"We're nothing like what they say," Ohtori bursts out, "and with all these writers love is always – it's always tame and predictable or dangerous and wild and wrong, and you and me, we're not any of that at all, and we never were, and all I want to know is where that puts us, what that makes us –" he pauses, and his eyes are wide, his breathing rapid, and his cheeks flushed with whatever this is. Hiyoshi watches, mesmerized, because he's always loved to watch everyone else as they lose their composure and fall, but it takes him almost a second too long to realize that this is Choutarou, and that this must have been building up for a long, long time, and that he needs to stop it now before things are said that neither of them wants to hear.
"We - "
"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, Choutarou."
There is a pause.
"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time."
He waits to hear Choutarou's footsteps as he storms off, but all there is, is the whisper of the wind and the cries of the gulls, and then finally, finally, Ohtori's voice, saying softly, "It did, didn't it."
They don't need to say anything else, and as Hiyoshi stares off into the distance, through the haze of the heavy rain clouds, he thinks that maybe he can see the setting sun through the mist.
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