this might end up as a series. set between volumes 2 and 3.

x x x

It went exactly like this: "So, Niichan, I don't mean to be rude, but where do I sleep?" and Fuuma heard it and didn't hear it and heard it and didn't understand what it meant, so he went through it word by word, translating, and in that fashion slowly wrenched himself out of the place he had been, somewhere damp and thick.

He finally looked up. They were the same age from what Fuuma had gathered, same height, too, but he kept thinking small and young and annoying, even though only the third was—right. What? "Sleep?"

Arisugawa nodded. "Kamui's staying here tonight too, right? I'm not leaving his side."

Yes, but, Fuuma wanted to argue, but didn't. "In here is fine." Here. The living room. Fuuma was sitting on the couch. Fuuma was on the couch and it was almost two in the morning, and he didn't even know where Kamui and Kotori were. Bed. Hopefully. Arisugawa dropped down on the couch next to him, sprawling and using far more energy and action than such a simple thing, sitting down, should, and then he began tapping his fingers on his jeans and looking around earnestly, unashamedly taking the house in.

—Kotori. Right. He'd broken the news to her a few hours ago, and she had cried, and he had worried she'd provoke a seizure from it. All she'd done was cry herself into sleep, and he'd felt badly for thinking to himself thank god she isn't causing more trouble, because she never did and that wouldn't be her fault even if a seizure right now would be—and, well. He didn't know where Kamui was. He should go find him. Fuuma didn't move.

"I bet," Arisugawa said, loud, "you're thinking to yourself, wow, Sorata and Kamui sure get along great, I bet they go way back. But actually, we've only met today." Fuuma hadn't been thinking that, wasn't at all surprised. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"No," Fuuma said. "My father just died." Arisugawa had been there, too. Kamui and him both. And Kamui had been shocked and Fuuma had been—been what?—shocked, yes, but more than that, deeper than that, and Arisugawa hadn't been at all. Surprised or afraid or confused. Fuuma and seen and noticed, noticed everything all at once, memorized every detail of his father's death and now he remembered only that Arisugawa hadn't been amazed that someone had murdered a man in cold blood.

"Those are two separate points, aren't they?"

"So you and Kamui only met today?" Fuuma asked instead.

"Yeah. Actually, you're the one that introduced us, when you brought me here. Aren't you gonna ask why, Niichan?"

Arisugawa clearly wanted him to. "No," Fuuma said.

x x x