Chapter Text
Rin stood still for a moment, wrapped in the fading warmth of the hug. His mind buzzed with an unfamiliar sense of comfort, the kind that lingered in silence. Nagi didn’t step back immediately, and Rin—despite himself—was grateful for it. For once, he didn’t feel so trapped in his own thoughts.
When Nagi finally pulled away, he gave Rin a brief, almost imperceptible smile. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked casually, though his tone carried a softness Rin wasn’t accustomed to. “Lemon tea. It’s my favorite. I can make some if you want.”
Something about the offer felt grounding, as if it tethered Rin to the moment. “Fine. I’ll try it,” Rin muttered, his voice losing its usual edge.
Nagi nodded and stepped toward the kitchen, his movements fluid and unhurried, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Rin found himself watching him, a strange pull in his chest that he couldn’t quite name. Something that made Rin feel like maybe this wasn’t such a strange place to be.
A few moments later, Nagi returned with two steaming mugs. The citrus scent hit Rin before the tea even reached his hands. He accepted the cup, the warmth sinking into his fingers and something quiet settling inside him.
Nagi leaned against the counter, his gaze steady but patient, as though waiting for Rin to speak first. Rin glanced at the tea, then back at Nagi. “This better be as good as you say,” he mutterered.
— “It’s good,” Nagi replied simply, his expression calm, unbothered. “You’ll see.”
Rin took a tentative sip, the sharp tang of lemon cutting through the initial warmth. It was unexpectedly soothing. He took another sip, then gave a reluctant nod. “Not bad,” he admitted softly. “Thank you.”
For once, Rin felt like maybe it wasn’t so bad to let someone in. Even if it was Nagi Seishiro, who seemed determined to worm his way under Rin’s skin. But right now, with the tea and the quiet between them, Rin didn’t mind. Maybe—just maybe—it was okay to feel good with someone.
For a moment, Nagi didn’t reply. He only took a sip of his own tea, his face almost unreadable but carrying the faintest trace of satisfaction.
They sat quietly, the hum of the room filling the space between them. Rin took another sip, his eyes drifting to Nagi. His calm, deliberate movements stood in contrast to Rin’s usual tension, and for a fleeting moment, Rin simply watched him. Nagi’s features seemed softer in the warm light, his quiet focus drawing Rin in. Something shifted in his chest. It wasn’t a thought, exactly—just a flicker of recognition that lingered like a secret.
In that moment, Nagi Seishiro was just... beautiful.
After a few moments, Rin's gaze shifted around the room, taking in the details of Nagi’s living space. It was simple, but there was a kind of understated comfort to it. Then, his eyes landed on something on a shelf—a framed photo. His curiosity piqued, Rin leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as he examined it.
In the photo, there was Nagi, his usual calm expression softened with a small smile. But what caught Rin’s attention more was the person standing beside him. A boy, smaller in stature, with blue eyes and blue hair. He looked a bit average, almost shy, with a timid smile on his face that seemed almost out of place next to Nagi’s more composed demeanor.
But what really struck Rin was the way Nagi was looking at him. It wasn’t the detached gaze that Rin was used to seeing. No, Nagi was looking at this boy as if he was the most precious thing in the world. As if he was the eighth wonder of the world, something rare and irreplaceable.
Rin’s eyes lingered on the photo, an odd feeling creeping through him. He couldn’t explain it, but seeing Nagi so... soft, so attentive in that moment, made something twist uncomfortably inside him. It was strange, seeing this side of Nagi, especially when it was directed at someone else.
Rin's voice broke the silence, his curiosity taking over. “Who’s that?” the young Itoshi asked, nodding toward the photo.
Nagi glanced at it. He didn’t answer right away, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug. “Someone I used to know,” he said finally, his voice even but quieter than before.
— "Not anymore?" Rin pressed, unable to hold back the question, though he wasn’t sure why he cared.
Nagi paused, his eyes lingering on the photo just a moment longer before he met Rin’s gaze. “No,” he answered, his voice quieter now and more distant.
Rin tilted his head, the puzzle pieces not quite fitting together.
— “Then why did you keep this picture?”
Nagi’s eyes flickered briefly, almost as if he was searching for the right words. "Because... some things are just... worth holding onto. Even if they don’t stay." he said slowly, the meaning behind his words floating in the air.
Rin studied him, the unusual vulnerability in Nagi’s voice catching him off guard. He wanted to understand better, but for some reason, the moment didn’t feel right to push. So he simply nodded, focusing instead on the warmth of his tea. It wasn’t like Seishiro to say much, let alone something so personal. Rin hesitated, unsure of what to say, before the words slipped out almost unconsciously. “I won’t leave.”
The statement startled even him, but he didn’t take it back. It was out there now, raw and unfiltered.
Nagi blinked, his calm exterior cracking just slightly as he looked at Rin. For a moment, he seemed almost unsure, as if the words had unsettled him. But then his expression shifted—just a little. “I know.”
There was a discreet vulnerability in Nagi’s expression that Rin wasn’t used to seeing. Normally, Seishiro was almost unreadable. But now? Now, there was something different. Something that made Rin feel like he wasn’t the only one who was carrying a quiet weight.
Rin remained silent, his hand tightening slightly around the mug, but his eyes didn’t leave Nagi’s face. It was Nagi who broke the silence, his words slow and deliberate, as if unsure about letting them out. “We were strangers. Two people passing in the afternoon.” he murmured, his gaze drifting to the photo on the shelf.
Rin tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his expression. “What do you mean?”
Nagi shrugged, but the movement wasn’t casual. It was weighted, like he was trying to shake off something that clung to him. “We met by chance. A moment that shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. He was... unexpected.”
He paused, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his mug. “You know how sometimes you meet someone, and they just... change everything? Not because they try to, but because they exist in a way that makes you see things differently?”
Rin frowned slightly but didn’t respond. He understood in his own way, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
Nagi’s voice dropped a little lower. “He wasn’t special in the way most people think. He didn’t stand out. But to me... he did. He had this way of seeing things, of seeing me, that made everything feel... lighter. Like maybe I didn’t have to carry everything alone.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy with the weight of unsaid things.
“And then he was gone,” Nagi finished, his tone quiet but steady. There was no lingering bitterness. Just the bare truth of it.
Rin opened his mouth to say something but stopped short. Words didn’t come easily to him, especially not ones meant to comfort. But something about the shadow in Nagi’s eyes—lingering and unmoving—made him speak. “It’s hard. Losing someone like that.”
Nagi looked up, his calm exterior cracking just slightly as surprise flickered across his face. Then, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is.”
Another silence fell between them, but this one felt... different. It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t strained. It was an acknowledgment, an understanding. Rin took another sip of his tea, letting Nagi’s words settle in his mind.
He wanted to ask more, to know what had happened, to understand what had forged this strange, quiet bond between Nagi and the boy in the photograph. But he also knew better than to push. Nagi had shared enough for now.
Instead, Rin simply stayed. For once, he let himself be present, not overthinking, not retreating into the walls he usually kept around himself.
Nagi placed his empty mug on the coffee table, his movements as smooth and deliberate as always. He glanced at Rin, a hint of curiosity in his otherwise calm gaze. “Do you like video games?” he asked.
— “Not really,” he replied firmly, his tone leaving little room for discussion. “They’re a waste of time.”
Nagi didn’t react immediately, simply watching Rin with his usual quiet demeanor, as though waiting for more. Rin averted his gaze, his fingers tightening slightly around his mug. After a pause, he added, almost reluctantly, “But… I do have some interest in horror games. And horror in general.”
Something faint shifted in Nagi’s expression—an almost imperceptible spark of interest. “Horror games, huh?” he murmured, his voice calm yet tinged with genuine curiosity.
Rin nodded briefly, offering no further explanation. Still, he could feel Nagi’s steady gaze on him, as if that small admission spoke louder than intended. “Why horror?” Nagi asked, his tone as neutral as ever but carrying a trace of intrigue.
Rin hesitated before answering, his eyes drifting toward the window. “Because it forces you to stay focused. To face what unsettles you. There’s no room for distractions.”
Nagi studied Rin silently, tilting his head ever so slightly as if cataloging the response. “Interesting,” he murmured before posing another question. “Do you want to try? I’ve got a horror game. Nothing too complicated or special. We could play it together.”
— “Why not.” Rin said, his voice neutral, though the answer felt heavier than it sounded, more eager to start.
Seishiro stood up and moved toward a console resting near the TV. “Let’s see if you’re as good at handling horror as you claim.”
Rin’s lips tightened, a silent challenge hanging in the air between them. “I handle it just fine,” he replied coolly.
“We’ll see,” Nagi countered lightly, his tone calm but laced with faint amusement.
_______
Nagi held the controller loosely, his posture relaxed as his character wandered through the dimly lit corridors of the haunted house. His movements were instinctive, almost careless—turning corners without hesitation, opening doors without pausing to check for danger. He played as though nothing in the game could touch him, his expression calm, unbothered.
Rin, sitting next to him, observed with a faint frown. When it was his turn, he took a completely different approach. His grip on the controller was firm, his gaze sharp and focused. He scanned the environment carefully, paying close attention to every flickering shadow and distant sound. When faced with difficult decisions and choices with consequences—he was considering the options with meticulous logic.
“You’re overthinking it,” Nagi said casually, watching as Rin lingered on a decision. “Just pick one.”
— “It’s not about picking randomly,” Rin replied curtly, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Every choice has consequences. That’s the point.”
Nagi shrugged, leaning back against the couch. — “If something jumps out, you just deal with it.”
— “That’s a terrible strategy,” Rin muttered, but there was no real irritation in his tone—only focus.
As they progressed deeper into the game, Rin couldn’t help but notice how differently they approached fear. Nagi seemed almost immune to the creeping tension, his instincts guiding him without hesitation. Rin, on the other hand, thrived on the atmosphere. The eerie whispers echoing through the halls, the sudden silence before a scare, all the creatures—he was fascinated.
— “It’s not just about surviving,” Rin said at one point, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. “It’s about the experience. How the game pulls you in, makes you feel like you’re part of the story.”
Nagi glanced at him briefly, his usual calm expression unchanging. “You really like this kind of stuff, huh?”
Rin didn’t answer immediately. His character crept through a blood-streaked corridor, the tension rising with every step. He paused, letting the moment stretch before finally replying. “Horror has a way of showing you things you don’t want to see. But you can’t look away. That’s what makes it interesting.”
Nagi tilted his head slightly, as if considering Rin’s words. “You sound like you’ve thought about this a lot.”
— “Maybe,” Rin admitted, his eyes still on the screen. “It’s better than pretending fear doesn’t exist. You face it. You learn from it.”
Nagi hummed softly, his gaze drifting back to the game. “I just play to win,” he said, but there was a faint note of amusement in his voice, as if Rin’s perspective had given him something new to think about.
When a sudden jump scare flashed on the screen—Nagi didn’t even flinch, his hands moving instinctively to dodge the attack.
“You didn’t even react,” Rin said after a moment, his tone somewhere between impressed and annoyed.
— “Why would I?” Nagi replied simply, his expression as unreadable as ever. “It’s just a game.”
Rin glanced at him, his frown softening slightly. — “Maybe. But you should pay more attention. There’s more to it than just dodging and winning.”
Nagi shrugged, handing the controller back to Rin. “Show me, then.”
Rin took it, his focus sharpening once more as the game pulled him back into its eerie world. For a while, neither of them spoke, the only sounds in the room the creaking of the haunted house and the distant hum of the wind outside.
And though Nagi still played on instinct, he found himself watching Rin out of the corner of his eye. There was something in the way Rin immersed himself in the game—in the horror itself—that made Nagi pause. It wasn’t just about logic or strategy. It was about how Rin seemed to truly see the fear, to understand it, and yet still face it head-on.
For the first time, Nagi wondered if there was more to horror than he’d ever bothered to notice.
They played for two and a half hours, the room filled with nothing but the sounds of creaking floors, eerie whispers, and the occasional muffled jumpscares. Time seemed to blur as they delved deeper into the game’s haunting story, the tension between them subtle yet palpable.
Nagi’s playstyle remained the same—fast, instinctual, and efficient. He breezed through sequences that should have been nerve-wracking, treating each monster encounter like a minor inconvenience. Rin, on the other hand, approached every moment with precision and care. He dissected puzzles, weighed choices, and studied the game’s environment as if every detail mattered.
“Two hours...” Rin murmured as the final credits rolled, the room now quiet save for the hum of the console. He placed the controller on the table, stretching his fingers. “Not bad.”
Nagi leaned back into the couch, his gaze fixed on the screen as the eerie closing music played softly in the background. “It was alright,” he said, his tone neutral.
Rin turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Just alright?”
Nagi shrugged, unfazed. “It’s a game. You play, you finish, that’s it.”
Rin huffed, leaning back as well. “You missed the point, as usual.”
— “Did I?” Nagi asked, his voice calm but with a faint trace of amusement. He tilted his head toward Rin. “You seemed pretty into it, though. All that analyzing and overthinking. Bet it was more fun for you.”
— “It’s not about fun,” Rin replied, his voice quieter now. “It’s about the challenge. The way horror pulls you in, keeps you on edge. The way it tells a story without needing to explain everything.”
Nagi didn’t reply immediately, his gaze drifting toward the empty tea mugs on the table. After a moment, he said, “You really like the scary stuff, huh? Horror games, movies, whatever.”
Rin nodded, though he didn’t look at Nagi. “Yeah. I always have.”
— “Why?”
The question hung in the air for a moment. Rin’s gaze remained on the darkened screen, his expression unreadable. “Because horror doesn’t lie. It shows you what’s hidden, what’s ugly, what people don’t want to admit. And it forces you to face it. There’s something… honest about it.”
Nagi considered this, his usual calm demeanor unshaken. “You’re weird,” he said, but there was no malice in his words.
Rin smirked faintly. “Says the guy who plays horror games like they’re racing simulations.”
Nagi chuckled softly, the sound barely audible. “Fair enough.”
They sat in silence for a while, the weight of the game still lingering in the room. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just quiet, reflective. Rin eventually stood, stretching his arms. “Next time,” he said, “try actually paying attention to the story instead of just rushing through everything.”
“Next time?” Nagi repeated, raising an eyebrow.
Rin glanced at him, his expression unreadable but his tone firm. “Yeah. Next time.”
Nagi gave a small nod, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “Alright. Next time.”
It was already 11:54, and their stomachs were starting to protest. Rin glanced at the time, then at Nagi, who was sprawled lazily on the couch, completely unbothered by their impending hunger.
“What do you want to eat?” Rin asked, crossing his arms.
Nagi barely moved, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Don’t care. You choose.”
Rin rolled his eyes. “You don’t care about anything, do you? No preferences at all?”
Nagi shrugged lazily. “Not really. Cooking is a hassle, and trying new stuff takes effort. I just eat whatever’s easy.”
Nagi was frustratingly passive about everything...
Rin clicked his tongue in mild irritation but didn’t argue. “Fine. We’ll get something I like, then.”
He reached for his phone and placed the order—his favorite dish.
When the order was finally placed, Rin sat back down and glanced at Nagi. “If you keep this up, you’re going to be eating convenience store food for the rest of your life.”
Nagi blinked at him, unbothered. “Convenience store food’s fine.”
Rin exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless.”
“Maybe. I eat jellies anyways." Nagi replied simply.
They sat in companionable silence, waiting for the delivery, the weight of their shared hunger a quiet reminder of how different they were—and yet, somehow, how well they fit together.