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The sunlight streams in through the grimy plexiglass, clinging to Mei in weak tendrils as he waits for the bus. It's the country air, making him shiver out at this dilapidated bus stop, and it's Itsuki's stupid fault for making Mei see a specialist far past the reach of Tokyo's skyscrapers, clawing towards the skyline like so many greedy upstarts aiming for the top. Totally unnecessary, by the way, he's totally fine of course. He sneezes.
It's so much warmer in Tokyo.
Suddenly the light glints off of the metal bench, blinding him, and when he looks up the irritation bubbling on his lips dies, crumbles like old chicken scratch promises on scraps of paper, dirt on mounds for years, words that burn until they flicker, die away with a look over parted lips, then shut; well-timed, horribly timed.
"Kazuya," he says, doesn't choke like he would've months earlier.
Kazuya blinks up in surprise as he shuffles to a stop just outside the far edge of the shelter. He's holding a medium-sized box and wearing a watch Mei has never seen before.
"Oh, Mei. It's been a while," He responds, grins. The sun illuminates the ground beneath and Mei can count the steps between them, the number a few too large for his taste.
"Itsuki sent me on a stupid doctor's appointment," he starts again, watching the light fracture over dull metal and concrete. It's fascinating how it can splinter so much.
"Haha, well someone's got to look after the prince," he teases.
"I can look after myself plenty!" Mei sputters, helplessly falling back into the old rhythm, fingers to just the right spot for a perfect pitch.
Snickering, Kazuya adjusts his box to the other arm. "I know, Mei." His smile looks strained, and Mei pretends not to see it. Instead, he glances across the road, watches the wind swirl dirt and leaves, and blames it for the familiar tickling in his throat.
They stand silently after that, Kazuya fiddling with his phone, the box finally abandoned by his feet. Mei watches the road beyond them, waiting for a bus he's not sure will come and feeling irrationally exposed in all this open space. It makes weird things eat at him in the wind. A bird floats down before them and pecks at invisible morsels in the late morning glow, before blinking up at the two of them and, finally, flying away.
He remains mute when the bus finally comes, not his but Kazuya's, by the way he eases the phone back into his pocket and reaches once more for the box, grunts quietly on the lift.
Only when the door creaks open does the wind pick up again, tickling Mei's lips open from the inside. "Kazuya--" He stops, so many embers yearning to alight.
I miss you?
What are you up to now?
Why couldn't we be the ultimate battery?
What were you trying to say that day?
"That looks heavy," he says instead, something inside him releasing it's last coveted breath, "don't drop it like an idiot."
Kazuya is backlit and all Mei can think is of how it doesn't do him justice, wobbling around the curves of him and making him look soft, like he rarely was, like it never did in Tokyo, at Koushien.
He smiles, small and a little far away, with Kazuya perched at the top of the stairs like he is. "I won't." He's turning now, says the last bit over his shoulder, "it's some stuff I'm getting rid of. Not as heavy as it used to be."
The bus seems to take the sunlight with it, and wimpy as it may have been Mei is a little sad to lose the company. When his own comes, it dawns on him that he no longer has Kazuya's number.
When it takes him left at the fork and over a hill, the sun peeking back into the sky, it occurs to him that it may no longer matter.