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Ending meme drabbles.
nothing but a closing door;
It's raining, and Haruhi comes home to find Kiyoshi standing by the window, small hands pressed against the glass, watching the rain fall. His cat is curled around his ankles, purring, and in the glass of the window his eyes are reflected back, violet and faraway.
"Oh, hello, Haruhi." he says, smiling vaguely, and turning as Haruhi takes his shoes off, and crosses further into the room, setting the takeout bag for dinner on the table as well as the rest of his things. "How was school?"
"The same as always," Haruhi replies, but indulges him anyway, talks about classes and how infuriating the students could be, about how he was still trying to push them to live up to their potential. Kiyoshi listens without comment, but he can tell that his roommate is listening, and he tries anything he can to keep him there, to reach him.
When he's finished, Kiyoshi is looking away, staring out the window again.
"You miss teaching, don't you?" Haruhi asks, as gently as he can, because he knows the answer. "You'll be able to again. When we get this figured out. When you get better."
And he hates the sound of his voice when he says that, because he doesn't know what to say, for all his manipulations and plots he couldn't even find a way to help his brother, can't even comfort his broken little roommate who has lost everything, even his dream of teaching.
It's been a year and a half, and he doesn't know if Kiyoshi will ever get better. Can ever get better. Kiyoshi's shoulders are shaking, but his expression reflected in the window-glass is still that same vague, blank serene smile. He won't cry, and maybe he's even beyond crying.
"No, I won't." Kiyoshi says in that same vague, sweet voice, familiar tone, broken music box in a too-wide room.
Haruhi doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what to say. What can he say, even?
forget what they told you;
"Did you eat lunch?" Haruhi asks over dinner, as Kiyoshi pokes at his food, like he's a little bird.
"...I don't remember." his roommate replies, blinking slowly, a slender finger coming up to tap his lip thoughtfully. "I think I did...?" after a moment, he brightens: still vague, but he has never been all there, and he's only gotten worse. "I did feed Kitten, though."
Haruhi can already feel the headache coming on. Kitten (Kiyoshi had never found the right name for her, and it had stuck) has filled out well from her days as a half-starved, abandoned kitten, sleek and glossy: Kiyoshi, on the other hand, is skin and bone, practically, fading away to nothing.
"Ki. yo. shi." he snaps, having to resist the urge to hit him with a fan. It wouldn't help, and Kiyoshi still needs to eat. "You need to eat more than once a day. And your cat isn't the one who needs to eat the most around here. You do."
"But I do eat," Kiyoshi says a moment later, still poking at his food.
"You don't eat enough." Haruhi replies, and feels soft fur brush against his ankles. "And don't feed scraps under the table to your cat."
Kiyoshi looks vaguely guilty for a moment, and Haruhi sighs, setting down his chopsticks and just watching his roommate, until Kiyoshi actually eats something. He doesn't eat everything, far from it, but it's better than nothing.
"I brought you something," Haruhi sets a small plate in front of the younger man: Kiyoshi has always had a sweet tooth, and he brought him a piece of his favorite cake, trying to tempt him into eating more.
Violet eyes blink down at the cake for a moment, almost uncomprehendingly. "Oh, thank you, Haruhi..." he says, finally, vague and hollow. "I'm not hungry right now. I'll eat it later..."
"Just as long as you do." Haruhi says sharply. Kiyoshi nods, and smiles.
The next morning, when he goes into the kitchen to make some tea before work, the cake is still sitting there, completely untouched.
bury my lovely;
Kiyoshi hates taking medicine. Haruhi has resorted to lining up his pills - the antidepressants, whatever else he needs every night-and just staring at him, fan held menacingly between his fingers until he takes them, violet eyes sad. He hates to have to do that to him, but Kiyoshi needs that medicine, and he won't take it otherwise.
There is, however, one medicine that Kiyoshi always takes willingly, is grateful to take. Haruhi takes a pill out of an unmarked bottle: he never tells Kiyoshi what he has to do in order to get these pills, because he would be horrified, and hands it to him.
Kiyoshi is always so happy to take the Persona suppressants, and it always hurts Haruhi to see how he brightens up when he takes them. He doesn't need them to control his Persona, but after coming home to find Kiyoshi staring blankly into space, nails digging into his temples hard enough to bleed, because Vejovis won't be quiet (fluttering like a bird, beating its wings against the cage, no matter how much i won't let it out, Kiyoshi said once), it took him less than a day to get the suppressants, and they seem to help, Kiyoshi hasn't mentioned hearing his Persona's voice again.
It's a thin line to balance: the suppressants will kill him, but without them, he'll kill himself, and at least this way, it buys time. Haruhi doesn't delude himself into thinking that it's a permanent answer, but it's better than nothing.
Anything's better than nothing, he tells himself, and isn't sure that he believes it.
nothing but what came before;
It's been three years and Kiyoshi isn't getting any better. Haruhi is almost afraid to think that he's getting worse, but he knows that he is. Kiyoshi's doctor thinks so, too: Kiyoshi is standing by the window, watching the rain, and doesn't even seem to be listening to the conversation.
He's honestly glad for it, because he doesn't want to know how Kiyoshi would react to the idea of being institutionalized again. And it's not a possibility, no matter how the doctor might think it one, or even the best that could be done for him: his own little brother is still in one, has never left, will never be able to leave, and he's not about to consign his roommate, who is like a surrogate little brother to him, to one as well.
"It is completely out of the question," Haruhi hisses, trying to keep his voice down so that Kiyoshi won't hear him, and he clutches his fan so tightly that it's a wonder it doesn't snap. "And that's final."
He walks over to the window, grasps Kiyoshi's sleeve, and gently, rather more gently than he feels, tugs him out.
"Haruhi?" Kiyoshi asks, vaguely and softly, on the ride home.
"I'm not taking you back there. " he says, shortly, keeping his eyes on the road. "I'll find you another doctor."
"Oh." Kiyoshi says, quietly. "I'm sorry for being so much trouble for you, Haruhi..."
"Don't apologize." Haruhi snaps at him, but doesn't look at him, since he has to focus on driving.
Kiyoshi's quiet for the rest of the way home, staring out at the rain. Haruhi thinks he hears him say something, but it's so quiet that it's probably his imagination.
"I'm tired of being so much trouble."
forget me soon;
Haruhi won't be back until early the next morning, Kiyoshi knows. He has to teach, and then he has something to do with his family. He sits in the living room, and watches Haruhi get ready to leave, listening to what his roommate has to say.
"I left you food in the refrigerator. Make sure that you remember to eat it." Haruhi says, as he puts on one high-heeled shoe. "And take your medicine."
"Yes, Haruhi." Kiyoshi says, quietly: Kitten is purring in his lap, and he pets her absently.
"And don't try to cook anything. Not even tea."
"Yes, Haruhi." he folds his hands in his lap, doesn't touch anything. Kitten meows, and hops daintily off his lap, as Haruhi walks towards the door, lets him up enough long enough to give his roommate a hesitant, trembling hug. It's the last time he'll see Haruhi, after all.
(I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Thank you.)
"Kiyoshi," Haruhi snaps awkwardly, and Kiyoshi lets him go. "I'll see you later."
"Goodbye, Haruhi." he says, softly, just as the door closes behind him.
He rests his fingers on his temple for a moment, closing his eyes tightly, as that voice whispers in the back of his head, it's never stilled, only gotten quieter, it hurts and he's always inside out and broken and backwards and he doesn't remember what it was like to not be shattered into pieces or to be warm, but it's the clearest he's been in a long time or will be again, and he knows what he has to do, while Haruhi is gone. He won't get this chance again.
Kitten meows, and he pets her, soothingly. "I'll be back soon, okay?" he tells her sweetly, as he puts his shoes on and goes out. It's raining today, again, and he doesn't have an umbrella and forgot his jacket, but it doesn't matter. He buys boxes and sleeping pills, a pretty fan, stops to have a cup of tea, and is home again in an hour.
He doesn't touch the food that Haruhi left for him: he's not hungry, but he does feed Kitten, though, while he carefully boxes up all his things, packs them away so Haruhi won't have that to deal with as well, humming vaguely to himself. He also cleans the apartment, while he's at it, trying to be helpful to Haruhi in whatever small way he can, one last time, waters the plants (they're dying, and he pets them, apologetically, whispering vague apologies to them).
Afterward, he curls up on the bed and closes the door, with Kitten warm against him, and pets her as she purrs. Hopefully she won't miss him too much when he's gone: Haruhi loves her, too, as much as he does, hopefully he'll take good care of her. He leaves a note and the pretty fan he bought for Haruhi on the bedside table, and opens the pills.
This is easier than he deserves, he knows, and the voice that flutters in his head like a bird, struggling to get out, agrees: this is easier than he deserves, he deserves to die in pain and blood (like Hikaru did) but he doesn't want to cause any more trouble for Haruhi then he already has and will be.
Instead, he takes the pills, all of them, with water, and lies down, with Kitten purring on his chest, and rests his hand on her, and closes his eyes.
something that was left behind;
Haruhi comes home, early in the morning, and immediately knows once he opens the door that something is wrong, the apartment quiet and dark and no sign of Kiyoshi in the living room. It's too early for Kiyoshi to be in bed, he never goes to sleep this early.
"Kiyoshi?" he calls out, and there is no answer. Only the sound of Kiyoshi's cat meowing, plaintive and frantic, and he's immediately at Kiyoshi's door, pushing it open.
He knows as soon as he sees Kiyoshi, lying so still in bed, with his cat pawing at him and meowing, loudly, as if her heart would break, that he's gone: it's not precisely a surprise, because he should have seen this coming, a long time ago. Haruhi forces himself to stay calm, to make the necessary phone calls, the necessary arrangements, because it's what has to be done, and he's the only one who can.
After is a different story entirely.
(No matter what he does, it's never enough. He failed Toshio and he failed Kiyoshi, too. No matter how he tried to hold onto them, in the end, all he could do was let them go, without even a chance to say goodbye.)
nothing but a closing door;
It's raining, and Haruhi comes home to find Kiyoshi standing by the window, small hands pressed against the glass, watching the rain fall. His cat is curled around his ankles, purring, and in the glass of the window his eyes are reflected back, violet and faraway.
"Oh, hello, Haruhi." he says, smiling vaguely, and turning as Haruhi takes his shoes off, and crosses further into the room, setting the takeout bag for dinner on the table as well as the rest of his things. "How was school?"
"The same as always," Haruhi replies, but indulges him anyway, talks about classes and how infuriating the students could be, about how he was still trying to push them to live up to their potential. Kiyoshi listens without comment, but he can tell that his roommate is listening, and he tries anything he can to keep him there, to reach him.
When he's finished, Kiyoshi is looking away, staring out the window again.
"You miss teaching, don't you?" Haruhi asks, as gently as he can, because he knows the answer. "You'll be able to again. When we get this figured out. When you get better."
And he hates the sound of his voice when he says that, because he doesn't know what to say, for all his manipulations and plots he couldn't even find a way to help his brother, can't even comfort his broken little roommate who has lost everything, even his dream of teaching.
It's been a year and a half, and he doesn't know if Kiyoshi will ever get better. Can ever get better. Kiyoshi's shoulders are shaking, but his expression reflected in the window-glass is still that same vague, blank serene smile. He won't cry, and maybe he's even beyond crying.
"No, I won't." Kiyoshi says in that same vague, sweet voice, familiar tone, broken music box in a too-wide room.
Haruhi doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what to say. What can he say, even?
forget what they told you;
"Did you eat lunch?" Haruhi asks over dinner, as Kiyoshi pokes at his food, like he's a little bird.
"...I don't remember." his roommate replies, blinking slowly, a slender finger coming up to tap his lip thoughtfully. "I think I did...?" after a moment, he brightens: still vague, but he has never been all there, and he's only gotten worse. "I did feed Kitten, though."
Haruhi can already feel the headache coming on. Kitten (Kiyoshi had never found the right name for her, and it had stuck) has filled out well from her days as a half-starved, abandoned kitten, sleek and glossy: Kiyoshi, on the other hand, is skin and bone, practically, fading away to nothing.
"Ki. yo. shi." he snaps, having to resist the urge to hit him with a fan. It wouldn't help, and Kiyoshi still needs to eat. "You need to eat more than once a day. And your cat isn't the one who needs to eat the most around here. You do."
"But I do eat," Kiyoshi says a moment later, still poking at his food.
"You don't eat enough." Haruhi replies, and feels soft fur brush against his ankles. "And don't feed scraps under the table to your cat."
Kiyoshi looks vaguely guilty for a moment, and Haruhi sighs, setting down his chopsticks and just watching his roommate, until Kiyoshi actually eats something. He doesn't eat everything, far from it, but it's better than nothing.
"I brought you something," Haruhi sets a small plate in front of the younger man: Kiyoshi has always had a sweet tooth, and he brought him a piece of his favorite cake, trying to tempt him into eating more.
Violet eyes blink down at the cake for a moment, almost uncomprehendingly. "Oh, thank you, Haruhi..." he says, finally, vague and hollow. "I'm not hungry right now. I'll eat it later..."
"Just as long as you do." Haruhi says sharply. Kiyoshi nods, and smiles.
The next morning, when he goes into the kitchen to make some tea before work, the cake is still sitting there, completely untouched.
bury my lovely;
Kiyoshi hates taking medicine. Haruhi has resorted to lining up his pills - the antidepressants, whatever else he needs every night-and just staring at him, fan held menacingly between his fingers until he takes them, violet eyes sad. He hates to have to do that to him, but Kiyoshi needs that medicine, and he won't take it otherwise.
There is, however, one medicine that Kiyoshi always takes willingly, is grateful to take. Haruhi takes a pill out of an unmarked bottle: he never tells Kiyoshi what he has to do in order to get these pills, because he would be horrified, and hands it to him.
Kiyoshi is always so happy to take the Persona suppressants, and it always hurts Haruhi to see how he brightens up when he takes them. He doesn't need them to control his Persona, but after coming home to find Kiyoshi staring blankly into space, nails digging into his temples hard enough to bleed, because Vejovis won't be quiet (fluttering like a bird, beating its wings against the cage, no matter how much i won't let it out, Kiyoshi said once), it took him less than a day to get the suppressants, and they seem to help, Kiyoshi hasn't mentioned hearing his Persona's voice again.
It's a thin line to balance: the suppressants will kill him, but without them, he'll kill himself, and at least this way, it buys time. Haruhi doesn't delude himself into thinking that it's a permanent answer, but it's better than nothing.
Anything's better than nothing, he tells himself, and isn't sure that he believes it.
nothing but what came before;
It's been three years and Kiyoshi isn't getting any better. Haruhi is almost afraid to think that he's getting worse, but he knows that he is. Kiyoshi's doctor thinks so, too: Kiyoshi is standing by the window, watching the rain, and doesn't even seem to be listening to the conversation.
He's honestly glad for it, because he doesn't want to know how Kiyoshi would react to the idea of being institutionalized again. And it's not a possibility, no matter how the doctor might think it one, or even the best that could be done for him: his own little brother is still in one, has never left, will never be able to leave, and he's not about to consign his roommate, who is like a surrogate little brother to him, to one as well.
"It is completely out of the question," Haruhi hisses, trying to keep his voice down so that Kiyoshi won't hear him, and he clutches his fan so tightly that it's a wonder it doesn't snap. "And that's final."
He walks over to the window, grasps Kiyoshi's sleeve, and gently, rather more gently than he feels, tugs him out.
"Haruhi?" Kiyoshi asks, vaguely and softly, on the ride home.
"I'm not taking you back there. " he says, shortly, keeping his eyes on the road. "I'll find you another doctor."
"Oh." Kiyoshi says, quietly. "I'm sorry for being so much trouble for you, Haruhi..."
"Don't apologize." Haruhi snaps at him, but doesn't look at him, since he has to focus on driving.
Kiyoshi's quiet for the rest of the way home, staring out at the rain. Haruhi thinks he hears him say something, but it's so quiet that it's probably his imagination.
"I'm tired of being so much trouble."
forget me soon;
Haruhi won't be back until early the next morning, Kiyoshi knows. He has to teach, and then he has something to do with his family. He sits in the living room, and watches Haruhi get ready to leave, listening to what his roommate has to say.
"I left you food in the refrigerator. Make sure that you remember to eat it." Haruhi says, as he puts on one high-heeled shoe. "And take your medicine."
"Yes, Haruhi." Kiyoshi says, quietly: Kitten is purring in his lap, and he pets her absently.
"And don't try to cook anything. Not even tea."
"Yes, Haruhi." he folds his hands in his lap, doesn't touch anything. Kitten meows, and hops daintily off his lap, as Haruhi walks towards the door, lets him up enough long enough to give his roommate a hesitant, trembling hug. It's the last time he'll see Haruhi, after all.
(I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Thank you.)
"Kiyoshi," Haruhi snaps awkwardly, and Kiyoshi lets him go. "I'll see you later."
"Goodbye, Haruhi." he says, softly, just as the door closes behind him.
He rests his fingers on his temple for a moment, closing his eyes tightly, as that voice whispers in the back of his head, it's never stilled, only gotten quieter, it hurts and he's always inside out and broken and backwards and he doesn't remember what it was like to not be shattered into pieces or to be warm, but it's the clearest he's been in a long time or will be again, and he knows what he has to do, while Haruhi is gone. He won't get this chance again.
Kitten meows, and he pets her, soothingly. "I'll be back soon, okay?" he tells her sweetly, as he puts his shoes on and goes out. It's raining today, again, and he doesn't have an umbrella and forgot his jacket, but it doesn't matter. He buys boxes and sleeping pills, a pretty fan, stops to have a cup of tea, and is home again in an hour.
He doesn't touch the food that Haruhi left for him: he's not hungry, but he does feed Kitten, though, while he carefully boxes up all his things, packs them away so Haruhi won't have that to deal with as well, humming vaguely to himself. He also cleans the apartment, while he's at it, trying to be helpful to Haruhi in whatever small way he can, one last time, waters the plants (they're dying, and he pets them, apologetically, whispering vague apologies to them).
Afterward, he curls up on the bed and closes the door, with Kitten warm against him, and pets her as she purrs. Hopefully she won't miss him too much when he's gone: Haruhi loves her, too, as much as he does, hopefully he'll take good care of her. He leaves a note and the pretty fan he bought for Haruhi on the bedside table, and opens the pills.
This is easier than he deserves, he knows, and the voice that flutters in his head like a bird, struggling to get out, agrees: this is easier than he deserves, he deserves to die in pain and blood (like Hikaru did) but he doesn't want to cause any more trouble for Haruhi then he already has and will be.
Instead, he takes the pills, all of them, with water, and lies down, with Kitten purring on his chest, and rests his hand on her, and closes his eyes.
something that was left behind;
Haruhi comes home, early in the morning, and immediately knows once he opens the door that something is wrong, the apartment quiet and dark and no sign of Kiyoshi in the living room. It's too early for Kiyoshi to be in bed, he never goes to sleep this early.
"Kiyoshi?" he calls out, and there is no answer. Only the sound of Kiyoshi's cat meowing, plaintive and frantic, and he's immediately at Kiyoshi's door, pushing it open.
He knows as soon as he sees Kiyoshi, lying so still in bed, with his cat pawing at him and meowing, loudly, as if her heart would break, that he's gone: it's not precisely a surprise, because he should have seen this coming, a long time ago. Haruhi forces himself to stay calm, to make the necessary phone calls, the necessary arrangements, because it's what has to be done, and he's the only one who can.
After is a different story entirely.
(No matter what he does, it's never enough. He failed Toshio and he failed Kiyoshi, too. No matter how he tried to hold onto them, in the end, all he could do was let them go, without even a chance to say goodbye.)