The Ghost of You

-

I've gotten so good

about not flinching at the sound of your name,

that people don't know I'd still throw myself mouth-open into the ocean,

for a chance to drown somewhere you might see it.

~ Trista Mateer from Honeybee. ~

-

It's going to be a long night, Takemichi thinks to himself as Chifuyu side-eyes him for the nth time as they walked to the Shiba house. Which is pretty fucking funny because Chifuyu is not at all one for subtlety.

He's usually the one that's pining away and lamenting his own unstated feelings for his best friends, Baji Keisuke and Hanemiya Kazutora, all the while whining pitifully in Takemichi's ear.

The same old, 'Takemitchy, what if they don't like me?!"

Tonight, however, he is more on edge than Takemichi has ever seen him. Even more high-strung than he was the morning of Bloody Halloween, all those years ago, when the lives of those best friends were in jeopardy of being snuffed out.

Nevertheless, it doesn't take long for the other teenager to speak about the worries that are plaguing his mind.

"You sure you're good with his, Takemitchy?" Chifuyu asks when they're a block from the Shiba residence, "Because I think it'd be cool to go home, down some beers, and just play some video games. Oh! I got the new Grand Theft Auto, we could go back to mine and play that...Hakkai will understand."

He is still trying to be causal though, and that makes Takemichi laugh with fond exasperation, his heart warming at how much his partner genuinely cares for him.

"I'm sure, Chifuyu. I'll have to see him sometime."

And he isn't lying.

He's gotten better ever since Mikey left them – left him.

It's been three years since he dissolved Toman and made his own gang, distancing himself from his childhood friends and all those who cared for him. And even though it was difficult at first, the gaping ache inside him eventually lessened and he no longer looks for his first loves commanders face in a sea of people; he doesn't twist his neck whenever he catches sight of a certain shade of honey-blonde hair from the corner of his eye, and the tell-tale slap of sandals on the ground no longer causes his heart to thud painfully in the cavity of his chest.

And while he hasn't smelled the scent of the other in such a long time, he's proud to say that the sweet, woodsy scent of sandalwood and vanilla – a scent that was to this day, unique to Sano Manjiro – no longer overwhelmed his senses and brought a flood of tears to his eyes. Well, not all the time, every so often the pure, undiluted scent of vanilla will momentarily blindside him – but he – he's still working on that.

What he has successfully done, however, is not flinching at the mere mention of Mikey's name; whenever their friends talk about him and fondly reminisce about the good old days when Toman was at the heights of its glory. The greatest and most powerful gang in all of Tokyo, the golden-era Mikey had always wished for finally come to life.

Only for it to come to a swift end by his own hand.

The founding members would stay up until dawn peaked away across the horizon, reminiscing about the long morning rides they'd take to the beach, just to watch the sunrise on a new day.