Threads - AU - 1/2 (Subaru/Yasu)
Title: Threads (Part 1 of 2)
Pairing: Subaru/Yasu (+ hints of KoyaShige)
Rating: PG
Summary: AU set in a psychiatric establishment. With that said, it's not as dark and depressing as it sounds. It's a story about hope, about finding reasons and ways to go on when everything seems lost. It's also about love and how it can't cure everything but it can give you the courage to stand up again. First in threadverse.
Wordcount: 12,225 words
WARNING: This fic deals with serious themes like depression and suicide. If you’re uncomfortable with those kind of things, please don’t read.
Written for pinkpapyrus and ilanabean42 ♥ ♥ ♥ Betaed by ilanabean42.
Contrary to popular belief, he does remember. He remembers and doesn’t think he could ever forget.
Neon light.
The pop of the bottle cap and its echo against the ceramic wall.
A flash of himself in the mirror, dark, lightning fast.
Pills rolling in the palm of his hand.
Three, ten, too many to count.
His hand shaking; water spilling, tepid.
Eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Darkness.
Pills rolling on his tongue. Flat, lukewarm, chlorinated water.
The slippery edge of the sink under his hand, then cool linoleum against his cheek.
*
Yasu had been looking forward to this internship. After long years of sitting on school benches, he was finally getting to do something, deal with real people, actually help someone. He had worked hard to get there, but he had always known it was worth it.
Two months into his internship, he knows for sure that he made the right choice back then when he had first applied for medical school. It’s hard, of course, dealing with human suffering of a daily basis, but it’s the trust his patients have in him, the way he can help them, little by little, to move on with their lives that gives him the energy to go on. Helping others is so rewarding.
He has learned a lot too, not only from the doctors and the nurses, but from the patients themselves. He has learned about true resilience, and the desire to overcome adversity. Humans are impressive, Yasu thinks; they can be incredibly strong even when everything seems to be going against them.
Yasu passes the common room on his way to the director’s office. A group session is going on and he can see a few of his own patients sitting in the circle. One of them glances up and notices him and Yasu smiles at him and gives him a thumb up.
His good mood wavers a bit when he finally reaches Kitagawa-sensei’s door at the other end of the corridor. Yasu’s not one to be put down so easily, though, so he takes a little breath and knocks.
Kitagawa-sensei has years of practice behind him, but Yasu sometimes wonders if he’s not the one who needs help now. It’s not that he doubts his competence, or even his sanity, but in the past two months Yasu has never seen him smile, and that in itself is kind of sad.
“Yasuda,” Kitagawa begins sternly. Yasu straightens up, balancing on the edge of his seat. He probably has no reason to be nervous, but the head of the psychiatric department always has this effect on him. “I will advise that you transfer room 102’s file to someone else.”
“Eeh?” Yasu lets out incredulously, before his eyes widen in realisation and he switches back to polite speech. “I mean, I’m sorry, but why?” Yasu’s heart is suddenly beating very fast. Maybe he does have reason to be nervous this time. “I thought he was making progress,” he adds, swallowing thickly.
Kitagawa steeples his fingers. “Don’t get me wrong; you did a good job,” he says in a patronizing tone and Yasu blinks at him uncomprehendingly. “It seems, though, that the patient has developed transference. In the circumstances, I think it would be best if you handed the case to someone else.”
“T-transference?” Yasu stutters. His throat feels dry, his face burning.
“Surely you heard about such a thing at school.”
Yasu has, indeed. Transference means that love isn’t real. Transference means that feelings are actually meant for someone else, dimly projected onto Yasu. Transference is a good enough reason for Yasu to hate Freud and his stupid concepts because transference only makes everything so much more complicated. He feels his face grow even warmer.
“Of course, but...”
But interns do not have a word in decision-making.
*
File: 1588917
Room: 102
Sibutani Subaru
Age: 26
Diagnosis: Major depression
Transferred from Intensive Care (treated for overdose after attempted suicide).
Kept as in-patient on parents request until patient no longer a danger for himself.
In charge of therapy: Yasuda Shota Kato Shigeaki
Supervised by: Kitagawa Johnny
*
When nurse Koyama comes to get Subaru right after group therapy and tells him that Kitagawa-sensei wants to see him, Subaru knows it can’t be good. As the head of the department, Kitagawa-sensei only meets him for evaluations, and none is scheduled this week. Subaru doesn’t like the old man and, while he doesn’t usually trust strangers, he trusts Kitagawa even less. He looks at Subaru as if he’s crazy.
Koyama knocks on Kitagawa’s door and waits for an answer. When the low, cigarette-broken voice asks them to come in, Koyama pats Subaru on the shoulder and pushes him in.
The news is bad, indeed.
Very bad.
It takes Subaru several seconds, if not several minutes to process the information and get over the shock enough to formulate an answer. It comes out as a cry, something close to a “no”, but too primal to be an actual word.
“We feel that it’ll be better for you to continue your therapy with a new therapist.”
Subaru wants to scream, wants to jump to his feet, haul something at the doctor’s head. He also wants to cry. But he doesn’t. From then on, he sits still and stares wide-eyed ahead of him, at no one in particular, at nothing really, his body numb, his mind blank, his heart a hollow pit of despair. There is nothing he can do. Nothing. Nothing.
And he feels like the world is closing back on him.
*
Yasu’s heart has not stopped thumping madly against his ribcage ever since he left Kitagawa’s office hours ago. It’s making him feel a little bit sick and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll manage to pretend that everything’s okay. He swallows back a fresh surge of tears and breathes through his nose. Maybe he should have stayed in his office instead of bringing his files to work in the staff room, but with the silence of his four walls, every memory they held, it was just too hard.
Yasu traces the hiragana forming Subaru’s name with his index finger. He wonders how things are going to be from now on. Subaru is not an easy case. He doesn’t trust others. He doesn’t want to. Yasu wonders if things are going to get even worse now that they’ve taken away the only person Subaru manages to open up to. Not that Yasu doubts Shige’s competence, but there is something between Subaru and Yasu that can’t be replaced so easily.
But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it was wrong of him to let them get this close. Because they were therapist and patient and not friends.
Nishikido-sensei walks in, nodding at him before heading for the coffee machine. Yasu taps his pencil on his file and shifts in his seat.
“What’s up?” Ryo asks. He does seem to notice something is off, but he keeps his question casual. They are not in therapy, after all.
“What do you think makes the difference in human relationships?” Yasu asks, out of the blue enough for Ryo to be taken aback.
“Huh?”
“I mean, what’s the difference between, say, patient and therapist, and friends? It’s all human interactions, after all.” Yasu clarifies rapidly, fidgeting with his pencil.
Ryo raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t know the answer, then maybe you should reconsider your career choice.”
Yasu winces. He used to know, but now he doubts.
He hears Ryo sigh. “Look,” he says, “you heard about the intern who got fired for getting a little friendly with one of his patients, right?” Yasu nods, and Ryo goes on: “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? I kind of like you better than a lot of the other guys, so it would really suck if the same thing happened to you.”
Yasu nods again, and Ryo offers a small smile before walking out, leaving Yasu even more depressed.
You have to care about your patients, but apparently there is a limit there too. Glancing down at Subaru’s file, Yasu wonders just how much he’s crossed that line.
“Is everything in there?” Shige asks when Yasu hands over the file.
Yasu thinks of all the things he purposefully forgot to mention and he feels bad for nodding. “I’m sorry for the trouble,” he says.
Shige shakes his head. “Not at all.” He slips the file under his arm and Yasu almost wants to take it back.
“Take good care of him, okay?” he says weakly.
*
When Subaru wakes up the next day, his voice is hoarse from crying all night, but the eyes that look back at him in the mirror are dry and empty.
*
Nurse Koyama is okay. Subaru used to be annoyed at his constant babbling, but it became somewhat comforting. Koyama is not patronizing or nosy. He talks about all kinds of random stuff and has the merit of being entertaining. When he’s around, Subaru can tune out everything else and just listen to the cheerful chatter. It serves as a break from the ceaseless flow of his dark thoughts.
Nurse Uchi is interesting in a different kind of way. He is always so nervous around patients that it makes him clumsy. Or maybe he is just naturally clumsy. Subaru doesn’t know if he should mock him or pity him. Nishikido-sensei teases him a lot, but his gaze is so tender Subaru knows it’s not simple mocking or pity. It makes Subaru feel lonely.
Group therapy every other day is the moment Subaru dreads the most. Depression, eating disorder, personality disorder... It makes Subaru realise just how much life sucks for about everyone. Subaru doesn’t talk much during group sessions; he just sits quietly and refuses to interact more than necessary. Nishikido-sensei is in charge. He is so professional it’s almost scary, but Subaru isn’t impressed. He sees through the layers of overconfidence that Nishikido is just as vulnerable as the lot of them; he’s just better at hiding it.
He’s been sent there because he needed help to live on, or so they said. They succeeded in the way that they made living so easy that it doesn’t require any effort anymore. They provide food. They do laundry. They take care of everything. Subaru can just sit back and live. Except it doesn’t make it any better. Life is so easy it leaves a bitter taste in his throat every time he swallows. He still wants to die, but they made him so lethargic he doesn’t even have the energy to try. Maybe that’s the whole point?
For a moment, there was solace. There was warmth and light and Subaru even thought there was hope. And then they took that away from him.
Subaru refuses to look at his new therapist. He stares vaguely at the window instead. There is a clock on the wall and Subaru can imagine it ticking, even if it doesn’t actually make any sound. The new guy (Subaru refuses to learn his name) keeps trying, leaving pauses that last several minutes before trying again. His words melt into each other. His tone is even, but there is a new nervous inflection that has been developing over the last few attempts. Subaru lets it lull him into a sort of daze.
His thoughts bring him back to his bed in the intensive care unit. He remembers waking up to several tubes going in and out of him. He remembers the sensation of not being dead like he was supposed to, but not being quite alive either. How could he have failed even at dying? He remembers the look on his mother’s face too, and then closing his eyes, concentrating hard on the beeping sound of the machines.
He remembers his first night in the psychiatric department, lying as still as a stone, eyes open, as if stuck in a different reality, one even scarier than life. He remembers the second night, tossing and turning and freaking out because the bed would not even acknowledge his presence with a squeak. He remembers crying, tearless sobs that made him dizzy and nauseous.
He had refused to speak to anyone at first; not the nurses, not the doctors, not even the other patients who had looked at him with this knowing look. “We’ve been through it too,” they had seemed to say.
For the first three sessions of therapy, Subaru had barely said a word, answering questions with monosyllables or wide eyed stares. It was not that he felt particularly defiant, though maybe he had a little. This had more to do with the fact that he had never been very comfortable around strangers and really hadn’t known what to say. There had seemed to be no real point in discussing anything, anyway.
Yasu seemed like confident enough person, but he must have been a bit unsettled by this silence at first. Subaru had heard that he was one of his first patients, after all. But Yasu was also patient and full of optimism and he seemed to have no problem with following his instincts, even if it meant deviating a bit from normal protocol.
“Is there anything you like to do?” Yasu had asked on the fourth session. Subaru had stared. But when Yasu had brought his guitar in for the fifth session, things had taken a different turn.
Yasu had told him that he justified himself to the rest of the staff with talk about musical therapy. Direction had raised a collective eyebrow, but had not objected.
“Let’s sing something together, okay?” Yasu had suggested cheerfully, pulling his instrument out of its case.
“... For real?” Subaru had asked.
“Sure!” Yasu had smiled brightly. “Do you want to play?” He had offered his guitar for him to take, but Subaru had shaken his head.
“Play something first.”
To this day, Subaru remembers the shiver that had run along his spine when Yasu had played an old ballad. Back then, he couldn’t tell if it was the music itself, or the way Yasu was playing it, head bent in concentration, fingers soft and graceful. Now, he knows. He knows that he couldn’t have cared less about what Yasu was playing; no matter what it was it would be beautiful anyway.
“Play me another,” Subaru had demanded as soon as the vibrations of the last chords had died away.
Yasu had laughed. “You have to sing this time.”
Subaru had nodded eagerly, because he had wanted to. He had wanted to sing at that moment, more than he had in over a year.
Back in present time, Shige clears his throat and diffuses Subaru’s memories. He asks a question, yet another one, but Subaru looks out of the window and purposefully ignores him. Now he’s being defiant, he knows. He also knows that it’s not his new therapist’s fault and that maybe he should feel bad for making him squirm like this, but he just doesn’t care. Yasu is supposed to be sitting in that chair, or on top of that desk with his guitar in his lap. So why bother? Subaru closes his eyes and waits for the clock to tick the rest of the hour away.
*
When the nurse brings in his evening dose, he looks contemplatively at the two little pills at the bottom of the tiny plastic cup and gives the nurse an almost peaceful smile, before shoving them in his pocket as soon as she turns around. If they are taking Yasu away from him, he doesn’t see why he should bother with medication.
*
For Yasu, days go on like they used to. He has other patients to take care of, after all. Except there is a tightening feeling in his chest, counter-pulsing every heart beat. Something is missing. And it hurts. Yasu feels like he has switched to autopilot, like he’s only pretending to be doing his job. He feels bad for not giving his all, because no matter how much he tries, his thoughts always run back to the same person. He has not stopped caring about his other patients, of course, and he wants so much for things to go back to normal, for this selfishness of his to stop. But he feels weak. Is it that he doesn’t care enough for his job, or just that he cares too much for Subaru?
He misses Subaru like one misses a best friend, or in ways he doesn’t completely understand. He sees himself crossing more and more limits everytime he thinks about it. It’s scary. He can forgive himself friendship, but love? It’s just wrong in so many ways.
And yet...
Yasu unconsciously slows down everytime he passes in front of room 102, and he walks twice as fast as necessary once he’s past the door because he realises seeing Subaru won’t help.
On the other side of the door, Subaru listens to the footsteps echoing in the corridor, anonymous feet on sterile floor. He closes his eyes and pretends it’s music.
*
With his eyes closed, Subaru could feel the air vibrate around him, and deep inside his lungs. It felt good, enveloping and filling. But with his eyes open, he had been able to actually see the music, in Yasu’s smile, in the way his body always seemed to be following a rhythm, even when he wasn’t playing guitar, or singing. To Subaru, Yasu seemed to be living to his own beat, and that in itself made him different enough to be interesting.
There was more to it than that, though. With Yasu, Subaru didn’t only want to make music, he also wanted to talk, and to listen, and to play silly games, and to laugh, and to smile, and to... live? Maybe. He brought Subaru a bit closer to it, at least.
There had been a time when they had played jankenpon to decide who would reveal something about himself. Yasu had lost the first time.
“So, what do you want to know?” Yasu had asked, all warm eyes and fair play.
Subaru is sure his eyes must have sparkled then. There were many things he wanted to know, personal things, things that made Yasu Yasu.
“What do your friends call you?” he had heard himself ask, and had felt slightly surprised at the question. Then again, it made sense.
“My friends call me Yasu. A lot of people call me Yasu, actually, because I don’t like being called by my whole name. It’s too formal. Somehow, I think it doesn’t fit me?” Yasu had tilted his head and smiled and Subaru had never wanted to call him Yasuda-san again, not even in thoughts (maybe even less).
On the second round, Yasu had lost again and he had pouted so cutely that Subaru had wanted to kiss him. It had been a strange feeling back then, somewhere between fascination and attraction, and maybe the begining of something else. Maybe Yasu had felt it too, because his tone had been very soft when he had said, “What should I tell you about, this time?”
Subaru had leaned in, ever so slightly. “Anything,” he had said, barely above a whisper. Yasu had smiled, playful, almost shy. “Tell me something interesting,” Subaru had added, the thrill making his heart beat faster.
“Mm,” Yasu had let out thoughtfully, tapping his index finger against his lips. “When I was a kid, I wanted to become a rock star,” he had offered with a giggle. Subaru had chuckled. It was not that hard to imagine, after all.
The third time, Subaru had lost. He had braced himself, expecting a difficult question, something deep and hard and painful, but Yasu’s smile had been soft when he had asked, “Tell me about a good memory?”
The question had taken him aback a little, but the words had come surprisingly easily. “When I turned twenty, I went on a road trip with two of my friends. We drove around without a map and camped in the most random of places. One of us was still underage, so we would buy beer, the cheapest kind, and then we would hide somewhere to drink,” Subaru had recounted, a little smile tugging at his lips. And then his eyes had dropped and he had felt the smile turn sad. Those times were over. He didn’t usually dwell on it, because it was just too painful, but there was something about Yasu that made him forget caution. Maybe it was okay?
“Do you miss them, sometimes?” Yasu had asked.
And Subaru had nodded, because it had been okay to admit those kind of things to Yasu, because he could trust him with anything.
*
It’s been a week since they have seen each other, but it feels like much longer. Nine days, to be more specific. Yasu wonders if counting the days is not making this even worse. Is Subaru counting the days too?
When fingers wrap around his wrist and pull, Yasu knows what room it is without having to look. He had slowed down his pace a few doors before, after all, but he has his confirmation when wide dark eyes appear right in front of him. Familiar eyes. Except the glare he sees in those eyes is something he hasn’t seen in a very long while. At least, not directed at him.
“You left me.” Subaru’s voice is low, almost dangerous, but Yasu recognises the layers of hurt and confusion covering deeper vulnerability.
“I’m sorry. They asked me to stop seeing you.”
Subaru’s fingers, still wrapped around Yasu’s wrist, tighten almost painfully. It’s Yasu’s heart that feels tight, though, because he doesn’t know how to walk away with Subaru clinging to him like this.
“Fuckers,” Subaru growls low in this throat and he steps forward, presses Yasu against the closed door and kisses him.
The kiss is intense, angry and bitter, but it is also seeking for comfort, demanding reassurance. It is asking where Yasu’s real loyalties lie. Are you with me? Don’t you want to help me? Don’t you like me? But when Yasu lets out a soft muffled moan, Subaru’s mood switches and his hands come up to cup his face in a surprisingly tender gesture. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. And his lips caress Yasu’s, trying to convey the words he can’t say. Stay with me, please?
But then Yasu’s hand in on his chest, gently pushing him away.
“Please stop.”
Subaru frowns. Yasu looks down, hiding his red face and teary eyes under long bangs. He clears his throat, tries to collect himself, wanting to make this as painless as possible, except his own heart is already crumbling and, if can he judge by his rigid stance, it’s Subaru’s whole being that is likely to shatter. I was supposed to help him, he thinks, not break him even more.
“If someone catches us, I’m dead,” he explains, smiling sadly. “They’ll fire me and we’ll never see each other again.”
It’s not the whole truth, but it’s the only part of the truth Subaru is likely to listen to. There is a moment of silence, and then Subaru’s shoulders slump down. He is defeated, but not completely broken, and that’s probably the best Yasu could hope for in the circumstances. He would laugh at the way they are both trying so hard to preserve the other, but right now things are too painful to feel romantic.
“Get better, okay?” Yasu says. “For me?” And then he quickly slips out of the room before his shaky smile dissolves into tears.
Subaru stands unmoving in his room for a long time. He doesn’t look at the door Yasu has just disappeared through. He knows he’s not coming back. But he left with a unspoken promise: I’ll wait for you outside. And maybe that’s what Subaru needs to find his way back.
*
Subaru goes to his next session with good intentions. He is determined to make this work, but his awkwardness soon manage to get in the way and he finds himself grudgingly staring at the ground for the first half of the hour. He’s mad at himself for not knowing how to go at this, and mad at his therapist for not making this easier on him like Yasu would have.
He grips the edge of his seat as parts of a dream come back to him. It’s not the first time he has dreamed of him, but this...
"I had a wet dream last night," Subaru says suddenly and Shige starts a little. Subaru hasn't been talking for the last 35 minutes so, understandably, it takes a second for Shige to get over the shock and register what's been said.
"Am I supposed to tell you about those things?" Subaru asks. His tone is even, but there is a mocking glint in his eyes. Shige knows he's probably being played with, but after so many failed attempts, he's a bit desperate for interaction with his patient, so he's willing to take the bait. There is no insignificant interaction, after all.
"If you want to tell me, yes."
Subaru grins. "I dreamed about my therapist. Not you, of course, the real one. I was fucking him on this desk," he says, motioning casually to the desk next to him.
If Shige is disturbed by the crudeness of the words, he doesn't let it show, and Subaru is a bit disappointed at the lack of reaction.
"How did it happen?" Shige asks calmly. It's a bit abrupt, and not quite the way he was planning to broach the subject, but Shige has known since the beginning that they would have to discuss this matter.
Subaru lets out a short bitter laugh. "Interested in those kind of details, doctor?"
"Well, clearly there is more to it," Shige retorts instantly.
There is a pause. Shige holds Subaru's gaze and waits while his patient seems to consider his options or lose himself in thoughts.
"It wasn't fucking. It was soft and slow, and I wanted it to be all about him, about his pleasure," Subaru speaks softly, almost as if he was talking to himself.
Shige is surprised at how sincere he suddenly sounds. "Why?" he asks.
"What do you mean?" Subaru's head snaps up and he frowns, distrust back in his eyes.
Shige doesn't want him to go back to being all closed in on himself, not when he'd been so close to opening up, but there is something here that he has to find out.
"Didn't you want to have pleasure yourself?" It's not a good question, way too suggestive, but it works under the circumstances.
Subaru blinks. "I didn't have to think about it. Yasu would take care of me, as I took care of him.”
“But if you always wait for others to take care of you, chances are you’re going to be disappointed. Sometimes it’s better to do things for yourself.”
“I trust him. He wouldn’t let me down.” Subaru glares, unmoving.
“Isn’t it a lot to ask from someone?”
Shige sees Subaru’s conviction waver a bit. The glare has been replaced by a deep frown, but it’s not the same frown as before. Shige has touched something.
“You can’t ask one person to be responsible for your well-being and happiness. It’s not fair to that person, is it?”
*
Shige feels rather good for the rest of the day. He is thrilled at having finally moved forward, if only a bit, with his new case. When he hears the door of the staff break room click open, he turns around to greet whoever is coming in with a smile (and he is maybe a bit relieved to see that it isn’t Nishikido).
Koyama nods at him, but he doesn’t smile, which is weird in itself. “Did therapy go badly with Shibutani from room 102?” he asks.
Shige blinks. “What? No! It went great!” he exclaims, enthusiastic about the progress made, but concerned by Koyama’s attitude and his seemingly casual question. Koyama doesn’t ask things like that for no reason.
“Okay, because he’s curled up into bed and has refused to eat ever since he left your office.”
Shige’s eyes go wide with shock and he flails a bit. “What? But...” He was not expecting this. And yet... “Well, we did touch on some very sensitive issues today.”
Koyama sighs and pats him on the shoulder, smiling in an exhausted kind of way. “I trust you, Shige. You’re a good person, and you’re brilliant. Just remember that it’s not all in the books. People are more complex than that.” And then he nods again, and heads back for the door.
Shige splutters. “What? I know that! Of course. Why are you telling me this?” But he doesn’t get an answer and is left staring at the closed door, completely dumbfounded.
*
Subaru has the mark still hanging above his head: "CAREFUL, SUICIDAL" in bold red letters. His food comes in plastic cups, with plastic chopsticks, and a bendable plastic spoon. He is allowed normal clothes, but no belt, no « dangerous » accessories. They took away his earrings and his navel stud. Subaru often looks at the little holes left and wonders if they’re ever going to close, ever going to heal and disappear completely, forgotten.
There is a window in Subaru’s room, but he tries to forget that it’s even there because the metal grill only reminds him that he’s stuck in this place. Yasu once said that Subaru wasn’t really stuck, that it was all temporary and that Subaru only had to find the will if he ever wanted to get out.
“As long as you don’t want to, nothing will happen,” he had said. “You can’t go forward if you don’t want to in the first place.”
Subaru often thinks back of those words, and he hates himself for not wanting hard enough. He makes quite a disappointing portrait, he thinks, whining and sulking because they hold him in but refusing to move on. Subaru wants to blame others, to fight, but he always ends up blaming himself and he’s long since lost the courage to go up against his oldest enemy.
“Let’s try to see this from another angle, okay? Instead of blaming and fighting, let’s find another approach.”
Had they ever found that new angle? Subaru is pretty sure they did, because they were so good together, because Yasu always triggered the best out of him. Without Yasu, though, Subaru can’t remember.
*
With Yasu, therapy did not feel like therapy. Subaru could forget the hospital, the crazy people he didn't care about, the gray walls keeping them all together. Yasu would sit on top of his desk, and he'd play guitar and Subaru would sing. They would do old music or they'd improvise. Other times, they'd sit on the floor, their backs against the desk, their shoulders almost touching.
"Tell me," Yasu had asked one afternoon and, since Subaru didn't know what he wanted to be told, he had started babbling about pudding.
Yasu had chuckled, their shoulders brushing as they shook with laughter and Subaru had felt like smiling.
"Tell me why you tried to end your life," Yasu had asked again, clearly this time. He had stopped laughing, but there had been a soft, sad but encouraging smile on his face.
"You guys call it depression. I call it void. Everything around you is dark and empty and at first you try to fight it, but then you realise there's nothing to fight, nothing worth fighting for."
There had been a moment of silence, the words floating in the air like some kind of dream, Subaru’s nightmare.
"Do you understand?" Subaru had asked after a time.
Yasu had tilted his head, thoughtful for a moment. "Not really," he had admitted. Emptiness like this had to be experienced to be understood. But then Subaru had felt the warmth of Yasu's hand on his. "But it's sad," Yasu had added.
It's sad. When Subaru thinks back on Yasu's words, he is still touched by their sincerity.
*
The dynamic changes between Subaru and Shige. A new pattern of stiff interactions appears, mistrustful on one part, nervous on the other, and awkward on both sides. At a loss, Shige turns to his books and reviews what 17 of them have to say about therapeutic alliance and how to develop a healthy patient-therapist relationship. Frustrated, he stacks half of them in a box under his bed and resolves to try another approach.
For someone like Shige, dealing with a case like Subaru’s is both fascinating and extremely unsettling. It’s not that his pathology is so special or different; most of his symptoms reflect exactly what major depression is like. But Subaru himself seems to defy categorization. For an orderly person like Shige, it makes things harder. Or so is the way he explains the problem to himself, because it’s easier than to accept that he simply does not understand.
*
Subaru spends a lot of his free time thinking about Yasu. He has a lot of free time (when nurses don’t force him to attend stupid group activities), and focusing on Yasu is much easier than confronting his inner demons. Recently, though, thinking about Yasu also means dwelling on some painful memories.
Subaru remembers their first kiss like it's something printed over his skin, not in words, but in harmonics. Yasu's lips moist, slightly parted by a word that Subaru's mouth never allowed out.
The circumstances are a bit more blurry. What had they been talking about? Yasu had just put his guitar down next to him, had stood up, rubbing the palms of his hands on the front of his trousers. The material looked soft.
“I like you,” Subaru had blurted out; he remembers that part quite well, the taste of the words still tingly on the tip of his tongue.
Yasu had looked up, eyes round as if he was surprised at the declaration, and maybe he was. Subaru had looked down, but only briefly. Thinking back on it, Subaru knows he had trusted Yasu enough to go on. It was the only way to explain how he had put aside shyness and defeatism to cross the short distance separating them.
“I like you,” he had said again, with the confidence that this was the only real thing he could hold on to. Yasu had been confused, or torn between truth and professionalism. Subaru’s fingertips had brushed against Yasu’s collarbone on their way to cup his cheek, but they hadn’t quite made it there, hesitating a bit and tangling into a lose curl behind Yasu’s ear instead.
“Subaru,” Yasu had said softly, voice a bit breathless, emotionally charged. “You know this is...”
And Subaru had kissed him.
Maybe he had done it to stop time, to not hear what “this” was. Because it was one thing to know that the guy you were falling for was your therapist and that your feelings were very inappropriate, but it was another thing entirely when your therapist had also become your friend, the only person who could reach you, touch you, in what seemed like a lifetime of loneliness.
He had kissed him, one hand lost in Yasu’s soft hair, the other flat against his back, pulling him close, holding him tight. He had kissed him fervently, desperately, and he had felt Yasu tremble. Subaru had leaned into the kiss, still desperate, but suddenly soft and tender. Because this moment had been precious, because Yasu was precious to him. He had slowly run his tongue along Yasu’s bottom lip, wanting to go in, not daring to yet.
Yasu’s hand burning on his forearm had made Subaru break the kiss, though he doesn’t quite remember if it had burned before or only after he had seen the look in Yasu’s eyes. Yasu had let out a shaky breath, warm on Subaru’s moist lips. That had burned too, but not as much as the words that had come right after.
“It’s not possible.”
*
Yasu sits in his office, feet kicking under the desk, a file open in front of him. He wishes he had his guitar with him, but he doesn’t bring it to work anymore. Now he doesn’t have anything to release his stress on. He never used to be so stressed before. What changed? When exactly did it change? Could he have stopped it? Would he have wanted to?
Yasu is not stupid. He had seen it coming, back then. He had seen the look in Subaru’s eyes as it changed. His job was to analyse the guy, so of course he had seen it coming. But things were going so well, and Subaru looked happier, more open, more alive.
Yasu hadn’t been prepared to hear him actually confess though, and he should have been prepared, and he should have stopped him, stopped it, when he saw Subaru stepping forward, but he had not, and for the briefest moment he may have found himself kissing back.
It was a stupid mistake, and Yasu blamed only himself. He had been selfish.
“It’s not possible,” he had said, and he had hurt Subaru. The expression on his face had crumbled, his shoulders had slumped down and, god, Yasu had want to reach for him so much. But it was not possible. It wasn’t, and it still isn’t possible, Yasu has to remind himself. Subaru is emotionally unstable. He has cut himself from everyone, he doesn’t have any friends, so of course he’d cling to the first warm presence.
It isn’t about transference or counter-transference or any other Freudian principle, but that doesn’t make it any healthier. Outside, in the real world, if Subaru managed to connect with other people, make friends, he wouldn’t need Yasu anymore.
It isn’t love, Yasu thinks, though he doesn’t doubt the sincerity and the intensity of the feeling. It’s not love, but it hurts all the same. “I’m all he’s got, right now.”
If only it had stopped there.
A knock on the door interrupts flashbacks of Subaru’s lips on his. Yasu readjusts his collar and clears his throat.
“Yes?”
To Yasu’s surprise, it’s Shige’s head that peeks in past the door. “Do you have a minute?” he asks shyly.
Yasu smiles and waves him in. Shige is not really a shy person, though much less exuberant than some, but in the circumstances Yasu understands the awkwardness. He also wonders what Subaru has told him during their sessions, and how that has affected Shige’s opinion of him. Though Yasu does not worry even for a second about Shige telling on them to the direction (Shige is just not that kind of person), he does feel slightly uncomfortable about having his relationship with Subaru discussed like this. Somehow it makes it feel even more wrong.
“What is it?” Yasu asks after Shige has closed the door behind him.
Shige clears his throat. “I think I need some help.”
Yasu blinks. “From me?” It’s unexpected, because Yasu is sure Shige knows more about a lot of stuff than he does. Yasu doesn’t feel inadequate - he has his own strengths - but he is still surprised that Shige would come to him for help. Unless it concerns...
“It’s about Shibutani-san.”
“Oh.” Yasu hears the sound leave his lips and it sounds weird, almost foreign, to his ears. The thumping of his heart is very familiar, on the other hand.
“I know we’re not supposed to discuss cases, and I’m not going to betray the confidentiality rule, but I think I need your help if this patient is ever going to trust me.”
Yasu takes in the load of informations thrown his way and tries to process what is being said to him. “Subaru...” he says the name unconsciously, and glances nervously at his schoolmate when he realises that familiarity of it.
But Shige simply nods. “He doesn’t trust me.”
Yasu sighs softly. It makes sense; Subaru doesn’t trust people easily. But Yasu wouldn’t have thought it would last this long. Doesn’t Subaru realise that Shige is on his side?
At a loss for something to say and confronted with Shige’s nervous fidgeting, Yasu says he needs time to think about it. It’s not that he refuses to help, but he doesn’t want to give bad advice. Shige nods, understanding; needing time to think about something is something he can relate to. And so Shige leaves with a grateful bow, and Yasu spends the next 15 minutes staring into space, lost in an overwhelming flow of thoughts.
He doesn’t sleep much that night. He doesn’t really try to either. He paces in the different rooms of his apartment, long thoughtful strides in the living room, quick bouncy steps as he brushes his teeth in the bathroom. He feels restless.
Around 2 in the morning, he picks up his guitar. And then everything starts to fall into place.
*
Part 2
Pairing: Subaru/Yasu (+ hints of KoyaShige)
Rating: PG
Summary: AU set in a psychiatric establishment. With that said, it's not as dark and depressing as it sounds. It's a story about hope, about finding reasons and ways to go on when everything seems lost. It's also about love and how it can't cure everything but it can give you the courage to stand up again. First in threadverse.
Wordcount: 12,225 words
WARNING: This fic deals with serious themes like depression and suicide. If you’re uncomfortable with those kind of things, please don’t read.
Written for pinkpapyrus and ilanabean42 ♥ ♥ ♥ Betaed by ilanabean42.
Contrary to popular belief, he does remember. He remembers and doesn’t think he could ever forget.
Neon light.
The pop of the bottle cap and its echo against the ceramic wall.
A flash of himself in the mirror, dark, lightning fast.
Pills rolling in the palm of his hand.
Three, ten, too many to count.
His hand shaking; water spilling, tepid.
Eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Darkness.
Pills rolling on his tongue. Flat, lukewarm, chlorinated water.
The slippery edge of the sink under his hand, then cool linoleum against his cheek.
*
Yasu had been looking forward to this internship. After long years of sitting on school benches, he was finally getting to do something, deal with real people, actually help someone. He had worked hard to get there, but he had always known it was worth it.
Two months into his internship, he knows for sure that he made the right choice back then when he had first applied for medical school. It’s hard, of course, dealing with human suffering of a daily basis, but it’s the trust his patients have in him, the way he can help them, little by little, to move on with their lives that gives him the energy to go on. Helping others is so rewarding.
He has learned a lot too, not only from the doctors and the nurses, but from the patients themselves. He has learned about true resilience, and the desire to overcome adversity. Humans are impressive, Yasu thinks; they can be incredibly strong even when everything seems to be going against them.
Yasu passes the common room on his way to the director’s office. A group session is going on and he can see a few of his own patients sitting in the circle. One of them glances up and notices him and Yasu smiles at him and gives him a thumb up.
His good mood wavers a bit when he finally reaches Kitagawa-sensei’s door at the other end of the corridor. Yasu’s not one to be put down so easily, though, so he takes a little breath and knocks.
Kitagawa-sensei has years of practice behind him, but Yasu sometimes wonders if he’s not the one who needs help now. It’s not that he doubts his competence, or even his sanity, but in the past two months Yasu has never seen him smile, and that in itself is kind of sad.
“Yasuda,” Kitagawa begins sternly. Yasu straightens up, balancing on the edge of his seat. He probably has no reason to be nervous, but the head of the psychiatric department always has this effect on him. “I will advise that you transfer room 102’s file to someone else.”
“Eeh?” Yasu lets out incredulously, before his eyes widen in realisation and he switches back to polite speech. “I mean, I’m sorry, but why?” Yasu’s heart is suddenly beating very fast. Maybe he does have reason to be nervous this time. “I thought he was making progress,” he adds, swallowing thickly.
Kitagawa steeples his fingers. “Don’t get me wrong; you did a good job,” he says in a patronizing tone and Yasu blinks at him uncomprehendingly. “It seems, though, that the patient has developed transference. In the circumstances, I think it would be best if you handed the case to someone else.”
“T-transference?” Yasu stutters. His throat feels dry, his face burning.
“Surely you heard about such a thing at school.”
Yasu has, indeed. Transference means that love isn’t real. Transference means that feelings are actually meant for someone else, dimly projected onto Yasu. Transference is a good enough reason for Yasu to hate Freud and his stupid concepts because transference only makes everything so much more complicated. He feels his face grow even warmer.
“Of course, but...”
But interns do not have a word in decision-making.
*
File: 1588917
Room: 102
Sibutani Subaru
Age: 26
Diagnosis: Major depression
Transferred from Intensive Care (treated for overdose after attempted suicide).
Kept as in-patient on parents request until patient no longer a danger for himself.
In charge of therapy: Yasuda Shota Kato Shigeaki
Supervised by: Kitagawa Johnny
*
When nurse Koyama comes to get Subaru right after group therapy and tells him that Kitagawa-sensei wants to see him, Subaru knows it can’t be good. As the head of the department, Kitagawa-sensei only meets him for evaluations, and none is scheduled this week. Subaru doesn’t like the old man and, while he doesn’t usually trust strangers, he trusts Kitagawa even less. He looks at Subaru as if he’s crazy.
Koyama knocks on Kitagawa’s door and waits for an answer. When the low, cigarette-broken voice asks them to come in, Koyama pats Subaru on the shoulder and pushes him in.
The news is bad, indeed.
Very bad.
It takes Subaru several seconds, if not several minutes to process the information and get over the shock enough to formulate an answer. It comes out as a cry, something close to a “no”, but too primal to be an actual word.
“We feel that it’ll be better for you to continue your therapy with a new therapist.”
Subaru wants to scream, wants to jump to his feet, haul something at the doctor’s head. He also wants to cry. But he doesn’t. From then on, he sits still and stares wide-eyed ahead of him, at no one in particular, at nothing really, his body numb, his mind blank, his heart a hollow pit of despair. There is nothing he can do. Nothing. Nothing.
And he feels like the world is closing back on him.
*
Yasu’s heart has not stopped thumping madly against his ribcage ever since he left Kitagawa’s office hours ago. It’s making him feel a little bit sick and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll manage to pretend that everything’s okay. He swallows back a fresh surge of tears and breathes through his nose. Maybe he should have stayed in his office instead of bringing his files to work in the staff room, but with the silence of his four walls, every memory they held, it was just too hard.
Yasu traces the hiragana forming Subaru’s name with his index finger. He wonders how things are going to be from now on. Subaru is not an easy case. He doesn’t trust others. He doesn’t want to. Yasu wonders if things are going to get even worse now that they’ve taken away the only person Subaru manages to open up to. Not that Yasu doubts Shige’s competence, but there is something between Subaru and Yasu that can’t be replaced so easily.
But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it was wrong of him to let them get this close. Because they were therapist and patient and not friends.
Nishikido-sensei walks in, nodding at him before heading for the coffee machine. Yasu taps his pencil on his file and shifts in his seat.
“What’s up?” Ryo asks. He does seem to notice something is off, but he keeps his question casual. They are not in therapy, after all.
“What do you think makes the difference in human relationships?” Yasu asks, out of the blue enough for Ryo to be taken aback.
“Huh?”
“I mean, what’s the difference between, say, patient and therapist, and friends? It’s all human interactions, after all.” Yasu clarifies rapidly, fidgeting with his pencil.
Ryo raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t know the answer, then maybe you should reconsider your career choice.”
Yasu winces. He used to know, but now he doubts.
He hears Ryo sigh. “Look,” he says, “you heard about the intern who got fired for getting a little friendly with one of his patients, right?” Yasu nods, and Ryo goes on: “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? I kind of like you better than a lot of the other guys, so it would really suck if the same thing happened to you.”
Yasu nods again, and Ryo offers a small smile before walking out, leaving Yasu even more depressed.
You have to care about your patients, but apparently there is a limit there too. Glancing down at Subaru’s file, Yasu wonders just how much he’s crossed that line.
“Is everything in there?” Shige asks when Yasu hands over the file.
Yasu thinks of all the things he purposefully forgot to mention and he feels bad for nodding. “I’m sorry for the trouble,” he says.
Shige shakes his head. “Not at all.” He slips the file under his arm and Yasu almost wants to take it back.
“Take good care of him, okay?” he says weakly.
*
When Subaru wakes up the next day, his voice is hoarse from crying all night, but the eyes that look back at him in the mirror are dry and empty.
*
Nurse Koyama is okay. Subaru used to be annoyed at his constant babbling, but it became somewhat comforting. Koyama is not patronizing or nosy. He talks about all kinds of random stuff and has the merit of being entertaining. When he’s around, Subaru can tune out everything else and just listen to the cheerful chatter. It serves as a break from the ceaseless flow of his dark thoughts.
Nurse Uchi is interesting in a different kind of way. He is always so nervous around patients that it makes him clumsy. Or maybe he is just naturally clumsy. Subaru doesn’t know if he should mock him or pity him. Nishikido-sensei teases him a lot, but his gaze is so tender Subaru knows it’s not simple mocking or pity. It makes Subaru feel lonely.
Group therapy every other day is the moment Subaru dreads the most. Depression, eating disorder, personality disorder... It makes Subaru realise just how much life sucks for about everyone. Subaru doesn’t talk much during group sessions; he just sits quietly and refuses to interact more than necessary. Nishikido-sensei is in charge. He is so professional it’s almost scary, but Subaru isn’t impressed. He sees through the layers of overconfidence that Nishikido is just as vulnerable as the lot of them; he’s just better at hiding it.
He’s been sent there because he needed help to live on, or so they said. They succeeded in the way that they made living so easy that it doesn’t require any effort anymore. They provide food. They do laundry. They take care of everything. Subaru can just sit back and live. Except it doesn’t make it any better. Life is so easy it leaves a bitter taste in his throat every time he swallows. He still wants to die, but they made him so lethargic he doesn’t even have the energy to try. Maybe that’s the whole point?
For a moment, there was solace. There was warmth and light and Subaru even thought there was hope. And then they took that away from him.
Subaru refuses to look at his new therapist. He stares vaguely at the window instead. There is a clock on the wall and Subaru can imagine it ticking, even if it doesn’t actually make any sound. The new guy (Subaru refuses to learn his name) keeps trying, leaving pauses that last several minutes before trying again. His words melt into each other. His tone is even, but there is a new nervous inflection that has been developing over the last few attempts. Subaru lets it lull him into a sort of daze.
His thoughts bring him back to his bed in the intensive care unit. He remembers waking up to several tubes going in and out of him. He remembers the sensation of not being dead like he was supposed to, but not being quite alive either. How could he have failed even at dying? He remembers the look on his mother’s face too, and then closing his eyes, concentrating hard on the beeping sound of the machines.
He remembers his first night in the psychiatric department, lying as still as a stone, eyes open, as if stuck in a different reality, one even scarier than life. He remembers the second night, tossing and turning and freaking out because the bed would not even acknowledge his presence with a squeak. He remembers crying, tearless sobs that made him dizzy and nauseous.
He had refused to speak to anyone at first; not the nurses, not the doctors, not even the other patients who had looked at him with this knowing look. “We’ve been through it too,” they had seemed to say.
For the first three sessions of therapy, Subaru had barely said a word, answering questions with monosyllables or wide eyed stares. It was not that he felt particularly defiant, though maybe he had a little. This had more to do with the fact that he had never been very comfortable around strangers and really hadn’t known what to say. There had seemed to be no real point in discussing anything, anyway.
Yasu seemed like confident enough person, but he must have been a bit unsettled by this silence at first. Subaru had heard that he was one of his first patients, after all. But Yasu was also patient and full of optimism and he seemed to have no problem with following his instincts, even if it meant deviating a bit from normal protocol.
“Is there anything you like to do?” Yasu had asked on the fourth session. Subaru had stared. But when Yasu had brought his guitar in for the fifth session, things had taken a different turn.
Yasu had told him that he justified himself to the rest of the staff with talk about musical therapy. Direction had raised a collective eyebrow, but had not objected.
“Let’s sing something together, okay?” Yasu had suggested cheerfully, pulling his instrument out of its case.
“... For real?” Subaru had asked.
“Sure!” Yasu had smiled brightly. “Do you want to play?” He had offered his guitar for him to take, but Subaru had shaken his head.
“Play something first.”
To this day, Subaru remembers the shiver that had run along his spine when Yasu had played an old ballad. Back then, he couldn’t tell if it was the music itself, or the way Yasu was playing it, head bent in concentration, fingers soft and graceful. Now, he knows. He knows that he couldn’t have cared less about what Yasu was playing; no matter what it was it would be beautiful anyway.
“Play me another,” Subaru had demanded as soon as the vibrations of the last chords had died away.
Yasu had laughed. “You have to sing this time.”
Subaru had nodded eagerly, because he had wanted to. He had wanted to sing at that moment, more than he had in over a year.
Back in present time, Shige clears his throat and diffuses Subaru’s memories. He asks a question, yet another one, but Subaru looks out of the window and purposefully ignores him. Now he’s being defiant, he knows. He also knows that it’s not his new therapist’s fault and that maybe he should feel bad for making him squirm like this, but he just doesn’t care. Yasu is supposed to be sitting in that chair, or on top of that desk with his guitar in his lap. So why bother? Subaru closes his eyes and waits for the clock to tick the rest of the hour away.
*
When the nurse brings in his evening dose, he looks contemplatively at the two little pills at the bottom of the tiny plastic cup and gives the nurse an almost peaceful smile, before shoving them in his pocket as soon as she turns around. If they are taking Yasu away from him, he doesn’t see why he should bother with medication.
*
For Yasu, days go on like they used to. He has other patients to take care of, after all. Except there is a tightening feeling in his chest, counter-pulsing every heart beat. Something is missing. And it hurts. Yasu feels like he has switched to autopilot, like he’s only pretending to be doing his job. He feels bad for not giving his all, because no matter how much he tries, his thoughts always run back to the same person. He has not stopped caring about his other patients, of course, and he wants so much for things to go back to normal, for this selfishness of his to stop. But he feels weak. Is it that he doesn’t care enough for his job, or just that he cares too much for Subaru?
He misses Subaru like one misses a best friend, or in ways he doesn’t completely understand. He sees himself crossing more and more limits everytime he thinks about it. It’s scary. He can forgive himself friendship, but love? It’s just wrong in so many ways.
And yet...
Yasu unconsciously slows down everytime he passes in front of room 102, and he walks twice as fast as necessary once he’s past the door because he realises seeing Subaru won’t help.
On the other side of the door, Subaru listens to the footsteps echoing in the corridor, anonymous feet on sterile floor. He closes his eyes and pretends it’s music.
*
With his eyes closed, Subaru could feel the air vibrate around him, and deep inside his lungs. It felt good, enveloping and filling. But with his eyes open, he had been able to actually see the music, in Yasu’s smile, in the way his body always seemed to be following a rhythm, even when he wasn’t playing guitar, or singing. To Subaru, Yasu seemed to be living to his own beat, and that in itself made him different enough to be interesting.
There was more to it than that, though. With Yasu, Subaru didn’t only want to make music, he also wanted to talk, and to listen, and to play silly games, and to laugh, and to smile, and to... live? Maybe. He brought Subaru a bit closer to it, at least.
There had been a time when they had played jankenpon to decide who would reveal something about himself. Yasu had lost the first time.
“So, what do you want to know?” Yasu had asked, all warm eyes and fair play.
Subaru is sure his eyes must have sparkled then. There were many things he wanted to know, personal things, things that made Yasu Yasu.
“What do your friends call you?” he had heard himself ask, and had felt slightly surprised at the question. Then again, it made sense.
“My friends call me Yasu. A lot of people call me Yasu, actually, because I don’t like being called by my whole name. It’s too formal. Somehow, I think it doesn’t fit me?” Yasu had tilted his head and smiled and Subaru had never wanted to call him Yasuda-san again, not even in thoughts (maybe even less).
On the second round, Yasu had lost again and he had pouted so cutely that Subaru had wanted to kiss him. It had been a strange feeling back then, somewhere between fascination and attraction, and maybe the begining of something else. Maybe Yasu had felt it too, because his tone had been very soft when he had said, “What should I tell you about, this time?”
Subaru had leaned in, ever so slightly. “Anything,” he had said, barely above a whisper. Yasu had smiled, playful, almost shy. “Tell me something interesting,” Subaru had added, the thrill making his heart beat faster.
“Mm,” Yasu had let out thoughtfully, tapping his index finger against his lips. “When I was a kid, I wanted to become a rock star,” he had offered with a giggle. Subaru had chuckled. It was not that hard to imagine, after all.
The third time, Subaru had lost. He had braced himself, expecting a difficult question, something deep and hard and painful, but Yasu’s smile had been soft when he had asked, “Tell me about a good memory?”
The question had taken him aback a little, but the words had come surprisingly easily. “When I turned twenty, I went on a road trip with two of my friends. We drove around without a map and camped in the most random of places. One of us was still underage, so we would buy beer, the cheapest kind, and then we would hide somewhere to drink,” Subaru had recounted, a little smile tugging at his lips. And then his eyes had dropped and he had felt the smile turn sad. Those times were over. He didn’t usually dwell on it, because it was just too painful, but there was something about Yasu that made him forget caution. Maybe it was okay?
“Do you miss them, sometimes?” Yasu had asked.
And Subaru had nodded, because it had been okay to admit those kind of things to Yasu, because he could trust him with anything.
*
It’s been a week since they have seen each other, but it feels like much longer. Nine days, to be more specific. Yasu wonders if counting the days is not making this even worse. Is Subaru counting the days too?
When fingers wrap around his wrist and pull, Yasu knows what room it is without having to look. He had slowed down his pace a few doors before, after all, but he has his confirmation when wide dark eyes appear right in front of him. Familiar eyes. Except the glare he sees in those eyes is something he hasn’t seen in a very long while. At least, not directed at him.
“You left me.” Subaru’s voice is low, almost dangerous, but Yasu recognises the layers of hurt and confusion covering deeper vulnerability.
“I’m sorry. They asked me to stop seeing you.”
Subaru’s fingers, still wrapped around Yasu’s wrist, tighten almost painfully. It’s Yasu’s heart that feels tight, though, because he doesn’t know how to walk away with Subaru clinging to him like this.
“Fuckers,” Subaru growls low in this throat and he steps forward, presses Yasu against the closed door and kisses him.
The kiss is intense, angry and bitter, but it is also seeking for comfort, demanding reassurance. It is asking where Yasu’s real loyalties lie. Are you with me? Don’t you want to help me? Don’t you like me? But when Yasu lets out a soft muffled moan, Subaru’s mood switches and his hands come up to cup his face in a surprisingly tender gesture. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. And his lips caress Yasu’s, trying to convey the words he can’t say. Stay with me, please?
But then Yasu’s hand in on his chest, gently pushing him away.
“Please stop.”
Subaru frowns. Yasu looks down, hiding his red face and teary eyes under long bangs. He clears his throat, tries to collect himself, wanting to make this as painless as possible, except his own heart is already crumbling and, if can he judge by his rigid stance, it’s Subaru’s whole being that is likely to shatter. I was supposed to help him, he thinks, not break him even more.
“If someone catches us, I’m dead,” he explains, smiling sadly. “They’ll fire me and we’ll never see each other again.”
It’s not the whole truth, but it’s the only part of the truth Subaru is likely to listen to. There is a moment of silence, and then Subaru’s shoulders slump down. He is defeated, but not completely broken, and that’s probably the best Yasu could hope for in the circumstances. He would laugh at the way they are both trying so hard to preserve the other, but right now things are too painful to feel romantic.
“Get better, okay?” Yasu says. “For me?” And then he quickly slips out of the room before his shaky smile dissolves into tears.
Subaru stands unmoving in his room for a long time. He doesn’t look at the door Yasu has just disappeared through. He knows he’s not coming back. But he left with a unspoken promise: I’ll wait for you outside. And maybe that’s what Subaru needs to find his way back.
*
Subaru goes to his next session with good intentions. He is determined to make this work, but his awkwardness soon manage to get in the way and he finds himself grudgingly staring at the ground for the first half of the hour. He’s mad at himself for not knowing how to go at this, and mad at his therapist for not making this easier on him like Yasu would have.
He grips the edge of his seat as parts of a dream come back to him. It’s not the first time he has dreamed of him, but this...
"I had a wet dream last night," Subaru says suddenly and Shige starts a little. Subaru hasn't been talking for the last 35 minutes so, understandably, it takes a second for Shige to get over the shock and register what's been said.
"Am I supposed to tell you about those things?" Subaru asks. His tone is even, but there is a mocking glint in his eyes. Shige knows he's probably being played with, but after so many failed attempts, he's a bit desperate for interaction with his patient, so he's willing to take the bait. There is no insignificant interaction, after all.
"If you want to tell me, yes."
Subaru grins. "I dreamed about my therapist. Not you, of course, the real one. I was fucking him on this desk," he says, motioning casually to the desk next to him.
If Shige is disturbed by the crudeness of the words, he doesn't let it show, and Subaru is a bit disappointed at the lack of reaction.
"How did it happen?" Shige asks calmly. It's a bit abrupt, and not quite the way he was planning to broach the subject, but Shige has known since the beginning that they would have to discuss this matter.
Subaru lets out a short bitter laugh. "Interested in those kind of details, doctor?"
"Well, clearly there is more to it," Shige retorts instantly.
There is a pause. Shige holds Subaru's gaze and waits while his patient seems to consider his options or lose himself in thoughts.
"It wasn't fucking. It was soft and slow, and I wanted it to be all about him, about his pleasure," Subaru speaks softly, almost as if he was talking to himself.
Shige is surprised at how sincere he suddenly sounds. "Why?" he asks.
"What do you mean?" Subaru's head snaps up and he frowns, distrust back in his eyes.
Shige doesn't want him to go back to being all closed in on himself, not when he'd been so close to opening up, but there is something here that he has to find out.
"Didn't you want to have pleasure yourself?" It's not a good question, way too suggestive, but it works under the circumstances.
Subaru blinks. "I didn't have to think about it. Yasu would take care of me, as I took care of him.”
“But if you always wait for others to take care of you, chances are you’re going to be disappointed. Sometimes it’s better to do things for yourself.”
“I trust him. He wouldn’t let me down.” Subaru glares, unmoving.
“Isn’t it a lot to ask from someone?”
Shige sees Subaru’s conviction waver a bit. The glare has been replaced by a deep frown, but it’s not the same frown as before. Shige has touched something.
“You can’t ask one person to be responsible for your well-being and happiness. It’s not fair to that person, is it?”
*
Shige feels rather good for the rest of the day. He is thrilled at having finally moved forward, if only a bit, with his new case. When he hears the door of the staff break room click open, he turns around to greet whoever is coming in with a smile (and he is maybe a bit relieved to see that it isn’t Nishikido).
Koyama nods at him, but he doesn’t smile, which is weird in itself. “Did therapy go badly with Shibutani from room 102?” he asks.
Shige blinks. “What? No! It went great!” he exclaims, enthusiastic about the progress made, but concerned by Koyama’s attitude and his seemingly casual question. Koyama doesn’t ask things like that for no reason.
“Okay, because he’s curled up into bed and has refused to eat ever since he left your office.”
Shige’s eyes go wide with shock and he flails a bit. “What? But...” He was not expecting this. And yet... “Well, we did touch on some very sensitive issues today.”
Koyama sighs and pats him on the shoulder, smiling in an exhausted kind of way. “I trust you, Shige. You’re a good person, and you’re brilliant. Just remember that it’s not all in the books. People are more complex than that.” And then he nods again, and heads back for the door.
Shige splutters. “What? I know that! Of course. Why are you telling me this?” But he doesn’t get an answer and is left staring at the closed door, completely dumbfounded.
*
Subaru has the mark still hanging above his head: "CAREFUL, SUICIDAL" in bold red letters. His food comes in plastic cups, with plastic chopsticks, and a bendable plastic spoon. He is allowed normal clothes, but no belt, no « dangerous » accessories. They took away his earrings and his navel stud. Subaru often looks at the little holes left and wonders if they’re ever going to close, ever going to heal and disappear completely, forgotten.
There is a window in Subaru’s room, but he tries to forget that it’s even there because the metal grill only reminds him that he’s stuck in this place. Yasu once said that Subaru wasn’t really stuck, that it was all temporary and that Subaru only had to find the will if he ever wanted to get out.
“As long as you don’t want to, nothing will happen,” he had said. “You can’t go forward if you don’t want to in the first place.”
Subaru often thinks back of those words, and he hates himself for not wanting hard enough. He makes quite a disappointing portrait, he thinks, whining and sulking because they hold him in but refusing to move on. Subaru wants to blame others, to fight, but he always ends up blaming himself and he’s long since lost the courage to go up against his oldest enemy.
“Let’s try to see this from another angle, okay? Instead of blaming and fighting, let’s find another approach.”
Had they ever found that new angle? Subaru is pretty sure they did, because they were so good together, because Yasu always triggered the best out of him. Without Yasu, though, Subaru can’t remember.
*
With Yasu, therapy did not feel like therapy. Subaru could forget the hospital, the crazy people he didn't care about, the gray walls keeping them all together. Yasu would sit on top of his desk, and he'd play guitar and Subaru would sing. They would do old music or they'd improvise. Other times, they'd sit on the floor, their backs against the desk, their shoulders almost touching.
"Tell me," Yasu had asked one afternoon and, since Subaru didn't know what he wanted to be told, he had started babbling about pudding.
Yasu had chuckled, their shoulders brushing as they shook with laughter and Subaru had felt like smiling.
"Tell me why you tried to end your life," Yasu had asked again, clearly this time. He had stopped laughing, but there had been a soft, sad but encouraging smile on his face.
"You guys call it depression. I call it void. Everything around you is dark and empty and at first you try to fight it, but then you realise there's nothing to fight, nothing worth fighting for."
There had been a moment of silence, the words floating in the air like some kind of dream, Subaru’s nightmare.
"Do you understand?" Subaru had asked after a time.
Yasu had tilted his head, thoughtful for a moment. "Not really," he had admitted. Emptiness like this had to be experienced to be understood. But then Subaru had felt the warmth of Yasu's hand on his. "But it's sad," Yasu had added.
It's sad. When Subaru thinks back on Yasu's words, he is still touched by their sincerity.
*
The dynamic changes between Subaru and Shige. A new pattern of stiff interactions appears, mistrustful on one part, nervous on the other, and awkward on both sides. At a loss, Shige turns to his books and reviews what 17 of them have to say about therapeutic alliance and how to develop a healthy patient-therapist relationship. Frustrated, he stacks half of them in a box under his bed and resolves to try another approach.
For someone like Shige, dealing with a case like Subaru’s is both fascinating and extremely unsettling. It’s not that his pathology is so special or different; most of his symptoms reflect exactly what major depression is like. But Subaru himself seems to defy categorization. For an orderly person like Shige, it makes things harder. Or so is the way he explains the problem to himself, because it’s easier than to accept that he simply does not understand.
*
Subaru spends a lot of his free time thinking about Yasu. He has a lot of free time (when nurses don’t force him to attend stupid group activities), and focusing on Yasu is much easier than confronting his inner demons. Recently, though, thinking about Yasu also means dwelling on some painful memories.
Subaru remembers their first kiss like it's something printed over his skin, not in words, but in harmonics. Yasu's lips moist, slightly parted by a word that Subaru's mouth never allowed out.
The circumstances are a bit more blurry. What had they been talking about? Yasu had just put his guitar down next to him, had stood up, rubbing the palms of his hands on the front of his trousers. The material looked soft.
“I like you,” Subaru had blurted out; he remembers that part quite well, the taste of the words still tingly on the tip of his tongue.
Yasu had looked up, eyes round as if he was surprised at the declaration, and maybe he was. Subaru had looked down, but only briefly. Thinking back on it, Subaru knows he had trusted Yasu enough to go on. It was the only way to explain how he had put aside shyness and defeatism to cross the short distance separating them.
“I like you,” he had said again, with the confidence that this was the only real thing he could hold on to. Yasu had been confused, or torn between truth and professionalism. Subaru’s fingertips had brushed against Yasu’s collarbone on their way to cup his cheek, but they hadn’t quite made it there, hesitating a bit and tangling into a lose curl behind Yasu’s ear instead.
“Subaru,” Yasu had said softly, voice a bit breathless, emotionally charged. “You know this is...”
And Subaru had kissed him.
Maybe he had done it to stop time, to not hear what “this” was. Because it was one thing to know that the guy you were falling for was your therapist and that your feelings were very inappropriate, but it was another thing entirely when your therapist had also become your friend, the only person who could reach you, touch you, in what seemed like a lifetime of loneliness.
He had kissed him, one hand lost in Yasu’s soft hair, the other flat against his back, pulling him close, holding him tight. He had kissed him fervently, desperately, and he had felt Yasu tremble. Subaru had leaned into the kiss, still desperate, but suddenly soft and tender. Because this moment had been precious, because Yasu was precious to him. He had slowly run his tongue along Yasu’s bottom lip, wanting to go in, not daring to yet.
Yasu’s hand burning on his forearm had made Subaru break the kiss, though he doesn’t quite remember if it had burned before or only after he had seen the look in Yasu’s eyes. Yasu had let out a shaky breath, warm on Subaru’s moist lips. That had burned too, but not as much as the words that had come right after.
“It’s not possible.”
*
Yasu sits in his office, feet kicking under the desk, a file open in front of him. He wishes he had his guitar with him, but he doesn’t bring it to work anymore. Now he doesn’t have anything to release his stress on. He never used to be so stressed before. What changed? When exactly did it change? Could he have stopped it? Would he have wanted to?
Yasu is not stupid. He had seen it coming, back then. He had seen the look in Subaru’s eyes as it changed. His job was to analyse the guy, so of course he had seen it coming. But things were going so well, and Subaru looked happier, more open, more alive.
Yasu hadn’t been prepared to hear him actually confess though, and he should have been prepared, and he should have stopped him, stopped it, when he saw Subaru stepping forward, but he had not, and for the briefest moment he may have found himself kissing back.
It was a stupid mistake, and Yasu blamed only himself. He had been selfish.
“It’s not possible,” he had said, and he had hurt Subaru. The expression on his face had crumbled, his shoulders had slumped down and, god, Yasu had want to reach for him so much. But it was not possible. It wasn’t, and it still isn’t possible, Yasu has to remind himself. Subaru is emotionally unstable. He has cut himself from everyone, he doesn’t have any friends, so of course he’d cling to the first warm presence.
It isn’t about transference or counter-transference or any other Freudian principle, but that doesn’t make it any healthier. Outside, in the real world, if Subaru managed to connect with other people, make friends, he wouldn’t need Yasu anymore.
It isn’t love, Yasu thinks, though he doesn’t doubt the sincerity and the intensity of the feeling. It’s not love, but it hurts all the same. “I’m all he’s got, right now.”
If only it had stopped there.
A knock on the door interrupts flashbacks of Subaru’s lips on his. Yasu readjusts his collar and clears his throat.
“Yes?”
To Yasu’s surprise, it’s Shige’s head that peeks in past the door. “Do you have a minute?” he asks shyly.
Yasu smiles and waves him in. Shige is not really a shy person, though much less exuberant than some, but in the circumstances Yasu understands the awkwardness. He also wonders what Subaru has told him during their sessions, and how that has affected Shige’s opinion of him. Though Yasu does not worry even for a second about Shige telling on them to the direction (Shige is just not that kind of person), he does feel slightly uncomfortable about having his relationship with Subaru discussed like this. Somehow it makes it feel even more wrong.
“What is it?” Yasu asks after Shige has closed the door behind him.
Shige clears his throat. “I think I need some help.”
Yasu blinks. “From me?” It’s unexpected, because Yasu is sure Shige knows more about a lot of stuff than he does. Yasu doesn’t feel inadequate - he has his own strengths - but he is still surprised that Shige would come to him for help. Unless it concerns...
“It’s about Shibutani-san.”
“Oh.” Yasu hears the sound leave his lips and it sounds weird, almost foreign, to his ears. The thumping of his heart is very familiar, on the other hand.
“I know we’re not supposed to discuss cases, and I’m not going to betray the confidentiality rule, but I think I need your help if this patient is ever going to trust me.”
Yasu takes in the load of informations thrown his way and tries to process what is being said to him. “Subaru...” he says the name unconsciously, and glances nervously at his schoolmate when he realises that familiarity of it.
But Shige simply nods. “He doesn’t trust me.”
Yasu sighs softly. It makes sense; Subaru doesn’t trust people easily. But Yasu wouldn’t have thought it would last this long. Doesn’t Subaru realise that Shige is on his side?
At a loss for something to say and confronted with Shige’s nervous fidgeting, Yasu says he needs time to think about it. It’s not that he refuses to help, but he doesn’t want to give bad advice. Shige nods, understanding; needing time to think about something is something he can relate to. And so Shige leaves with a grateful bow, and Yasu spends the next 15 minutes staring into space, lost in an overwhelming flow of thoughts.
He doesn’t sleep much that night. He doesn’t really try to either. He paces in the different rooms of his apartment, long thoughtful strides in the living room, quick bouncy steps as he brushes his teeth in the bathroom. He feels restless.
Around 2 in the morning, he picks up his guitar. And then everything starts to fall into place.
*
Part 2