really means is a test. That he is going to have to prove himself to the forces of whatever, that he can and will protect the one most important to him. And then that one will depart again on another leg of his quest and Shizuka will remain behind, paying off his largest debt yet and haunted in every meaning of the word.
He's not too bitter about it; he's had time to adjust. It just strikes him as supremely unfair to both of them that the wrong one now has the gift of sight, that the one who needs it most was now bereft, and that same gift is now what holds Shizuka down against his will. He understands better now Watanuki's constant complaints about never paying off his debt, for he hasn't yet received a sign that he can move on, and time is beginning to drag heavily.
When twenty-three minutes have passed, Watanuki returns with two brown paper bags and shoulders past Shizuka into the kitchen. "Help me put things away," he says, setting them down on the small table, opening the refrigerator. "It's your kitchen, after all, so in theory you should know where everything goes. Not that I have high hopes for that, since it's you and all. You probably put everything in the fruit drawer, don't you? Assuming you ever put anything there."
Shizuka, who always uses the refrigerator drawers for whatever doesn't fit up top, simply acquiesces.
--
That night, Shizuka sleeps on the couch for the first time since he bought the futon (normally rolled up in a corner of the living room since the other choices of room are the kitchen or bathroom). Though 'sleep' is perhaps not the best word to use; he lies awake, listening to Watanuki breathing. He tries not to brood, and in general succeeds, for breathing makes for a calming, near hypnotic sound, and in the light through the window he can study the sleeping Watanuki with a freedom he doesn't have during the day.
Or so he thinks.
"You're not sleeping, are you?" Watanuki asks softly.
Shizuka shifts so that he's sitting instead of lying down. "No," he replies.
"You don't sleep much, do you." It's not a question.
"No," Shizuka says again.
"I didn't think so."
Shizuka thinks of a phone call months ago, and words caught halfway, and that even now there's a static between them that eats up the things they have to say.
--
Watanuki follows him to work next day, proclaiming that he has nothing better to do and besides it's a modicum of safety beyond whatever faltering virtue is left in the earring. Whatever the reason, Shizuka doesn't particularly care so long as it means Watanuki is around. He wonders if this is how a drug addict feels, and if he'll go into withdrawal when they inevitably part ways again.
But it's a better drug than most, he reasons as he watches Watanuki watch the rain outside the bus window. Even if the high is a rare event.
Work itself is nothing special, and is highlighted by the occasions Shizuka doesn't have anything to do and is at leisure to join Watanuki in the storefront. Watanuki has a book in English, and he's not doing badly in his efforts to read it if the pages already turned are any indication. But he puts the book down when Shizuka sits next to him.
"This isn't the kind of place I'd have expected you to work in," he comments, eyes roaming around the store. "It's so… corporate."
"They hired me," Shizuka replies. He does not mention that he took the job because it was the most mindless (though benefits had also factored into the equation) and that he had needed the distraction more than he had needed the paychecks.
"But surely somewhere else - I mean, it's not like you - well, you're…" Watanuki trails off. It is rather obvious that he is looking for a way to convey his thoughts without accidentally complimenting Shizuka, which is actually a compliment in and of itself. "This wasn't the only place that accepted you, right?"
"It was the best," Shizuka replies, and then he is called back to work.
He's probably the best person for the job, which is not necessarily a good thing, since it involves taking customer complaints and often customer rage. But after years of taking Watanuki's rage and complaints, the words of unsatisfied strangers don't really affect him too much. The people he works for admire his impassive expression, and are not particularly inclined to know much more about him; this suits him well. He takes note of each complaint and then just as systematically forgets them, which suits his employers well. Every two weeks he gets a check in the mail.
At four-thirty the customer complaints desk closes, and he returns to where Watanuki is sitting, now only staring out the window where the rain is still falling. "You didn't have to wait here all day," Shizuka says.
Watanuki turns to look at him, vague surprise in his face. "It's not like I had anything better to do," he mutters, going a bit red. "And don't sneak up on me like that."
"You're safe in here." Shizuka has worked here long enough that most supernatural menaces don't bother approaching, perhaps recognising a threat or simply a lost cause. If Watanuki is jumpy because he's expecting an unseen attack, there is no need for him to be.
"I guessed that," Watanuki replies, still maintaining the dull red flush. "It was fairly obvious after I spent the day in one place without being attacked once." He says this with an air of long-suffering, so that Shizuka has to wonder if the reason for this is that daily attacks (at least) are the norm. In his letters, Watanuki always maintained that he was fine, things were going well.
Are you really? Shizuka had wondered every time he read the letters. Were you really? he thinks now.
"Well? Are we going to go, or are you just going to stand there?" demands Watanuki, standing up and waving his book in front of Shizuka's face. "I for one have had enough of this place."
Shizuka snaps back to the present, and turns to the door. "Let's go," he says abruptly.
"That's my line!" Watanuki snaps, catching up.
They walk out into the rain. Shizuka has, predictably, forgotten his umbrella again; by now he has a feeling that it's simply habit. He is amused that Watanuki, staunch defender of forgotten umbrellas, has failed to bring his own along. It looks as though they will both be soaked again when they return to the apartment, but there will be tea and towels and changes of clothes, so Shizuka is not particularly concerned.
The usual bus is not running, so they walk two blocks to the next stop where another route will coincide with theirs. Halfway down the second block, Shizuka halts in his tracks, for a billowing black cloud is slowly blundering its way across the street toward them. His bow is resting against the wall near the door to his apartment; it won't help them now.
"What's wrong?" asks Watanuki, voice tinged (as ever) with impatience. His breath is warm and damp on Shizuka's neck. "I nearly ran into you!"
"Don't move," Shizuka warns him in a low voice. "It can't see you unless you move."
"What can't?!" Watanki demands, but more quietly. "What's there?"
Shizuka does not reply, waits for the sidewalk to clear. He's observed these things for a long time now - the better part of a year - and in that time learned some things that Watanuki simply never had the time to see. The formless spirits, no matter how powerful, are not particularly intelligent. Their hunger drives them, but like animal predators they have limitations - such as their inability to discern unmoving objects from their surroundings. So long as the thing they are stalking does not move, they will most likely pass it by.
Eventually the amorphous black thing disappears through the building to the side of the road. "We can go," Shizuka says as he begins walking again. Once more, Watanuki runs to catch up.
"What was it?" he asks again. Shizuka turns and gives him a look, for Watanuki of all people should know the answer to that question, and besides there is the nature of his price to think of. Even though Yuuko is long gone, the system of prices still holds.
Watanuki may be an idiot, but he's not stupid; his eyes go wide, and it's clear he understands. "But how?" he whispers. "I can't…" Perhaps unbidden, his hand creeps up to touch the skin around his eye - the eye Shizuka gave him.
Shizuka exhales - not a sigh, exactly, but a certain resignation to fate - and turns his gaze ahead. It isn't as if this one small concession makes a difference in the big picture, but it hurts Watanuki, and there's nothing he can do about it. "I can," he says. They are nearing the bus stop now, both more soaked than not, and he doesn't want to see if Watanuki's reaction to his words is showing.
But Watanuki says nothing, so when they reach the bus stop Shizuka chances a glance toward him. Watanuki, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, looks miserable. It's a sight that's bad enough in any given situation, but to know that this is his fault… Shizuka wants to look away again. He wants to think of something to say that will undo what he just inadvertently brought about. But he has never been good with words, and so he simply watches helplessly the effects of what Yuuko might have called inevitable.
It doesn't make it all right.
"When?" Watanuki finally asks, and his voice is fairly normal-sounding. "When could you…"
"Since I gave you that eye," Shizuka replies truthfully. It had begun with him simply being able to see some things Watanuki saw, but gradually it built until Shizuka occasionally saw spirits on his own. The visit to Yuuko after things settled down - after Watanuki left - had just finished the job. Yuuko's theory had been that he had simply learned the knack through osmosis, since he and Watanuki had 'such a deep connection'.
But connections fade, Shizuka thinks, so where does that leave us now?
They don't speak as they wait in the rain, and they don't speak on the bus. At their stop, Shizuka only gestures to indicate that they should get off, and then they remain silent as they walk back to his apartment building. Once inside, Shizuka gives Watanuki a towel and lets him barricade himself in the bathroom, and then collapses against the wall and drips desperately all over the floor.
--
"I'm not angry at you," Watanuki says later that night, when they are both pretending to sleep in the darkened living room. He adds something else under his breath, something that might be "for once," which Shizuka doesn't catch. "It's not like it's your fault I -”
In another instance Shizuka might be amused. Apparently neither of them can state the fact outright, though for different reasons. He would apologise, though, if there were anything to apologise for. As is, there is little he can say, and nothing he can do.
"It's just not fair, is all," Watanuki continues. "And you don't have to say that life isn't fair, because I know that already. Yuuko-san -” he breaks off again. "I'm upset, but it's not your fault. Or it is, but there's nothing you can do about it, so -”
"Watanuki," Shizuka says, exhausted, "I know."
There is silence for a while, and Shizuka begins to wonder if he was too harsh. Then Watanuki speaks again. "I don't know what I'm going to do now," he admits. "I can't just go around looking for something I don't even know exists for the rest of my life! And then what?"
Shizuka wants to say that that's where he comes in, but maybe that should simply go without saying. After all, if Watanuki is comfortable showing up without announcing the time of his arrival, he has to know that he is welcome here.
"I just," continues Watanuki, and then he stops, audibly inhales, audibly exhales. "I don't know," he repeats.
"Neither do I," replies Shizuka, because honesty really is the best policy when it comes to Watanuki and he has no better answer to give.
--
The next day is Friday and Shizuka only works until lunchtime, so he does not bother waking Watanuki up before he departs. He does leave a brief note on the kitchen table, though, stating that he's gone to work and that the apartment is also as safe as a secular building is going to be. There may be Words later on, when he returns, but even Watanuki's belligerent rants are better than the silence of the day before.
He listens to three old ladies complaining about noise, customer service, and décor respectively, and then two businessmen with vaguely similar concerns. After a brief break he returns to face the particularly angry mother of a squalling child and doesn't really understand a word she says over the noise her son makes. Shizuka tells her that the company will look into the matter and watches her depart with substantial relief; the main problem with his job is that he can't cover his ears and still seem attentive.
At twelve-thirty he puts up the 'complaints desk closed' sign and picks up the umbrella that he only remembered because it had fallen over in front of the door sometime in the night. Outside it is still raining, though he is fairly certain he heard it stop while he was taking complaints. There is no evidence of this now; the sky is thick with clouds and the sidewalk and streets are as soaked and puddle-ridden as ever. It's only drizzling, though, so Shizuka doesn't bother opening the umbrella as he walks the two blocks to the new bus stop.
He is very much taken aback when, just as he nears it, Watanuki comes sprinting across the street and skids to a halt in front of him. He's gasping for breath, hair clinging to his forehead, dripping with rain or sweat or both, eyes wild. "Is it -” he attempts, then is interrupted by a coughing fit as he breathes too quickly.
Shizuka takes hold of his shoulders, steadying him. "Breathe," he says, even as he scans the streets for a hint of whatever had Watanuki running all the way here. There is nothing, though, only a few people across the street who are walking to various somewheres and haven't a glance to spare for the two across the street.
He thinks, we're still just boys, accidentally meddling with fate. The world is awash with things that humans cannot or do not understand, and events beyond his control pushed him into contact with all of them. And why him? Despite what Yuuko constantly said of hitsuzen, Shizuka has a feeling that the only reason he is here now is the fact that it was he who had the knowledge needed, that he was in the right (or perhaps wrong) place at the right time. Watanuki is one of a kind, but the things that single Shizuka out are all things accessible to others or learned along the way.
You could have had anyone, Shizuka thinks. But you got me.
"Is it still there?" Watanuki asks, and, "Is something wrong with my face?" Shizuka realises he's been staring at him, still holding onto his shoulders, and shakes his head no.
"There's nothing there," Shizuka says, and lets go. He doesn't ask if Watanuki is all right, although he wants to; Watanuki already seems unhappy having to ask for everything, having to admit to helplessness in a situation he once had a little power in. It is a terrible thing, to be helpless, and Shizuka has learned this over and over again.
The bus arrives with a great air of anticlimax, and though Watanuki does not meet his eyes once after they board, he doesn't stiffen every time their shoulders brush.
Maybe things will get better, Shizuka thinks. Or maybe they already are.
--
Once home and dry (for this daily soaking is well on its way to becoming a habit), Watanuki picks up his umbrella again and goes to the door. "We are not sitting around all afternoon and being awkward at each other," he declares. "I don't know what it is you do for fun, if you do anything at all, but we are leaving these two rooms."
Shizuka does not say, "As you wish," but he figures he doesn't need to. They both know he means it.
They wander for a while, Shizuka allowing Watanuki to lead the way, familiarise himself with the area. Then Watanuki points out that houses and corner groceries are all very well, but the point is that they enjoy themselves (adding something about how this is probably a foreign concept to Shizuka) and so shouldn't they go elsewhere?
Shizuka suggests they take the bus instead of walking, and they catch the necessary one just before it pulls away from the stop near where they stood. Traffic makes for a fairly slow ride, but they don't have far to go, and about fifteen minutes later they disembark. It doesn't take long for Watanuki to analyse the area and devise a plan of attack, but Shizuka's not paying attention.
He's watching the crowd across the street, where a head of very familiar hair is visible. Shizuka doesn't need its owner to turn around; he recognises Himawari when he sees her - especially now, with that pronounced aura of hers. What he can't figure out is why she's here, in this place, at this time. After six months of no word at all, for her to suddenly show up is bizarre, to say the least. There's only one explanation Shizuka can think of, and he doesn't like it.
But there's no need to bring it up with Watanuki, who seems insistent upon enjoying himself today. Shizuka allows Himawari to fade back into the crowd, with only a brief sense of regret.
After all, she chose her new life, just as Shizuka chose his.
Then Watanuki regains his attention with some well-pitched words ("Hey, I'm talking to you!" and "Pay attention, you moron!"). "Are we going?" he demands, having secured Shizuka's attention. "Or do you plan on standing there all afternoon?" He taps his foot impatiently, which is amusing enough that Shizuka momentarily contemplates stating plans to stand here. But he doesn't have that much leeway, and what he wants is a comfortable and happy Watanuki, not an angry one.
"Let's go," Shizuka says, counting on Watanuki to automatically take charge of direction.
The afternoon progresses as a series of meaningless conversations and wanderings that are all the more important for the fact that they are so casual; when Watanuki replies offhandedly and a second later neither knows what they're talking about anymore, Shizuka mentally pronounces it a success. This isn't about what they do, what they say. It's about the fact that they're doing and saying it at all. That they're spending time together, and being functional about it.
They aren't necessarily being Civil anymore, but some of the old comfort with each other is returning. That's more important, Shizuka thinks.
The rain, which has been fading all afternoon, stops completely around five thirty, and umbrellas are closed, trailing on the ground and scuffing on the wet concrete. "I can make dinner," Watanuki says uncertainly, "if we go back now."
Shizuka does not ask, "Can you?" but instead glances up into the yet-cloudy sky, showing blue and pink in some places, and then back at Watanuki. "Let's go," he says.
--
The bus ride back possesses a sort of serenity that they have been lacking these past few days; a sort of serenity that perhaps they never had, even before everything changed. They sit should to shoulder and Shizuka stares past Watanuki and out the window, almost smiling. Somehow things today have gone about as right as they went wrong yesterday. It may be a foolish hope, but he hopes nonetheless that this is a sign of what's to come.
He's gazing at the buildings they pass as they near their stop, buildings Shizuka recognises with the vagueness that comes of familiarity through osmosis. Really, he's not seeing them, but instead is still hoping, still thinking of progress made and lines crossed and how when Watanuki turned up just two days ago he never expected this. And then next to him Watanuki starts, as if in surprise, and blinks a few times as Shizuka glances at him.
"I thought this was my good one," he mutters, rubbing his right eye. The eye Shizuka gave him, a few years back; the eye that once got him out of a number of tight spots. Shizuka hasn't seen anything through it for a long time.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Oh - nothing, it's fine now," Watanuki replies. "There was just a moment when it wouldn't focus right. There were all these rings of light…"
Shizuka blinks and looks back outside. Since the day Yuuko gave him the full sight, Shizuka has seen strange halos around everything. At first they were irritating beyond belief, but after a while he learned to live with and eventually ignore them. Now that he thinks of them, they are all there, clear as day. Shizuka feels the beginnings of shock.
"There it is again!" Watanuki says, rubbing his eye again, more fiercely. Then he stops, and very carefully closes his right eye, and then both eyes. After a moment he snaps both open and turns to glare at Shizuka. "I can still see it with my eyes closed," he declares, aggressively.
Shizuka is about to say something, when the bus announces their stop, and then there is a break in the bewildering series of events as they exit and then stand around awkwardly on the sidewalk.
"I hope you know how disconcerting this is," Watanuki snaps. "My vision is bad enough even with contacts, and now I'm seeing different versions of everything in each eye and I'm sure I'm going to fall over if I try walking any more." He crosses his arms and loses balance in the vehemence of his gesture; Shizuka has to grab his shoulder to keep him from toppling over.
"You weren't walking then," Shizuka feels compelled to point out.
"I'm aware," retorts Watanuki. "That was, that was your fault too. Now close your eye and let go of me."
"Lie back and think of Japan?" Shizuka can't help but submit.
Watanuki snapped both eyes open and stared at him in confusion. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Never mind." Releasing Watanuki's shoulder, Shizuka closes his right eye, then his left for good measure, and thinks of nothing at all for a second or two before opening them again. "Any better?"
Arms still crossed, face still scowling, Watanuki nods curtly. "What just happened?" he demands.
"You saw what I saw," Shizuka replies.
"I know that! I'm not stupid. What I want to know is how I saw out of your eye! It was always the other way around before!" Watanuki takes a breath, returns wildly gesticulating arms back to his sides. "You haven't seen anything out of this eye, have you?"
"No," says Shizuka.
Overhead, the streetlight flickers on, and Shizuka notices how dark it has grown since they got off the bus. "Let's go back," he says, already walking, secure in the knowledge that Watanuki will follow. It's the easiest way of going somewhere immediately, for otherwise Watanuki is often inclined to protest, and this way he has to catch up first. It's just one of those ways of managing Watanuki, because if not managed Watanuki will often as not get himself into trouble.
And indeed, moments later Shizuka hears the soft plish-plash of feet hitting the wet sidewalk. "Wait up!" says Watanuki, He draws level with Shizuka, slowing to a walk, glaring impotently at the other who has not altered his pace at all. "Do you ever listen to me? I said to wait up!"
"Yes," replies Shizuka.
"But you didn't!" wails Watanuki,
"Yes, I listen to you," Shizuka clarifies.
There is a pause, and when Shizuka glances over at Watanuki, it is to find that he has gone bright red and is very definitely Not Looking at Shizuka. This persists for a few blocks, and Shizuka has a few near misses in which he is too focused on watching Watanuki to see obstacles ahead.
As they cross the street to Shizuka's block, Watanuki stops looking determinedly away and actually meets Shizuka's glance for a moment. "I thought of something," he says.
"Oh?"
"When you saw through my eye, it was when I saw weird stuff that affected me," he continues. "I mean, it got me worked up. First it was Raiju and fireworks in the rain, right?"
Shizuka considers; he has a feeling he knows where this is going, but he'd rather be sure. "What's your point?" he asks.
"All I saw were houses," Watanuki says. "With strange lights around them, true. But just houses! I didn't see anything strange! And you looked just as disinterested as ever until I told you about it." He glances sidelong at Shizuka, as if sizing him up or trying not to be noticed. "So either I've been wrong about you all along, and you're just scarily good at looking like you don't care about anything, or it doesn't work the same way this time."
Honesty is the best policy, Shizuka reminds himself. This doesn't stop him from feeling slight wonder at the fact that Watanuki as good as called him a normal human being, and slight regret that the second option is the one that explains the circumstances best. It doesn't work the same way it used to, he thinks. The evidence is that Watanuki is the one seeing through Shizuka's eyes in the first place.
"I wasn't particularly worked up," he admits.
"That's good," Watanuki replies. "I don't think I could have realigned my reality that much." His expression borders irate, but his words are not nearly biting enough, and after a few moments Shizuka recognises with a start that Watanuki just made a joke - and at his own expense, no less.
"Don't bother," Shizuka advises him, in the spirit of things. "It'll only change again."
Watanuki shoots him a Glance, significant enough to warrant a title of its own. "I'm doomed," he complains, looking ahead again. "Not only am I unable to see what's coming, as soon as I've got it figured out it's going to change on me. Why must you make things so complicated?" Again, the light tone indicates that Watanuki's words are not to be taken seriously.
Shizuka wonders what he did right today, what he has missed up until now. Or maybe this is just the cumulative effects of years of fighting for acceptance, that suddenly Watanuki has as good as accepted him. Maybe it would have happened sooner, had things not fallen apart last year. Maybe the past two days sorted out what issues needed immediate sorting, and now they are back to where they would have been. Or maybe Watanuki finally realised that Shizuka's life goal is not to ruin his.
Whatever it is, Shizuka's grateful for it. Looking back at Watanuki and smiling, ever so slightly, he replies, "Someone has to."
--
That night, much to his surprise, Shizuka finds himself drifting off to sleep at an alarmingly quick pace. There's a weight that has been lifted from his mind, and the insomnia he has suffered for the past year has (at least for tonight) disappeared.
He thinks of the day gone by, remembering little things like seeing their reflections in a colourful puddle of oil and water, hearing Watanuki laughing at an admittedly ridiculous advertisement for some brand of clothing, and the smell of pastry from a shop that Watanuki stalked past as if he felt threatened. Then he thinks of other outings when there were three, and remembers that one glimpse of Himawari he caught today.
Shizuka is fairly certain that he knows where she has gone - and if this is the case, she had to know they would be there today. Perhaps allowing Shizuka to see her was a goodbye of a sort, for he will probably have no need of the place she has gone anymore.
"You know," Watanuki murmurs, only just visible on the floor, in the dark, "I could have sworn I saw Himawari-chan today."
There are many things Shizuka could say to that, but they are not his to say, and he has a feeling that Himawari probably has a good reason to keep her choices to herself. "It's possible," he says instead.
"She hasn't been around much, has she?" Watanuki continues. "I mean, you never really mentioned her, and you two were friends. Insofar as you're friends with anyone." The 'but me' goes unsaid, but Shizuka knows it's there and smiles into the dark.
"No," he replies. "She hasn't been around much."
"I hope she's happy, wherever she is now," Watanuki says, and his voice is warm and kind. "She deserves that much, at least." He shifts, perhaps turning to face another way, perhaps sitting up some.
Shizuka feels himself slipping, falling asleep, but he fights to keep his eyes open just a little longer. "I think that's the most anyone can hope for," he says softly.
There is silence for some time, and Shizuka has finally given in to his eyelids' demands to shut themselves when Watanuki speaks again. "What about you?" he asks, near inaudibly. "Are you happy here?" He sounds genuinely curious, and Shizuka regrets that he cannot consider the question to his fullest capabilities. But sleep is beyond inevitable; it's also now.
--
Saturday morning Shizuka did not intend to spend asleep, but when he wakes up the sun is high, filtering through the open window and into his eyes. Blinking, he sits up and looks around in understandable bemusement; the futon is rolled up in the corner, and the whole room is noticeably tidier than it normally should have been. There is only one reason for this, Shizuka thinks wisely, and he is probably in the kitchen.
Indeed, Watanuki is sitting at the table, reading one of Shizuka's grandfather's books that had been salvaged from the temple storeroom. He looks up when Shizuka walks in, and unexpectedly, for only a split second, he smiles. It's gone in an instant, but the point is that it was there, and Shizuka is understandably flabbergasted.
"I've made breakfast," Watanuki says. "I figured that since you haven't been sleeping I'd let you make up for it, even though really I should be making you learn from your mistakes. But I, the Great and Forgiving Watanuki-sama, have decided that the lesson can wait."
"Wait?" Shizuka asks, raising both eyebrows.
"Until next week," Watanuki clarifies. Then he seems to lose his confidence and adds, in a much less self-important tone, "That is, unless you'd rather I stay somewhere else. In - in which case, you'll have to live with your own shortcomings."
Shizuka smiles faintly - a record, he thinks vaguely, to smile this much in twenty-four hours. "You can stay here," he says, because it is preferable to insisting or imploring. "I like your cooking better."
"Like that one!" exclaims Watanuki, though he goes a little red as well. "Ingratitude! After all the trouble I go through -”
While Watanuki complained, Shizuka has taken the opportunity to help himself to breakfast; Watanuki breaks off from what may have become a sizeable speech to stare in outrage as Shizuka begins eating.
"Do you never change?" Watanuki explodes.
"No realigning necessary," Shizuka offers.
There is a slightly longer pause than usual as Watanuki considers this and Shizuka eats. Much as he enjoys derailing Watanuki's various trains of thought, on some occasions it's best to let things sink in. If only for the range of faces Watanuki makes as he mulls things over - which, as ever, are quite interesting to watch.
"I'm not sure which is worse," Watanuki says at length, "the fact that you actually made a good point, or the fact that you used my own words to say it with."
"A sign of an idiot is that he disagrees with himself," Shizuka replies, because he can.
"You are terrible," Watanuki tells him, and then adds, "And I'm not the idiot here."
Perhaps not the only one, Shizuka thinks, but this he keeps to himself as he finishes his breakfast and stands up. He washes his bowl and his chopsticks, thoughts returning to the curious incident of shared sight yesterday, and as he rinses the bowl something occurs to him.
"When I first started seeing those things, it was through this eye," he says, pointing to his right eye with a soapy finger.
Watanuki looks up, startled, then guarded. "I know that," he replies. "You let me know it enough then."
"Maybe," Shizuka adds, "it's the same for you."
"I," Watanuki begins, and then seems to think the better of it, mouth remaining open as he ponders. "You mean you think I'll - learn to see spirits again?" His eyes are wide and hopeful, so terribly hopeful that Shizuka wonders if perhaps he should have kept silent in case he turns out to be wrong. "Without Yuuko's help?"
Or Himawari's, Shizuka adds silently. "It's possible," he says, observing that this is becoming his stock reply when Watanuki's questions concern Himawari.
Watanuki does not say anything more, but the expression on his face is enough to spell out the turmoil, the sudden surge of hope unsuccessfully checked by reason. That clinches it, Shizuka thinks. Watanuki cannot be allowed the disappointment of failure now.
--
Shizuka retreats to the other room to inspect his grandfather's books, selecting first the book that had once contained the method to reclaim an eye stolen by a spider. That part is gone now, devoured by some monstrosity that Yuuko called a bookworm, but the rest of the book remains intact. Shizuka flips through it page by page, seeking something, anything, about learning to see the unseen.
Three pages from the end there is a short section titled simply "sight". It reads simply that if shown glimpses of the "second world", anyone can grow to see it on their own, which is heartening, though Shizuka would have preferred a more immediate solution. But he can understand the need for time spent searching, for hard work before rewards - after all, that is how he lives his life. Especially when it comes to Watanuki.
Which leads him to a happier thought: that for now Watanuki will have no reason to leave and every reason to stay. For now, the only distance between them will be what they create themselves, and maybe - just maybe - by the time Watanuki can see on his own again, things will have changed again between them and he will choose to stay of his own volition.
Shizuka smiles again. That makes five, he thinks.
Watanuki looks up again when Shizuka returns to the kitchen. "You asked me something last night," Shizuka reminds him. "What was it?"
"Oh," Watanuki says, looking away for a moment. "It was a stupid question to ask. Forget about it."
"Tell me," says Shizuka.
"You're terrible," Watanuki informs him. "It was - it was silly, okay? I asked you if you were happy here. We were talking about Himawari, and I just - I just wondered. Like I said. Forget about it."
But Shizuka does not forget about it; he turns the question over in his mind, even as he forms a plan for the day in an instant, even as he offers a hand to pull Watanuki to his feet (which is accepted, as it never would have been before). "We're going to a park near here," he says in response to Watanuki's unspoken question. "There are a lot of spirits there."
"And yes," he adds as they walk out the door, "I am."