Jesse is half-asleep in the chair when Juri murmurs, barely audible—
“If you had a time machine… how would you use it?”
Jesse doesn’t open his eyes.
“Five minutes before you decided to be stupid,” he says.
Juri huffs weakly.
“Liar.”
Jesse opens one eye.
“Okay. Ten years ago. Before we all learned what consequences were.”
Juri stares at the ceiling.
“Aren’t you curious about the future?”
Jesse snorts.
“What future? The one where you’re gone?”
Silence.
Juri swallows.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to have shoes with wings on them,” Juri says softly.
“Spaceship. Laser gun. X-ray shades. Magic wallet.”
Jesse knows what he’s actually saying.
Not gadgets. Not toys.
Wishes.
“I just want a machine,” Juri adds, quieter, “that could turn back time.”
Not someday.
Now.
Jesse finally looks at him.
“You’re not ambitious,” Jesse says.
Juri blinks.
“Huh?”
“You’re nostalgic,” Jesse says. “There’s a difference.”
Juri smiles faintly. It fades fast.
“Keep on dreaming,” Juri murmurs.
Jesse reaches out without thinking and hooks two fingers into Juri’s hospital sleeve, grounding.
“Stop talking like you’re already gone.”
Juri doesn’t answer. Because he kind of is.
Jesse squeezes once.
“If I had a time machine,” Jesse says roughly, “I wouldn’t use it to fix this.”
Juri turns his head.
Jesse meets his eyes.
“I’d use it to tell past-you that this was always going to hurt,” Jesse says.
“And you chose it anyway. Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing."
Jesse exhales, sharp.
Like that didn’t come out the way he meant it to.
“Don’t pretend you’re brave now.”
Juri’s eyes burn.
Jesse looks away first.
“You’re still deciding for everyone,” Jesse mutters. “Until the very end.”
Juri breathes out something between a laugh and a sob.
It sounds like a joke.
It isn’t.
And it doesn’t stop there.
Yugo starts hovering early. Not dramatically.
He just notices things Jesse doesn’t bother hiding very well if you’re paying attention.
That Jesse is always the last to leave Juri’s place.
That Jesse answers texts immediately, no matter the hour.
That Jesse jokes louder on the days Juri looks worse.
Yugo doesn’t ask why. He asks practical things.
“Have you eaten?”
“You want coffee?”
“You’re staying again? Okay. I’ll walk you partway.”
No pressure. No interrogation.
Just logistics.
Jesse lets him, because it doesn’t feel like help.
It feels like routine.
It doesn’t happen that night. Or the next.
But eventually—after things have already started moving towards the inevitable—Jesse runs into Taiga.
Taiga sits beside Jesse in a space that feels neutral.
Not peaceful. Just… exhausted.
“He asked you, didn’t he?” Taiga says, low.
Jesse doesn’t pretend. “…Yeah.”
Silence.
“I don’t like it.”
Jesse nods. “I know.”
Another beat.
“But I know why you did it.”
Jesse swallows.
Taiga doesn’t say thank you. Not like that.
“He trusted you,” Taiga says.
That’s the most he can say. It’s enough.
It has to be.
There’s a night—before things get undeniable—when Jesse finally snaps a little.
Not crying. Just… quiet.
They’re sitting on the curb outside a convenience store, plastic bags between them.
Jesse stares at nothing and says, flatly, “I think I’m going to be very lonely later.”
Yugo doesn’t say don’t think like that. Doesn’t say it’ll be fine.
He just says, “Okay.”
Jesse blinks. “That’s it?”
Yugo shrugs.
“You didn’t ask me to fix it.”
He opens his drink. Takes a sip.
Then adds:
“I’ll still be here.”
Not romantic. Not dramatic.
Just fact.
Jesse laughs under his breath.
“You don’t even know what you’re signing up for.”
Yugo shrugs.
“I’ve known you long enough. I have a general idea.”
He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.
And that’s when it hits Jesse—not all at once, but enough to register—this isn’t someone trying to fix him.
This is someone quietly anchoring him before the storm.
After Juri is gone, Jesse doesn’t spiral immediately.
He functions. He organizes. He handles people.
He’s very good at being useful.
And Yugo stays exactly the same.
Still texts. Still shows up. Still sits beside him without asking for explanations.
Yugo doesn’t understand everything.
He wasn’t there before.
He doesn’t know what it looked like when it started breaking.
He learns it slowly—in pieces Jesse doesn’t mean to say out loud.
A detail here. A name said too easily there.
It takes time.
But eventually—he understands.
What it was. What it cost.
What Jesse chose to carry.
Yugo doesn’t react much.
Doesn’t make it bigger than it already is.
He just… stays.
Like he always did.
It happens weeks later.
Jesse doesn’t know when it becomes something he allows.
Being there.
Not for Juri anymore—but for the things he left behind.
He doesn’t expect to be invited in.
But Tanaka-san opens the door like she’s been expecting someone.
They’re in her kitchen. Tea between them. Steam rising.
She says, quietly, “I found something Juri wrote.”
Jesse looks up. He already knows what it is.
“A letter?”
She nods.
Jesse swallows.
“For Taiga?”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.
Jesse looks down at his hands.
“Did you read it?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Does Taiga know?”
She shakes her head.
They sit in silence.
Then Tanaka-san says, “I don’t know if I’m allowed to give it to him.”
Jesse answers honestly.
“I don’t know either.”
Another pause.
Jesse adds, softer, “He loved Taiga.”
Tanaka-san’s mouth trembles.
“I know.”
Jesse stares at the table.
“He left because he thought he was saving him.”
She nods. “I know.”
That’s it.
No solutions. No decisions. Just two people holding the same impossible object.
It doesn’t happen right away.
Not the next day. Not even the week after.
But eventually—after everything has already settled into something permanent—Jesse runs into Taiga again.
Same kind of place.
Not meaningful.
Just… somewhere people sit when they don’t want to go home yet.
Taiga sits beside him.
Not close. Not distant. Just… there.
“You knew,” Taiga says.
Not a question.
Jesse doesn’t pretend. “…Yeah.”
Silence.
Taiga exhales slowly.
“I read it,” he says.
Jesse nods.
Another beat.
“I don’t like it,” Taiga says again.
Jesse almost huffs.
“I know.”
It sounds different this time.
Taiga looks down at his hands.
“But I get it now.”
Jesse doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.
A pause.
“He trusted you,” Taiga says.
The same words.
But now—they land.
Fully.
Jesse swallows.
Taiga adds, quieter—“He trusted you to stay.”
Jesse looks away first.
That’s the closest it gets.
Jesse doesn’t dream about him. Not like that.
He just remembers things at the wrong time.
A sentence. A tone.
The way Juri used to say his name—like it meant something else.
It catches him off guard in the middle of nothing.
He doesn’t say anything when it happens.
Just goes quiet for a second—like he’s listening to something no one else can hear.
Jesse doesn’t stop it.
He just lets it pass through—like it belongs there.
Yugo glances at him.
He doesn’t ask. Just nudges his drink closer.
Jesse huffs under his breath.
“Yeah,” he mutters.
Yugo doesn’t react.
One night, much later, Jesse says, “You know this doesn’t go anywhere clean.”
Yugo looks at him.
“I’m not here for endings. I’m not even asking for clean.”
A pause. “I’m here for after.”
That’s when Jesse finally understands.
Not love-at-first-sight. Not salvation.
Just this:
Someone chose to stand in the radius of his grief without needing to be central to it.
It doesn’t change everything.
Not immediately.
Jesse doesn’t suddenly become easier.
But Jesse starts leaning on him.
Not obviously.
He still doesn’t ask for anything. But he stays longer.
He stops leaving first. Stops pretending he has somewhere else to be.
Yugo notices.
But he doesn’t point it out.
He just makes sure he’s still there when it happens.