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It's a dark, frigid, late-February morning when Kame heads out, having surreptitiously packed the SUV the day before, and he wonders if that's a sign right there. He's never hidden his plans from his housemates before, but this year he doesn't talk about it with anyone.
It takes less than four hours. He drives with a digital camera in his lap, and steering with his left hand, he squeezes off a few shots on the Bay Bridge without actually looking. It's not exactly a short drive, but traffic is good in the winter, there's no delay getting onto the bridge and 50 is relatively easy all the way down the Eastern Shore past Ocean City. After registering, Kame leaves the park's ranger station and drives out to the furthest end of the beach camping zone, passing a string of the barrier island's shaggy wild ponies along the way. It's just past ten in the morning. The sky is a low-hanging grey ceiling, darker to the west, and the ocean foams up high on the beach, whitecapped by a steady breeze.
It takes a while to haul all the gear from the roadside parking area, down the boardwalk, through the sand dunes, to set up camp at their base, where the dunes can provide a little shelter from the wind. When it's all done and everything has been double-staked down so the tent won't be uprooted by the wind, Kame devours a hasty lunch: sandwich, a piece of cheese, a bar of chocolate and still-hot tea from a thermos. He stuffs a headlamp into a pocket of his parka, pulls up his fur-lined hood, and takes off down the beach.
He walks for a long time, and the sky looks more threatening by the hour. When he tries to check the weather with his phone, his connection keeps dropping, so he gives up. The waves crashing all along the beach of the barrier island sound thunderous to Kame's ears; perhaps it's only because there's no one else around. Seagulls wheel overhead, crying out plaintively, and pale ghost crabs scuttle toward the edges of the Atlantic ocean lapping the shore and dart back into their invisible burrows.
Now that it's nearly upon him, after twenty-some years of waiting, anticipating, Kame feels heavy, numb. There's a refrain repeating in his head, a new drumbeat layered over the ticking clock, one that's been creeping up on him over the last month or so. I'm not ready. I'm not ready. I'm not ready.
He'd made sure to call his father just before leaving Meisa's house; it had been midday in Oslo and his father had been relieved to hear from him. Kame's given his father enough trouble over the years, and he'll have enough trouble soon enough. Kame considers his future travel plans with a pang, wonders if he'll be given enough time to see everyone: Koji and his family in London, his father, Yuya and his daughter in Boston and Yuichiro and his family in Tokyo. Perhaps he should have said his goodbyes at New Year's; he hopes there will be time yet before it's over.
The light is just beginning to fade as Kame trudges back to camp, but there's still enough to see that something is amiss. He couldn't tell from a distance, but the closer he gets, he realizes that the canopy of the tent is unzipped and flapping in the wind, and there's no way he would have left anything not securely fastened down. He wonders if maybe hungry wild ponies might have broken into his campsite, but as soon as the thought occurs, he realizes it's improbable. All his food is back in the SUV; there should be nothing to tempt any wildlife.
When he's closer, he sees the boots outside the entrance to the tent.
"Hey," he yells, without thinking, wondering what he could possibly do if this is some kind of camp invasion. He's completely alone on the beach; probably the closest people are back at the ranger station. Someone could kill him and chop him up and throw him into the sea, right. And then he thinks, what if it's someone who's hurt or in trouble and that's why-
Jin's head appears at the inner entrance to Kame's tent, stopping Kame dead in his tracks, heart in his mouth, his throat choked shut. Jin looks terrible: dead-white, wide eyes. His mouth moves like he's trying to say something, but it's lost in the wind. Kame breaks into a run.
By the time Kame makes it to the tent, Jin has struggled out of the tent on his hands and knees and clambered to his feet just in time for Kame to grab him by the shoulders.
"What - what is it," Kame says, "what happened. Jin, look at me, what the hell-"
Jin violently jerks away and doesn't look at him, stumbling to the side, still in his stocking feet. Kame gapes.
"Jin! Where are you going. Hey! At least put your shoes on." He watches Jin stop, and then turn. Jin marches past, one hand covering his mouth, and he throws himself onto the sand where he tries to brush sand off what looks like layers of thick hiking socks and then jams his feet into heavy insulated boots similar to what Kame's wearing. Kame hears the rustling of paper then, and he looks past where Jin is sprawled at the mouth of the tent and he sees into the dim interior visible just beyond the screen. Jin's reaching inside to grab the hat and gloves he'd left behind. Kame's backpack is open inside, and there are papers and notebooks spread out all over the inflatable mattress.
Kame's stomach, already knotted in alarm at Jin's unexpected appearance, completely falls away.
"What," he begins, almost panting. A wave of absolute freezing whiteness sends him staggering back a few steps. He puts his hand out blindly as he tries to find his way forward, not quite able to see where he's going before he stumbles, falls to his knees. When he looks up, Jin is crouched beside him, and his face is now bright with furious color; it looks like he's yelling something, but Kame can't hear a thing.
Kame lashes out with both hands, desperate to strike something, anything, and his blow knocks Jin back on his ass. Kame crawls toward the tent as fast as he can. He struggles with his boots before he pulls the zipper and launches himself inside the tent, landing hard on his knees beside the mattress.
"Oh, god," he hears himself on a half-sob, "Jin, you fucking - what did you do." Staring down at the mess of papers, all he can feel is panic and horror and betrayal, and pain is stabbing into his chest with every breath he takes. His breathing is harsh and impossibly loud to his ears, backed by the rushing roar of the ocean beyond the rise, just out of sight, and after a while, he hears something else, a soft rhythmic breathy sound. It takes him a while to realize he's hearing himself, quietly sobbing, utterly dry-eyed, but doubled-over and choked with a crushing despair he hasn't felt in years.
"How could you," he hears himself whispering, at first cursing Jin and then just cursing. He blindly attempts to gather up the unfolded letters, the journals, trying to stack them together and stuff them back into the backpack. Once he's zipped everything away with clumsy fingers, he slumps onto the freezing cold floor, closes his eyes, and tries to breathe through the pain.
The wind gusting into the tent is what finally forces him to stir, and when Kame pushes himself up, he realizes it's dark, full dark, so it must be late, after six at least. And he's starving, stiff and cold, and utterly fucking miserable. It's only with effort that he forces himself out of the tent into the steady wind, and he slips the elastic band of his headlamp on over his fleece-lined wool cap, switches on. And sees Jin.
Jin is huddled in a ball, arms hugged around his knees, perched on the bench of the picnic table a couple meters away from the tent, and his fur-lined hood is pulled down over his head so nothing of him is visible but outerwear. Kame looks at him for a long moment. He walks over and pulls off his headlamp, letting it dangle from his mittened hand to light the sand. He puts a hand on Jin's shoulder and gives him a rough shake.
Jin's head comes up slowly, as though he's been frozen into that awkward ball. When his head lifts, Kame can only see a faint gleam of Jin's eyes in the dim light. The ocean's roar is a tremendous crashing sound and it smells like snow.
"Go home, Jin," Kame rasps, starting to turn. He has no idea what Jin's doing out here, how in hell he even found him, and he no longer cares. He just wants to be left alone.
Jin grabs his arm in a surprisingly iron grip and yanks him back around. Jin's boots thump down onto the sand and he's on his feet; Kame feels like Jin's looming over him, two meters tall.
"We have to talk," Jin says. His voice is scraped raw.
"I don't want to talk to you," Kame bites out, jerking his arm back. "I don't know what the fuck you're doing here, and I don't care. I want you to go."
Jin makes a noise that sounds angry, frustrated, but he doesn't immediately reach for Kame again. "I'm not leaving," he says, and his voice is raw but steady.
"Whatever. Fuck you." Kame pivots, intending to leave him there, but Jin grabs his arm, spinning him and pulling him off balance so that Kame falls against him.
"What the fuck," Kame growls, trying to push off, but Jin won't let him go.
"Fuck me, Kame? Fuck me? Fuck you!" Jin hisses, shaking him. Kame takes a breath, centers himself, and twists free, sending Jin to the ground, flat on his back. Kame realizes with a start how nearly Jin missed bashing his head on the edge of the picnic table.
Jin lies there for a moment while Kame watches, but eventually he stirs and pushes himself up.
"Kame-" Jin says.
"Shut up," Kame says, making his voice hard, spiteful, "just shut up. You-you had no right. You read my-my-my-" Kame hears the dangerous wobble in his voice, which he gulps back. "You have no right to be here. You're a fucking asshole, and I want you gone."
"I was worried about you!" Jin bursts out, hurt and frustration in his voice and face. "I didn't come out here to fuck up your plans, or get in your way. I wasn’t planning on any of this. There's a snow storm coming, and I was worried about you. You’re right, I'm an asshole. I'm sorry, goddamnit. Will you please just fucking talk to me?"
Kame's fury banks at Jin's words. "Snow?"
"Yes, snow," Jin snaps, "a big fucking storm. What the hell are you doing out here. Is this part of a plan? Are you trying to kill yourself? Are you really that fucked up?"
Jin's words ring out into the roar of another wave crashing on the beach behind them, and they are physical blows, a body drop, flat on his back, lights out. Kame steps back and presses his mittens to his face, tries to pull himself together, sucking in shuddering gasps of air.
Almost immediately, he feels hands on his shoulders, and they're surprisingly gentle. "Hey, Kame," Jin's saying quietly, close to his ear, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry." Kame doesn't lower his hands from his face. He doesn't resist when Jin gathers him in and wraps his arms around Kame's shoulders. Kame doesn't know how long they stand like that, Kame huddled against Jin, trembling from more than just cold.
Kame steps back at last, detaches from Jin whose arms tighten for just a second before they fall away without further resistance. Jin's expression is difficult to read in the dim light of the headlamp, but there's something stubborn in the line of his mouth. Kame is too spent to even feel embarrassed; he turns away with a sense of resignation, and he hears Jin fall into step behind him.
"Cold?" Kame asks awkwardly, when they're standing outside his SUV, and off Jin's incredulous look, they pile into the front, turn on the engine and blast the heat until they're warm again. They eat like ravenous animals, tearing into cold sandwiches from Kame's stash, lukewarm chili from a thermal container with a single spoon traded between them, and they finish off another thermos of tea. The windows are fogged up by the time Kame switches the engine off; the silence is fraught. Jin hasn't said a word, no confrontation, nothing. Not yet.
By the light of Kame’s headlamp, they follow the boardwalk back through the dunes to a lone chemical toilet, the extent of the campsite’s amenities, where he waits for Jin beside the half-frozen water pump, turning his head up to the starless sky. The temperature has dropped, and the wind is picking up. They walk back to the tent in silence.
Now, the entire world has shrunk to the rippling, sometimes heaving walls of the tent. It's late, and it's snowing; Kame can hear the crystals striking the tent canopy with every gust. The wind and the ocean's thunderous waves are louder than the clock in Kame's head. Kame reaches to suspend a light from the hook dangling down from the apex of the tent. He looks over at Jin huddled into the corner of the tent near the zipped up entrance. Jin is watching him, his eyes the only alive thing in his pale face.
There's nothing for it, Jin's here now, and somehow Kame can't send him away.
"I can't believe you brought a sleeping bag," Kame says, eyes lighting on the bundle next to Jin.
Jin's shrug is barely noticeable. "Joseph," he says, "gave me his tent and his sleeping bag. Told me I'd need them if I came out here."
Of course, Kame thinks. Joseph has offered to come out with him before, last few Februaries; Kame always turned him down.
"He told you I was here?"
"He thought I knew,” Jin says, and his voice sounds wrong, hurt. “Why didn't you tell me? You left me that stupid vague note-"
Kame had thought it would be enough.
"-and then yesterday, Meisa and Maude were talking about baking a birthday cake for when you got back. I had no idea what they were talking about. I felt stupid. Everyone else knew where you were except me."
Kame swallows, looking down. "I didn't know what to tell you."
"Hey Jin, I'm going camping," Jin says, bitterly sarcastic, "on my birthday in the middle of winter on a fucking beach on the Atlantic Ocean. Oh, and did I mention it's the middle of winter? And there's a huge fucking snowstorm coming?"
"Jin," Kame says wearily, "stop, god. I do this every year. I've been doing this every year since I moved here. I probably would have come anyway, even if I'd known about the snow."
"You're insane."
Kame shrugs. "Yeah, maybe."
"So why? Tell me that, huh. Explain to me, Kame, why you're out here in the middle of nowhere on a fucking beach in the middle of winter. Why do you do this every year."
And that, Kame thinks, that's the question. And yet he can't seem to bring himself to explain, as if by not saying the words, he can pretend that Jin doesn't really know. That what he might have read and what he thinks he knows isn't real.
"Kame," Jin says, impatience and challenge and warning heavy in his voice.
"You must be cold," Kame says, busying himself with unrolling his sleeping bag. Jin doesn't reply, and when Kame looks up at him, Jin's face is pinched, almost angry again. "Come on," he says, "do yours. Get inside. You'll be warmer."
Jin glares at him, but he does it, although when he goes to spread out on the bare floor of the tent, Kame reaches over and pulls the sleeping bag up onto the two-person inflatable mattress next to his.
"Don't be stupid," is all he says, not meeting Jin's eyes. While he offers a few more comments, suggesting that Jin take off his outer layer of pants before climbing into the sleeping bag, Kame rummages in his pack and finds the bottle he's been saving for the occasion. He doesn't know what time it is, but he doesn't much care. No harm in starting early. Kame climbs into his narrow sleeping bag, takes a swig, and wiping his mouth, thrusts the bottle at Jin.
Jin looks less than happy, but, Kame reflects, happy would be too much to expect under the circumstances.
"Just take it," Kame says irritably, "you're here. It's my birthday. Might as well join me."
Jin accepts the bottle, manages two good swallows before he lowers it, nestling it in his lap. The battery-operated light is bright on his face.
"So?" Jin says at last.
The thing is, Kame really doesn't want to talk about this. He doesn't actually know how to. There's a reason he's never told anyone.
"Why'd you go through my stuff," he says instead.
Jin tears off his gloves and cap, scrubs his fingers fiercely into his hair, pulling at strands in what looks like frustration. "I'm sorry, Kame. You can be mad at me for that for the rest of your life. I'm really fucking sorry. I saw your car on the road, and I came looking for you, but I didn't know if this was your site, so I thought I'd look around, you know? See if there was anything identifying. I opened the bag and-"
"-and you what," Kame interrupts acidly, unable to stop himself.
"-and I didn't understand what the hell it was! It's not like you left your ID in there. Once I started reading, I couldn't stop."
Jin's eyes soften. Kame doesn't want to see that, though. Makes it harder to stay angry. He looks away, down at his hands while Jin continues. "Look, I get that you must feel fucking betrayed. I-I would, too. But now I need to understand what's going on."
"As if I owe you an explanation," Kame says scoffs.
"No, you don't owe me. But I-I thought I was your friend, that you trusted me. Maybe you can stop being angry with me for five seconds and-and-and maybe." He stops. "Kame, look at me. Are you trying to kill yourself?"
The blunt question shocks the answer out of him. "No."
Jin takes a swig from the bottle, hands it to Kame. "Okay," he nods and takes a deep breath, brushes one hand over his face. Kame realizes Jin's hand is shaking. Instinctively he reaches out, grabs Jin's hand, pulling it down, and he squeezes tight.
"No," he repeats, insistent, "no." He releases Jin's hand and takes a drink. "That's what my father, thought, too."
“What?” Jin's eyes glitter, he blinks rapidly, and he takes another deep breath. "You'd better tell me what you mean."
It's a long story, and there's no good way to tell it, no way to navigate its convoluted paths or make him sound less crazy.
"Please don't say anything," Kame pleads, feeling the alcohol warming him all the way down to his toes. His chest no longer hurts. There's only this deep ache, the yawning loss he's been carrying around with him, the one that's never gone away. "Don't fucking judge me. Don't feel sorry for me, just don't - don't do any of that. Okay."
"Fine," Jin says, his mouth twisted and unhappy.
So Kame tries to explain, haltingly, and badly, he thinks, what it was like, when his mother died. The suddenness of it, the horror of having this absolutely dynamic, vital human being, who meant everything in the world to him, taken away.
“When she died," Kame pauses, takes another drink. "I knew I was going to die, too. I knew it. I know it. I’ve spent the last twenty-some years knowing-" He stops.
“What,” Jin begins. He stares at Kame, and there's confusion and fear in his eyes. Jin swallows. “What do you mean.”
Kame twitches his shoulders helplessly.
"We're all going to die," Jin says, and he sounds puzzled. "Sorry, I'm not trying to. But."
"I know," Kame says, "But I know when. This is it for me." Kame pauses before he tries to shrug. He takes a moment for several more burning swallows, welcoming the swiftly-descending alcoholic haze. He enunciates carefully: "The end."
Kame feels Jin stiffen beside him. "What are you talking about."
"It's my birthday,” Kame says, and he has to breathe then, force himself to say the words: “I'm the same age now my mother was when she died." He sneaks a glance at Jin whose face has gone pale again. "I don't think I'll see my next birthday."
“You think," Jin says, "or do you know." He's grasping at something, an outside chance. Kame wants to tell him not to bother, that it's not a big deal, that he's ready for it, that he's okay. Only, he's not. He was okay with it for so long, but lately. Lately, the clock in his head is so loud it wakes him up in the night, his heart racing. Lately all he can think about is all the things he'll never do. The music he'll never hear. The memories he'll never make. The people he'll leave behind.
"-are you sick?” Jin asks, and he sounds choked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t really matter, does it?” He drinks more, feeling reckless, laughs, soft and mirthless.
“Of course it matters, you idiot.” Jin reaches out to take the bottle from Kame's hand, shifting closer. Jin's warmth presses against his side; the familiar, comfortable heat of Jin beside him instantly seeps in. Jin drinks noisily, wipes his mouth with the back of a hand and gives the bottle back. "Of course it fucking matters," and he sounds hurt again, like talking hurts, like breathing hurts. "It matters to me."
Jin's words lick over his skin, burn into him, alarm flaring, nearly penetrating the gathering fog.
"Don't," Kame says, his voice catching, and he ducks his head, lifts his arm, as though to fend off a blow. "Don't."
"Don't what," Jin says, and he sounds angry. "Don't care? Too late. Don't you know that?" Jin shifts suddenly against Kame in a long electric line, and he turns, twisting inside his sleeping bag, trying to face Kame.
Kame jerks away, takes a long draught from the bottle and unsteadily sets it aside. He feels flooded, uncertain, frightened. He slides down into his cocoon-like sleeping bag, not wanting to talk anymore. His head is spinning. He closes his eyes.
"You shouldn't. You - you can't," Kame manages through numb lips. He opens his eyes and Jin is close, looking down at him, his expression unreadable. Kame just barely tracks Jin's hand coming near, feels the light brush of Jin's fingertips on his face. Kame turns away.
"Yes," he hears in his ear, fierce and insistent. Kame's eyes slip shut, his head swimming. He listens to the wind, the tiny tinkling of snow, the huge wet roar of the ocean crashing nearby, feels the dark vibration of Jin's voice into the shell of his ear. "I can."
Kame drifts. Maybe he sleeps. It doesn't last.
He jerks awake to the shriek of metal, the dizzying spin through the air, the bone-jarring impact. He's panting in darkness, trapped, immobilized, and he makes a noise that sounds like something between a groan and a whimper.
"Kame," he hears, very close to his ear, "what's wrong." There's a hand on him, his shoulder, his face, brushing over his head, pressing into him. Jin's body is near, somehow, and he remembers where he is, lying inside the tight confines of a sleeping bag on an air mattress in a cold tent on the beach.
"Jin," he says, and swallows, his voice full of grit.
"Yeah," he hears, and as awareness seeps into him, Kame feels the press of Jin through two layers of sleeping bags, the way Jin has, as best he could, curled into him. It's too dark to see anything, and Jin's shape is indistinct, but it's there, a comforting presence against his side. Kame tries to blink back the pain rising in his throat, as everything rushes back to him, but with the crush of the darkness on him, he has no defenses left.
Jin stays quiet for a long time, letting Kame breathe through it, until he's calm again. Until he rolls awkwardly onto his side, making himself face Jin, and he tucks both hands under his cheek. He can feel the light tickle of Jin's breath on his face.
"Are you okay?" Jin asks after a long time, the quiet filled only with the sound of breathing, the wind and the ocean.
Kame shakes his head, a loud rustle inside the hood of the sleeping bag. "Not really." He feels adrift, as though the tent is a storm-tossed raft on the high seas; with the wind straining at the tent lines and shuddering the tent walls, and the thundering ocean so nearby, his fancy doesn't feel far off.
"This is a bad time," Jin says quietly.
Kame huffs a soft laugh. "You could say that."
It's quiet again, in the dark. Jin finally says. "I'm here, Kame. I want to listen. If you want to talk."
Kame thinks about that. Considers it, really, what it would be like to share this with Jin, any part of what he's been carrying around for twenty-some years. He wants to, he realizes. Maybe he needs to. He's tired, so tired of carrying it alone.
"I don't," he begins, swallowing, "I don't want you to. To feel obliged," he says.
Jin snorts, not unkindly. "I'm your friend," he says, as though it's that simple. Kame hears the rustle of Jin's sleeping bag, and then Jin's reaching through the darkness for him, searching for something. Without thinking, Kame slips one hand out from under his cheek and finds Jin's hand. Jin immediately grips him, palm to palm, shifting nearer, tucking their joined hands into the hood of his sleeping bag. Kame whuffs in surprise, but he doesn't protest. Jin's hand is warm, and he's solid everywhere they touch through layers of nylon and down.
The rise and fall of the ocean carries him, lifts him up. Kame closes his eyes, and tries to explain the rest of the story. How messed up he was after his mother died, and how his new knowledge had transformed him.
"You read my letters," he says, unnecessarily, to preface. "The journals."
Kame hears it when Jin's head shifts. "Yes. Not everything. But a lot."
"You must think I'm morbid. You must think-" Kame breaks off.
"I thought you were suicidal," Jin says at last, when Kame doesn't continue. "You wrote letters to - for years, it looks like - all to. Yourself, I guess, for now. For this birthday. Right?"
And that's really what it was, Kame thinks. "I was obsessed with it," he admits. "I knew when I would die, so I knew I could do things. Dangerous shit. I think the evaluation was 'extreme tendency to engage in high-risk endeavors without regard for personal safety,' or some bullshit like that.
"I got into fights all the time when I was a teenager. Our father moved us to New York after our mother died, and I'd go looking for fights with these big guys, provoke them. I was taking judo and I thought I could handle it. I was good, but I wasn't that good. That didn't matter though. I knew nothing really bad could happen to me, you know? So it was okay if I got hurt. My father found out when I started coming home banged up, with all these bruises, and he freaked out. He told me no more fighting-" Kame shrugs inside his sleeping bag. "-so I stopped."
"Just like that," Jin says.
"Mmm. I don't like disappointing him. We're close."
"Huh." Jin's quiet for a moment. "And then-?"
Kame tries to work some moisture into his mouth. He ducks his head down, curling shrimp-like, as if he can burrow into the warm darkness of his sleeping bag, as if he could forget. The next thing he knows, Jin's shifted until he's draped both his legs inside his sleeping bag over Kame's legs, hooking around him. Kame feels his cheeks heat with surprise and he makes a small noise. Jin says nothing, only squeezes Kame's hand. Kame feels Jin's warm breath against the skin of his wrist.
"I did other things," Kame continues, trying and failing to relax the tension in his limbs. "Stupid things. I was a really stupid kid. I thought I was invincible. That it didn't matter what I did. And then." Kame clears his throat, tries to just get it out before he loses his nerve. "A-about eight years ago, on my birthday, I totaled my car. Empty road. I-" he pauses, coughs. "The car ended up halfway down an embankment, upside down, completely wrecked."
Kame stops and takes a few deep breaths. "It was - bad. They had to cut me out."
Jin's breath rushes out. "Oh, Kame."
Kame blinks back the remembered horror. "It was. It was really bad. I couldn't walk for a long time. I was in therapy for almost a year. And it freaked everyone out. Including me," he adds. "I nearly died, so. Yeah. I wasn't as invincible as I thought I was."
"I'm sorry," Jin says.
"Yeah. So. Like I said, everyone freaked out. They all thought I had tried to kill myself." Kame twitches again. "I can't say I blame them. It was a perfect day, no weather, no curve in the road, no tire marks."
It takes a few seconds for that to register. "You mean, you never hit the brakes."
"I guess? I don't remember. I honestly don't know. All I know is I never would have done that. I never had this feeling that I wanted to die. The opposite actually. I had too much to finish before it was all over."
"So-"
"It's a mystery to me. I really don't know why I lost control of the car, why I went over the edge. I don't remember anything. It's possible I never will. But my father insisted I have a psych eval, you know? I can understand it now. At the time I was furious. It was insulting, almost."
Kame sighs. "The doctors - they told me I was depressed, that I had an anxiety disorder." Kame shifts, feeling self-conscious. "My-my hair's been coming out since I was eighteen or so. I get these - these chest pains. There's a whole list."
"That's why you always wear a hat?"
Kame nods. "Yes."
"You didn't believe them," Jin says.
"Bingo." Kame wishes he could laugh at the absurdity.
"Do you believe them now? Today? Right now?"
Kame jerks then, tries to roll away, but Jin doesn't let him.
"Kame."
Kame blinks into darkness, listening to the waves crashing, the unceasing rise and fall. "I come out here every year because I want to remember what I have left. That I'm alive for a little longer. To remember my mother, talk to her. She loved the ocean.
"I moved into Meisa's house after the accident. When I could walk again. My father didn't want me to live alone anymore. He - insisted. So I went. And I stayed. It's. It's a good place for me.
"I don't know what I believe anymore," Kame says helplessly. "Every year I read my mother's journal, the one she wrote for me before she died. She told me over and over again that I was exactly like her. That's all I can remember. Her telling me that, that I was just like her. Why shouldn't I be like her in this, too?"
"But-" Jin begins, and he sounds baffled, "it doesn't work like that."
"How do you know? How do you know? We think we know how things work, but we don't know anything. If we knew, then maybe she would still be alive."
"Kame. I don't know what to tell you," Jin says unhappily. "-but-but - what if you're wrong?"
Kame shrugs. "I don't know."
"But you've thought about it?"
"Sometimes."
"What about right now." There's an angry edge in his voice as Jin rolls up, dragging Kame with him, coming out of his sleeping bag. "What about now, Kame. Don't you want to be wrong?"
Kame's hands tighten into fists as Jin seizes his shoulders, rattles him. He tries to push Jin, reacting in the way he knows how, lashing out.
Jin somehow grabs his wrists in the dark, a neat trick, and uses his larger frame and weight to wrestle Kame down to the mattress while Kame bucks against him, still partially trapped inside his sleeping bag.
"Let me go," Kame grits out, straining against Jin. "Let me go, Jin."
"Is this okay with you? If you drop dead this year, is that okay? Are you ready for it? Do you want to die?" Jin demands fiercely, ignoring him. "Tell me that."
Kame stills, turning his face away, closes his eyes. He doesn't want to talk about this anymore. He hates Jin for forcing his secrets out of him, for finding the right threads to pull, always unraveling him. He hates Jin for making him regret everything that he'll never do with every fiber of his being, for making him want things he can't have-
"No," Kame breathes out, against the hard, painful lump in his throat. "No."
Jin's voice is quiet, harsh, demanding. "What do you want."
Kame opens his eyes into darkness, and Jin's breath is hot on his face. I can't have what I want, Kame thinks miserably. It's irrelevant. He's known it for years. Kame makes a small noise and tries again to tug loose from Jin's bruising grip on his wrists.
Jin exhales softly. "Right," he says, as though to himself, the fight draining out of him. To Kame's surprise, Jin lets him go, releasing him suddenly. He jerks off Kame and moves away. His hurt and defeat hang in the air, palpable, between them.
"No," Kame says at once, flooded with regret and inexplicably afraid. He pushes up and scrambles after him. "No, wait. Jin-"
He doesn't think twice as he gropes after Jin blindly, mutters, "Come back," trying to find Jin in the darkness of the tent. Unthinking instinct drives him forward, searching for a direction, magnetic north.
Kame slips off the side of the mattress, landing on his hands and knees. The floor of the tent is like ice, but he ignores it, reaching out until his grasping hand almost connects. Jin continues to retreat, just out of reach, until he's cornered, and short of exiting the tent, there's nowhere left to go.
Kame can hear Jin breathing beneath the rush of the gusting wind, the snap of its force shivering the tent and straining its seams. Kame shivers, too, the warmth from his sleeping bag fading in the icy winter air. He shifts forward again, now finding Jin easily, patting gingerly at shins and shoulders and then his hair; it feels like Jin's face is pressed into his knees. Kame draws back and listens to Jin take in a long shuddering breath.
Kame doesn't speak as he slides his hands up the long bones of Jin's legs to his knees and then further back into Jin's hair. Kame's fingers burn, his palms, his lips.
Kame whispers, "I'm sorry." His heart gives a painful thump, and he says, jerky: "Don't go."
They're both still for the long space of a breath, a heartbeat, two, three. Jin makes a helpless sound, lifts his head, and shifts to make room, pulling Kame into the space between his knees. Kame falls into Jin with an oof, his momentum toppling Jin backward, tangling their legs. Jin's arms wrap around him, a hand cups the back of Kame's neck, supporting the base of his skull. It's shockingly easy, Kame thinks, dazed, the way they fit, limbs shifting, accommodating. Kame hovers over Jin for a long moment, heart pounding, terror and anticipation shaking him apart, until he - melts - presses his face into Jin's neck. One breath, two, and Jin's head thumps down to the ground; Jin is so warm wrapped around him, and Kame can't think. He can't think, he only wants.
There's nothing to say. Jin's anger and hurt and defeat seem to have fled, leaving Kame in a peculiar vacuum, trying to catch his breath. Kame's entire body is abuzz when he draws back slightly from the damp heat of Jin's neck, traces along Jin's cheekbone with a curious thumb. His eyes search for Jin in the darkness, but there's nothing to see, not a shadow. The darkness is complete, and he has only his touch to guide him. Jin is strong and solid through their layers of clothes; Kame drinks in the scent of him, and it's enough. The weight of Jin's arms and legs around him, the pressure of his arms, his hand cupping Kame's head, it's enough. The charged air between them, where it tingles his skin, is enough. The softness of Jin's face under his thumb, his hair, the whorl of his ear, the skin of his throat where it disappears into his clothes. It's enough.
Jin makes a sound in his throat; his arms tighten, one hand spread wide across Kame's back where it feels like a brand even through layers of microfiber and fleece. Bracing himself on one arm, Kame strokes his fingers over Jin's face, lightly tracing his eyebrows, gliding over Jin's closed eyelids - they tremble beneath his touch - and down, with his knuckles, down his cheek until he finds Jin's mouth and he brushes his fingertips over Jin's lips. Kame's touch is unsteady, but he needs this. To map what he cannot see, to memorize, to learn. To touch. To feel all this warm, living flesh and bone that he's forbidden himself from ever considering. He wonders what Jin would say if he knew. How long it's been, how hard it's been, how fucking sad-
"Kame," Jin breathes against his fingers, and his breath is a warm and almost ticklish sensation.
Kame hums in response, still exploring. His hand slips down to Jin's long jaw, and Jin moves his head a little, baring his throat. Jin's pulse races under Kame's palm, and it matches the pounding of Kame's heart. Jin moves his head again in a tiny, impatient jerk which Kame feels like a hook in his guts.
"Are you-" Jin begins before swallowing audibly. He doesn't finish. He makes another small noise, perhaps of frustration. Kame almost smiles before he leans down, skittish and yearning, to find Jin's warm waiting mouth.
Jin holds his breath, remains perfectly still and silent, as if he might scare Kame away if he moved again. His lips are soft and parted, and the kiss Kame leaves is light and chaste.
"Yes," Kame murmurs against Jin's mouth. There's hope in his head, all mixed up with want and music and the startlingly vivid picture of Jin laid out beneath him, utterly beautiful and consuming. As if in the pitch-darkness he could see.
Jin hums now, letting himself nuzzle into Kame's neck. "Can I-"
"Yes," Kame repeats softly, heedless of whatever Jin is asking. He's lost, dizzy with Jin's scent, with Jin's long, lean warmth.
"Yeah?"
Kame nods, knowing Jin will feel it, their noses bumping with his reply. Kame can't see it, but he senses Jin's smile, the brush of it against his cheek. Everywhere they touch, Jin tenses and tightens, and his hands come up to cradle Kame's face, fingers slipping under Kame's cap to slide over his scalp, thumbs stroking his cheeks. When Jin lifts his head, there's an instant of deep silence; the ocean retreats, the wind dies. Kame holds his breath.
Jin pulls him down and unerringly finds Kame's mouth in the dark.
After a while, even slow, drugging kisses can't keep them warm, lying as they are on the cold, hard floor of the tent. Kame draws away from Jin with teeth-clattering regret and awkwardly pulls and pushes until they're back on the mattress, wrapped in a nest made of both their unzipped sleeping bags. Jin shivers incontrollably for a long time, huddled in the circle of Kame's arms. Kame stares into the darkness, one of Jin's legs between his, the top of Jin's head bumping up against his chin. When Jin finally warms up, it becomes almost too-warm under the sub-zero sleeping bag; a prickle of heat breaks out all over Kame's skin. Jin shifts up onto an elbow, then, and presses Kame onto his back, kissing Kame out of a warm dreamy state halfway between sleeping and waking.
Kame doesn't care - how could he? When Jin is dropping kisses onto his eyelids, and dipping down to his mouth, deep and aching and tender. When Jin is licking into his mouth, growing bolder and more possessive, edged with something dark. When Jin is kissing him like he might not get another chance.
Kame feels stripped bare beneath Jin's hands and lips; reckless and terrified, as though he's back behind the wheel of a car careening out of control. And yet, he doesn't hold back, just gives, allows Jin to take what he will. He lets Jin sprawl over him, their hands clasped together, arms outstretched over Kame's head. Kame's fingers tighten into him, and Jin's hips begin a gentle ennervating roll that stops Kame's heart, stutters his breath, the muscles of his stomach and thighs drawing taut.
When, after a few minutes of delicious friction, Jin backs off with a soft groan, Kame is faintly relieved. Jin ducks his face into the crook of Kame's neck and sighs. Kame pets his head, stroking Jin's hair until Jin relaxes down onto the mattress and pulls Kame in close. They lay like that for a long time, Kame listening intently to Jin's breath evening out, to the wind, and the ocean, and the creaking of the tent, until finally he, too, fades out to sleep.
Kame wakes first, perhaps dragged out of sleep by the lull in the wind and the calmer waves coming ashore. He's curled onto his side with Jin tucked up behind him, their legs intertwined and even though he's tired and hungover, his eyes scratchy, Kame feels oddly peaceful. It's still dark in the tent, but he can see his hand at last, so dawn is coming. He closes his eyes again and drifts for a while before rousing himself and waking Jin.
Jin comes awake quietly into the dimness of the tent, only clutching for Kame's wrist. It's growing lighter; Jin follows him when he pulls on his outer trousers and his down parka. Kame prods Jin to leave the tent first. He follows, jamming his feet into his boots before reaching back into the tent for one of the sleeping bags which he bundles up under one arm.
Jin stands outside the tent, his posture relaxed, looking around with wide eyes. Kame climbs to his feet beside him, and his mind is quiet, a little smile tilting the corners of his mouth up.
"This is why I come out here," he says without looking at Jin. "It's-"
"-magical," Jin finishes, breathing out.
There's white everywhere, which, at first glance, could look like more sand, only it's not. And it's still drifting down from the sky, flurries delicate as tiny feathers.
"Come on," Kame says, clearing his throat. He steps away from the tent and stops only when he feels Jin's hand in the crook of his elbow. He pauses, turns his head. It takes him a second to understand that Jin isn't trying to stop him or hold him back, that Jin just wants to hold him, and Kame feels himself go warm all over. Jin meets his eyes curiously, but Kame just shakes his head and starts forward again, with Jin beside him, matching his trudging steps through the snow and sand. It's not far. They crest the gentle rise beyond the dunes and clear the gate in the beach fence so they can stand at the top of the long slope down to the water. Kame unfurls the sleeping bag, draping it around both of them, and they stand there for a while, taking in the dark blue ocean crashing and foaming noisily ashore, the lightening sky, and the faintly gleaming white blanket of snow right up to the tide line. In time they walk, smiling and stumbling together under the sleeping bag, arms linked, until the sky lightens enough to reveal intensely shaded storm clouds scudding low overhead, and the long narrow break along the horizon where, eventually, a blaze of red dawn bursts, casting the ocean and the sliver of sky in shades of orange and pink.
The glimpse of sunrise is fleeting, however; it's quickly swallowed up by the heavy storm clouds overhead, and the streak of sky disappears. Kame doesn't care; they walk along for a while yet, leaving a trail of dark footprints behind in the snow.
When they make it back to the campsite, Jin hesitates, looks at Kame for a long quiet moment. "Are you planning to stay?" he asks.
Kame returns his gaze and thinks of his mother. She would have loved this sunrise. She might've even liked Jin, but he'll never know. He aches for all the years he never got, for all the things he never had the chance to learn. He wonders what chances he has left, what this means, if any chance at hope will be as fleeting as the brief snatch of sunrise. He bites his lip and looks away, watches the tide rolling out. Kame shakes his head. Says: "Let's go."
They strike camp. It's wet and filthy, and there's sand everywhere, but it goes faster with two as they load Kame's SUV. With two cars the drive back seems long and lonely, but Jin follows Kame out of Assateague, and they stop for breakfast forty minutes later, lingering over pancakes and waffles and cups of hot coffee in a cozy diner. Kame even lets Jin take a photo of them with his camera, crowding into Kame's side of their booth, holding the camera out in front of them dorkily until their waitress offers to help out. Kame looks at it after he climbs back into the SUV. He has to swallow hard a few times before he puts it away. His hands tremble as he turns the car on and throws it into reverse.
When they finally arrive back at the house, it's afternoon, and Kame feels utterly drained, wrung out. Even with keeping an eye on Jin's car in the rearview mirror, the solitary drive had given him too much time to second-guess himself and Jin. It doesn't help that when they make it inside the house, Jin just takes off, muttering something about needing to wash the yuck of camping off him. He already feels awkward and wonders how he's going to face Jin again, as though what happened was some kind of drunken aberration. Which it sort of was, even if it didn't feel that way at the time. Now, it feels unreal, like a strange dream.
He wanders into the kitchen where he finds Joseph pouring a cup of coffee. Joseph looks up, and his face splits into a wide grin, his teeth very white against his dark skin.
"Kame," he says in his faint Tennessee drawl, "you're back early. Jin found you?"
Kame nods. "Yeah," he says, "thanks, I guess."
"I see you survived the snow," Joseph says in amused tones. "I told Jin you'd be fine out there on your own, but, well, he didn't believe me." Joseph chuckles into his coffee mug.
There's a wrench in his chest, a sharp knifing pain that nearly makes him gasp. Kame nods distractedly. "It was fine," he replies as he backs up, trying to keep a smile on his face. "Thanks, man."
"Kame," Joseph says with a sharp glance, "you okay?"
"Yeah. It's - I just. Forgot something. I should - you know-"
Joseph nods skeptically, but he raises his mug as Kame turns and flees.
Kame pauses before he makes his way into the west wing of the house, one hand pressed hard to his chest against the pain. He lives here, there's nowhere he can hide. He considers for a crazy moment just walking out and driving to the studio. He can stay there, sleep on a couch. Figure out what to do next.
He touches his mouth. Wonders if he will ever feel that again.
He forces himself to keep going, one step, another, and another. The door of the bathroom is open, exhaling humidity and the door to Jin's room is closed. Kame stands there for a long moment, debating whether or not to knock. He turns instead, steps into the already-steamed up bathroom where he pulls off his cap, strips down, and climbs into the wet shower. He stands there, letting the hot water pound down on him, warming him up.
When he's done, he wraps a towel around his hips and gathers up all his clothes, slips into his room, dumping his soiled clothes in the hamper by the door. It's nearly full; he'll need to do laundry soon. He looks up at the rows of photographs hanging from the wires overhead. He has this sudden intense desire to tear them all down, rip them to shreds, throw them away. Kame's been wrapped up in the past, in excavating the memories of his childhood, of his mother, his entire life. He hasn't found any answers yet, no patterns, no messages, no hidden truths. Perhaps he never will.
He takes a deep breath, steps forward, pulling one of his mother down, and he stares at it. He'd taken it during that year before she died; she's seated on the floor, facing their old garden, writing in a journal, her feet tucked up under her, in the sun. She still has her long hair in this photo, it tumbles around her shoulders. Her expression is serious. Intense. Focused.
Just like he's been all these years, Kame thinks as he pulls every last photograph down, throwing them on his desk. Driven by his fears and by his need to accomplish. To emulate her in nearly every way. He's lived a strange, blinkered life; he isn't sure if he was wrong, or if there is something else ahead for him. Maybe he won't die this year. And if he doesn't, he doesn't know what he'll do. He's never let himself imagine past that point.
And now there's Jin, like a mirage, offering something Kame doesn't know if he can accept. He wants to. He wants the chance to find out. If it's real.
Kame starts when the door opens behind him. He turns to see Jin leaning back against the closed door, chewing the hell out of his lower lip.
"Hey," Jin says.
"Hey," Kame manages, rooted to the floor, one hand tightening on his desk chair. A threadbare plaid robe hangs off Jin's thin shoulders and his feet are bare. Kame feels a wave of heat flush through him, and he's suddenly conscious of only the towel around his hips. He realizes with an abrupt pang that he's forgotten to cover his hair.
Jin pushes off the door and crosses the room. "You know," he begins thoughtfully, angling his head to one side, "it's not so bad." He reaches out and lightly strokes his fingers through Kame's thin, damp hair.
Kame's stomach clenches. His scalp burns, and his cheeks flame. "What - what are you doing here," he asks through numb lips.
Jin merely looks at Kame for a long moment, and Kame sees the fondness he never noticed before.
"What do you think," Jin murmurs. He steps closer, no room between them. He brings his hand down from Kame's hair, tilts Kame's chin up with two fingers. Rests the other over Kame's hip.
Kame shivers beneath Jin's touch, shakes his head.
"It's not just you anymore," Jin says. "Don't you know that?"
Kame's heart stutters to a stop when Jin leans in; Jin presses his mouth to Kame's ear. With quiet assurance, says: "I'm not going anywhere."
When he pulls back and meets Kame's eyes, Kame sees that fondness again with a wild flare of hope-
Recklessly, he presses forward, into Jin's warm, waiting mouth.
::next
