Silence | Book 1

4-11: Forgiven

Although Hibiki had been in the hall of the London hospital barely more than twelve hours ago, not much had registered since he had barrelled straight past to Tristan's room. This time he could take a look, while he let Kazuo wait in line to do all the talking.

It was a fairly standard reception desk in the middle of a large main hall. Fake wood, white walls and a strange choice of marbled blue for the resin floors. A few potted plants and palms seemed to be there to add some green and nature, but if anything it only looked out of place and cluttered. Not that anybody was there for the aesthetic, and people of all sorts walked the hallways during the day – doctors, the elderly, parents with children, patients out to take a break, and so forth.

Unwillingly he yawned, and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Even though he had overslept, he still felt drowsy and tired. He had barely bothered with getting dressed and ready, only throwing on a sweater and jeans and brushing his hair. Kazuo had made him some broth for breakfast, but he'd been unable to stomach more than a few sips without getting nauseous.

He wondered what Tristan would be like after everything that had happened. Probably even worse than me... I'm such an idiot. Perturbed by the thought he checked his phone and opened his message history with Tristan. The last thing sent from Tristan's phone about an hour ago was that his phone was nearly out of battery, but he scrolled up a little higher before that.

T: Hey, I'm sorry for what happened.

I must've really scared you yesterday, please don't think it was your fault. You really couldn't have known. If I hadn't overreacted so much and stayed calm, none of it would've happened.

How can you blame yourself for this? Hibiki sighed, and he scrolled up even higher not wanting to be confronted with it at all. Instead he stopped in the middle of a long series texts from Tristan, from a few days before. He smiled as he saw the beginning of a stream of consciousness on Britain's political structure that could rival many an essay – he didn't even know that much about politics, especially not the British kind, but he liked to see Tristan reason his way through several arguments, both for and against. So why do you always argue against yourself? And never for?

Kazuo's voice startled him, and took him out of his thoughts.

「Yukimura-sama, shall we go?」

Hibiki looked up from his phone, back at Kazuo beside him and nodded. Before Kazuo could respond, he walked off in the direction of Tristan's room, still remembering where it was.

The door was open. Tristan leant against the windowsill, already dressed – albeit in the same grimy clothes from the day before, and with a bit of stubble on his jaw. He had a plate on his lap with cheese sandwiches, and some frayed cling foil indicated they probably weren't the freshest. In the midst of a bite he looked up to see Hibiki, and he smiled widely while chewing. It was a bright, genuine smile, and it startled Hibiki somewhat leaving him to stand in the doorway trying to figure out what to do.

How can you be this happy?

Tristan put the plate down and walked over, and realising that he was blocking the doorway Hibiki took a few steps forward as well.

"Good morning." Tristan greeted him in an attempt to break the awkward silence, and it made Hibiki smile back despite his tired, vaguely surreal state of mind. He was halfway into raising his hand, when Kazuo spoke up beside him.

"Our apologies for being so late." The man said with a deep bow, causing Hibiki to frown a little and slightly puff up his cheeks. It seemed Tristan didn't need any apologies either, lifting both hands to say it was fine.