his smile comes out forced, but it’s a smile nonetheless–one that is reserved only for a select few. and ango is one of them. always. “you don’t remember me, do you?” there’s a sharp pain in his chest. he thinks he from all people should know how it feels like to lose your memories, but it still doesn’t make the pain any better. not when ango is looking at him like a stranger.
not when they have shared so many things within the short time of their relationship. drinks, thoughts, memories, nights, warmth, sentiment–
suddenly it’s sandpaper against his vocal chords, so sakunosuke clears his throat when he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket, handing it towards the younger. tears doesn’t fit ango’s usually stern features. “to answer your question, yeah, we do.” from the inside out. “but it’s fine. i understand.” he nods his head towards an empty chair closest to them. “sit down for a while. i’ll get you some water.”
the autopilot gets to him before he realizes it. legs carrying him towards the library’s entrance to find a vending machine, head still recovering from the encounter just now. a small voice tells him to leave the library and never come back, but odasaku quickly dispels it. how could he just leave ango like that? how could he even think about it?
needless to say, he barely remembers his trip to fetch the water and back to the library.
places the chilled bottle of water on ango’s lap before he takes another chair next to the younger. “so, care to tell how you ended up here?”
Ango numbly accepts the handkerchief the stranger offers to him and waits for his return as he tries to regulate his stuttered breathing. Shame is swelling in his chest, bitter and scalding. It’s very unbecoming of him to have a breakdown in a public space and among the sea of strangers rather than the comfort of his own presence only behind a closed door. Taking one last shuddering deep breath, Ango tidies himself up the best he could with his shredded dignity while ignoring a part of him that says it’s not as simple as it is.
The black-haired male wonders what history they could possibly share for that man to have such an impact on him even with the absence of memories on his part. The way the man called Oda look at him told him everything and nothing at the same time. The clutched cloth in his hand faintly smelling like secondhand smoke, gunpowder and another whiff of something he couldn’t recall though still caused his throat to clogs up and his chest to ache.
A faint coldness pressing against his lap causing him to look up. Murmuring his thank you, Ango’s calloused fingers hold onto it like an anchor. There he is, the same red haired man from before. Ango properly takes in the appearance of the latter, denying once again the traitorous voice in his mind that is now telling him that he’s being too greedy in his observation as if he’s afraid the azure-eyed man would disappear any moment, denying the yearning to reach out to him and feel his warmth seeping into his fingertips.
‘So it wasn’t just shame,’ he thinks, somehow connecting the blurry dots in his mind. 'Such a suffocating taste of longing.’
“Me? Is it possible to know how we get here?” Ango answers his question with another question. It’s not like he has a choice, he simply doesn’t have an answer for that one. “I don’t know the details, but I was told I was in an accident, judging from the wounds I had when they found me.”
When he opened his eyes weeks ago, it was as if his body was made out of melting lead. But there isn’t much to tell from such story he doesn’t have the full picture of, so he moved to something else that’s more pressing, hasty with his pace.
“Will it be okay for me to ask you some more questions?” he asks, grey eyes gazing into a pair of azure-colored ones, desperate for answers that will finally tame the questions in his mind. “Were we friends?” ‘Or were we something more or I’m just losing more parts of my sanity.’
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andulkaphoto
2087
prguitarman
