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“…Shiki?” Akira glanced back over his shoulder, realizing that Shiki’s footsteps had gotten fainter. Shiki was several steps behind him, with a lone elbow resting against the trunk of a tree, using it as support. Seeing this, Akira strode over to his side, closing the distance in a matter of seconds, the tail of his coat fluttering behind him in the autumn wind.
“You okay?” Akira asked. He leaned in and examined him for any sign of strain, undeterred by the pointed look Shiki gave him in response.
“Obviously,” Shiki murmured in a sharp tone. Which wasn’t that reassuring at all, considering he still had his forearm planted against the tree and had one leg bent, clearly trying to shift most of his weight onto the side he was leaning on.
They'd been out for a long walk since morning. It was part of the rehabilitation exercises they were doing; Akira would take Shiki out on a walk outside every so often. He figured the fresh air would be better for Shiki than keeping him cooped up inside the safety of their current hideout. There were less pursuers lately, so they didn't have to worry about getting ambushed. And if they had to deal with any… Akira could handle them.
Akira had planned to take the wheelchair with them in case Shiki was too fatigued to walk on the way back, but Shiki had said that it wasn't necessary. Of course, Shiki just had to act prideful about it and say that he didn't need his wheelchair anymore; he could walk on his own just fine, and he'd told Akira to “be quiet” in that familiarly commanding way of his when Akira tried to interject. So Akira had just acquiesced and let Shiki do as he wanted. Shiki's stamina seemed to be returning anyways, and he was doing a lot better than he was last week.
In hindsight, he probably should've brought the wheelchair along. Shiki had been pushing himself lately, trying to recover faster than he could.
Akira’s gaze lingered on Shiki's hand. It was pale against the tree bark and his fingers were thin; long and bony and marked with calluses, frail and delicate all at once. Akira glanced back at Shiki's face. “Want to take a break?”
That suggestion seemed to motivate Shiki to push his hand off the tree instead. “No,” he said, taking a few steps and passing by Akira. “Let's go.”
Akira turned around. His gaze followed Shiki's withdrawing back, and soon after, his footsteps did too.
They walked in silence for a while. In the late morning sun, patches of distant daylight streamed through the shade, dappling the red autumn leaves and damp forest floor.
Akira observed Shiki's form as they walked, his eyes tracing the slant of his shoulders and the tall line of his back. Shiki's posture wasn't as certain and rigid as the way Akira remembered it being, but Shiki still carried himself with the same self-assured air as he always did; elegant and graceful, poised and steadfast. It was a glimpse of the man Shiki used to be; the one he always had been, and the man he would continue to be even now.
Two years, a little more than that. That was how long it’d been since Shiki walked in front of him like this, always one, or maybe even two and three steps ahead.
The last time was when they were in the tunnel, trapped in the darkness, nothing but the echo of their own footsteps to accompany their presence. The air had been damp and musty, and the wind but a faint draft, sweeping through the hollow of the tunnel with a dry whisper. In the encroaching emptiness, only one thing had remained vivid in his mind.
Shiki’s hand on his wrist.
He didn't know why Shiki had brought him along. Shiki had told him there was no reason for it. It was merely a whim; the same way he'd always spared Akira on a whim, brought him to that apartment on a whim, left the door unlocked on a whim, and came to his rescue in the midst of the rain on a whim. Akira was certain that, if he asked the question of why again, Shiki wouldn’t give him an answer, even now.
He'd long since resigned himself to the fact that he might never know.
Akira’s eyes wandered to his surroundings. He breathed in the smell of the damp autumn leaves and dewy air. The scent of petrichor lingered, infused into the earth itself. It had rained the night before, and the ground was covered in a vibrant arrangement of red and yellow and orange leaves. The leaves lay flattened against the solid dirt, glistening with the remnants of yesterday's rainfall; wet and glossy and coated in a soft sheen.
Akira's gaze drifted back to Shiki again. The dappling sunlight caught on Shiki's hair, its effect transient. Gold white speckled against his dark hair, the play of colors shifting in time to the breathing sway of the leaves overhead. Shiki almost blended in with the autumn scenery, the umber tone of his clothes a shade or two darker than the most auburn leaves.
They continued walking on the forest trail, and for a while, Shiki seemed steady, his gait reminiscent of a time two years prior; walking on his own path, wherever that may be. But then he stumbled, and Akira was snapped out of his reverie. He caught up to Shiki in an instant, steadying Shiki with an arm around his torso.
Shiki weighed as light as he looked; he was more bone than flesh, and even the frumpy silhouette of his clothes couldn’t conceal that.
Akira exhaled. “Shiki…” He'd been startled, only his reflexes allowing him to react quick enough to catch Shiki before he could fall.
Shiki didn't say a word, but his discontent expression said it all. Akira kept a firm hold on Shiki's waist, careful not to grip him too hard. Shiki was leaning heavily against him, barely able to support his own weight.
Akira contemplated the situation they were in. It seemed like Shiki really had no strength left. He could barely stand on his own, let alone walk, even with Akira holding him up.
After a beat, Akira carefully adjusted Shiki so that most of Shiki's weight was on his back. Akira then leaned forward, bending his knees and hooking his arms under Shiki's legs as gently as he could to make the transition as smooth as possible.
“…What are you doing?” Shiki demanded. It sounded less like a question and more like an accusation.
“This is the only way we'll make it back at this rate,” Akira said. He'd already expected Shiki to express his disapproval. “It’s either this or I carry you in my arms.”
Providing the illusion of choice might make Shiki less averse to this arrangement—not that he actually had any say in this. Akira was going to carry him whether Shiki liked it or not.
“Hmph,” Shiki said, displeasure evident in his voice. Then, as if recognizing that he had no say in this matter, he said tersely, “Do as you like.”
So he did. Akira continued walking on the forest trail while carrying Shiki in his back. The light above streamed down in warm rays, passing through the canopy of red leaves and casting a wispy glow over their pigment.
“Akira,” Shiki said, his voice low and surprisingly soft in Akira’s ear.
“What?” Akira responded, aware of the warm breath on his ear. Once upon a time, he would've thought everything about Shiki was cold: his skin, his touch, his gaze, but those days were long in the past now, faded into the years. Now he knew better.
There was a pause. The breeze blew at that moment, rustling the surrounding trees. The silence seemed to linger in the air between them, and Akira thought Shiki was going to tell him to put him down after all, but instead, what Shiki said surprised him.
Shiki let his head rest upon Akira's shoulder. “…Walk faster.” His tone was something in between a demand and a request.
Akira let out a breath. “…Okay.”
It was probably a good thing that Shiki couldn't see the slight smile on his face from this angle.