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“Do you still hate me?“
The question comes out of nowhere, or maybe that’s just what Jouno would have liked to believe. It isn’t that something hasn’t been off about Tecchou the whole day, even if he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. He had blamed it on his imagination, or perhaps the weather, though. Tecchou doesn’t love the rain, Jouno picked up on that within their first few months of working together, although he didn’t know why. Tecchou hadn’t responded to his teasing about it, so Jouno had eventually dropped it, and now it simply came to use on days like these.
The sky had been heavy the day before, so Jouno wasn’t surprised when he woke up to the steady sound of raindrops hitting the window of his bedroom. It was easy enough to blame all the little things that seemed wrong today on the weather, too. The fact that Tecchou had gotten up later than usual, that his breakfast had consisted of a bottle of water, a complete disregard to the care and effort he usually put into his meals (it didn’t change the fact that they were still gross, but he put thought into what he was eating, Jouno had to give him that). The way his steps sounded a little bit heavier than usual. The hoarse tone to his voice when he spoke, just present enough to be sure it was there.
But aside from that, he hadn’t acted any different than at any other day, and even seemed fairly content when he sat down on the couch next to Jouno and rested his head on the side of his shoulder. Jouno figured he was just tired, a deduction supported by the way Tecchou’s body shifted as he relaxed, leaning a little closer to Jouno. He had been starting to doze off to the sound of the rain and Tecchou’s heartbeat too, when his partner decided to break the silence between them.
So at that moment, it does seem like the question comes out of nowhere, and that’s why Jouno doesn’t put too much thought into his reply. “Yes, I obviously still hate you, Tecchou,“ he comments, not bothering to turn around to his partner. “That’s why I chose to spend my day off with you as if I don’t have anything better to do.“
Tecchou isn’t very good at identifying sarcasm, Jouno knows that. It’s probably not the best situation to make use of it, given the hoarse tone of Tecchou’s voice, his weight resting on Jouno’s shoulder as though his body can’t support itself, the little break between every breath he takes.
Tecchou pauses for a moment, whether to think about Jouno’s words or a good reply or perhaps something completely unrelated, Jouno doesn’t know. As far as he can tell from experience, it’s probably the latter, anyway. “Okay,“ he finally says, simply. A single word, nothing more, in the same blunt yet strangely quiet tone as before. No cue for Jouno on whether he picked up on the sarcasm or not, or whether he perhaps ignored it on purpose.
Jouno hates this sort of conversation. He can’t remember ever being subject to one, and comforting people doesn't come naturally to him, really. It had been difficult even with Tachihara, who he had felt sort of responsible for; they were in the same boat after all, and Jouno could vaguely imagine the way the boy was feeling. Even so, initiating this sort of thing makes him feel sick more often than not, and he feels more than justified in avoiding it whenever possible.
No, Jouno already regrets these words before they’ve even been spoken. “What’s wrong?“
It’s as much of a statement as a question. Something Tecchou has no choice but to reply to, without giving him the easy way out of a simple I’m fine. If Jouno is getting into this, they’re going the hard way, for the both of them.
There is a pause that follows. He hears Tecchou swallow, as though he’s truly putting thought into his answer. Something about his heartbeat is strange, too, but it’s too unusual for him for Jouno to tell what it might mean. So he simply waits for his partner’s reply, finding himself counting Tecchou’s heavy heartbeats in the meanwhile. One. Two. Three. Four.
Tecchou inhales. Pauses again. Then, finally, he says: “Do you think I should have died at that airport too?“
Jouno swallows. This sentence can be understood in two ways, and the uncharacteristic emptiness in Tecchou’s voice makes him think he knows which one it is he meant. Tecchou isn’t really the type to use ambiguous phrases for no reason, anyway.
He doesn’t reply. Tecchou hasn’t answered his question, and his tongue, for some reason, feels too numb to speak.
“I do.“
Jouno hates the way Tecchou says that. The utter emptiness of his voice, a tone starved of anything but natural, hollow nonchalance. Like the thing he’s talking about is what to eat for lunch or what to wear today; something too ever-present to deserve even the slightest bit of attention. A blade so dull it barely even cuts through skin anymore.
Jouno huffs, shifting away from Tecchou. He isn’t sure why he does, or what he expected, but his partner doesn’t adjust to the new position; his torso slumps down while his head stays resting on Jouno’s arm like some sort of lifeline. Sitting like this can’t be comfortable even for Tecchou’s standards, but he doesn’t put in the effort to straighten up. “Well, I don’t,“ Jouno says. His voice sounds sharper than intended. “I don’t think anyone should have, for the record.“ That’s a lie, of course it is, but it has to resonate with Tecchou’s sense of right and wrong. Jouno doesn’t share his views on justice; he has his own, and usually, they both know that. But it’s not what Tecchou needs to hear right now.
Tecchou gives him a weak hum. It hangs in the air before dissipating into the noise of the rain outside, and Jouno finds himself thinking that it sounds just the same. Static. Empty. He wonders if Tecchou is aware of it.
Jouno feels his lips tremble, and he’s grateful Tecchou can’t. “I wish you’d give up on others half as quickly as you do on yourself,“ he mutters.
It’s a selfish thought, no doubt. Tecchou’s tendency to go out of his way to protect and stand up for others, no matter how much they have done wrong, is a painfully irritating habit of his. The amount of sympathy his partner offers for their targets makes Jouno feel sick sometimes.
(Enough sympathy, he thinks, to accept them as his partner. To act like Jouno has never been anything but a Hunting Dog, like he is here of his own accord, like it is where he belongs. Not even their commander had so much faith in bad people as Tecchou does, and that equation doesn’t exclude Jouno, much to the contrary.
It’s a selfish thought, but that’s what Jouno is.)
Tecchou ignores him, and Jouno isn’t sure whether to be grateful for it. Maybe there’s some twisted part inside him that was hoping his partner would pick up on the implication, even though it’s not a conversation he wants to have, generally speaking. (Still rather than this one, he thinks. He pushes the thought away again.)
A long while passes in silence like that, and Jouno returns to listening to the rain and Tecchou’s breathing next to him. Now that he pays attention to it, it does sound a little heavier than usual.
Tecchou shifts. He presses his head a little tighter against Jouno’s shoulder in the motion; he doesn’t appear to do it on purpose, he’s probably not even aware of it, but it makes something inside Jouno twist when he speaks up again. It makes him painfully aware of just how superficial their connection is. How they might be touching right now, but are an eternity apart all the same. “Did you mean what you said?“, Tecchou asks quietly. “Do you really hate me?“
Oh, words can do so much damage. Of course Jouno is aware of this, they’re his preferred weapon after all, a tool he is so much more skilled at handling than any sort of gun or sword. His tongue can cut deeper than any blade, and like any weapon does, it leaves such a unique kind of pain and despair in his victims. It’s easy to grow bored of inflicting physical pain, when the mental kind is so much more fun.
This is not the sort of thing he wanted, though. It’s the equivalent to an accident, when there are so many things he could have said fully intending to hurt Tecchou. When there are so many things he had said fully intending to hurt Tecchou, none of which even earned a proper reaction from his partner. To think that the thing that achieved this goal in the end is such an empty commonplace phrase, it almost makes him feel bad for it.
He takes a deep sigh, but it isn’t enough to dissipate the heavy fog inside his lungs. His tone sounds more defeated than intended. “No, I don’t,“ he says, and he doesn’t bother paying attention to how those words make him feel. He knows they’re the truth, that’s not the issue. But Jouno is a liar, and telling the truth is a whole different thing than acknowledging it.
Jouno feels Tecchou’s shoulder brush against his arm as he shrugs. “That’s a shame,“ he mutters.
Jouno tries to ignore the way his empty tone makes his stomach churn. The utter nonchalance at the topic, as though it means nothing to him. As though Jouno’s feelings are nothing but a minor inconvenience in the issue, and his answer never truly mattered from the start. Jouno knows it shouldn’t bother him, and if anything, he should be happy about it. It’s what he wanted after all, isn’t it?
Perhaps Tecchou is aware of it. Perhaps he’s finally picking up Jouno’s habits he despises so much, finally giving in to the bad influence Jouno has on him simply by breathing the same air for too long. Perhaps he is trying to hurt Jouno in his own way, pay him back for those hundreds of times before, or maybe he’s trying to do him a favor, in some messed up way. Or maybe that’s just what Jouno would like to believe, because it would make his words so much easier to handle. “It would be a lot easier if you did.“
“It?“, Jouno repeats. The word hangs in the air between them for a few seconds, almost as though giving Tecchou the opportunity to backtrack, but of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t clarify either, but for once, Jouno is fairly certain they both know he doesn’t need to.
Suddenly, his mouth feels dry. “Don’t you fucking dare.“ He has been meaning to go on, say so much more of the things on his mind, but he hears his voice trail off. Even those few words come past his lips so much harder than they should. His voice sounds strained.
Tecchou exhales, something vaguely reminiscent of a sigh. “Don’t worry,“ he simply says, and those words feel like a slap in the face. The audacity to say something like this, in the exact same tone as he had been talking about ending his life in, like it’s no big deal. Like it doesn’t make a difference at all.
Jouno would have liked to tell him that. To yell at him for it, make him understand how wrong it is, and how utterly disgusting it is that he doesn’t see it by himself.
He doesn’t.
“You’re here,“ Tecchou continues, as though Jouno has been ignoring the obvious variables on purpose. As though they make any fucking sense to anyone but himself. “And if you don’t hate me, I,“ there he pauses to take a breath, but his heartbeat betrays his intentions, telling Jouno he is doing it on purpose, “cannot fail you too, again.“
Fail. That word gets caught up in Jouno’s mind, turning into a taunting echo inside his head. He hates the implication, the notion of putting the responsibility for Tecchou’s life in his hands, the way his partner talks about him like he’s nothing but a tool for his reasoning. He wants to tell Tecchou. Usually he would have told Tecchou, paraphrased into how much he hated him in general, loaded with enough venom and bitterness to drown out that of Tecchou’s voice inside his head. Fail.
But after what Tecchou had just said, that seems a little inappropriate, so for once, Jouno settles for actions instead. He straightens up a little, reaching out for Tecchou’s hand to take it into his own. His partner’s heart speeds up for barely two beats and Jouno bites his lip. Of course this is what gets a reaction, even just a weak one. But it’s what he wanted, after all, so he doesn’t say anything, just carefully brushes his thumb across the back of Tecchou’s hand.
Jouno isn’t a gentle person. It’s something not even Tecchou can attribute to him, and he takes pride in that. It’s not a secret, and definitely nothing he wants to be.
So he hates it. He hates the way Tecchou’s rough palm feels in his hand, the way his fingers fall into place by themselves like Tecchou’s hand is the most natural place for them to be, the way he finds himself shifting closer to his partner again without even thinking about it. He hates that Tecchou seems to notice, hates that he finally straightens up a little, only to lean closer to Jouno.
He hates the softness of it. He hates how fragile Tecchou seems right now, as though it would only take one movement from Jouno to shatter him. He hates that he knows it’s the truth.
He hates that he chooses not to.
He decides to indulge in the feeling. Raise the blade held to Tecchou’s throat to his own chest, rest the sharp metal on his skin for a few seconds. Savour the moment.
He drops it before it gets to draw blood, though. There is no real point in going on, he knows that, and reality never lives up to the anticipated pain. It’s nothing more than cutting over an old scar, etched in his being far too deeply to truly hurt anymore. He has been playing with this blade, metaphorical and literal, for long enough, and at some point, his mind and body have just grown tired of it. Or so he supposes. It doesn't bring him the relief it used to, at least.
Jouno lowers his head. His own body suddenly feels heavy, aching. Tecchou’s messy strands of hair tickle his cheek and he sighs, tilting his head a little to rest it on top of Tecchou’s. His partner’s hand feels warm in his own. Raindrops are still hitting the window, steady, unbothered.
Tecchou doesn’t love the rain. Jouno is starting to hate it, too.