Title: Empty Hands

Universe: Junjou Romantica
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Mostly Nowaki/NowaHiro, mentions of MiyaHiro

Fic Type: One Shot
Rating: PG
Word Count: 864

Warnings: Super!sad, angsty Nowaki.

A/N: AU, if the 'library scene' had never happened and Hiroki denied Nowaki after kissing Miyagi. I love Nowaki, but after reading Mizu-Tenshi's Sayonara Our Summer Solstice (the first chapter to be specific), this had to be written!
Summary: Nowaki doesn't remember the last time he cried like this. Or if he has ever cried at all. Never like this, at least. Never like this…

Empty Hands

Nowaki doesn't like this. This feeling that makes him sick to his stomach.

He doubles over, covering his mouth with a trembling hand. The rising bile burns - or is that the raw, silent sobs ripping at his hoarse throat?

The regret and pain flowing directly into the most sensitive parts of Nowaki's mind is almost too much, like a stream trickling into cracks and crevices never exposed before, filling and flooding everywhere.

He's numb to all but his own senses. They're blending and mixing together, as if his head was spinning.

Nowaki doesn't remember the last time he cried like this. Or if he has ever cried at all. Never like this, at least. Never like this.

The tears are warm, unlike the rain soaking his body: endless and colder than ever. The university building he just emerged from looms high behind him, barely failing to cast a shadow over Nowaki's shivering figure.

His chest is tight; his breathing constricted. The searing pain in his throat causes him to choke. He coughs, sucking in the nearly freezing air with desperation.

"H-Hiro-san…" he manages to mumble.

Never in his life has Nowaki felt so misunderstood, so frustrated, so unwanted. Maybe this is what he gets. What he deserves for wanting someone so precious so badly. Retribution for stepping out of his place.

Maybe Hiro-san had always been out of reach. Maybe Nowaki had always been aiming too high. Maybe his intense desire to claim Hiro-san for himself had been his own downfall.

He never imagined the recoil would be so strong and so overwhelming. It hurts. Really, really hurts. Nowaki learns that the hard way.

He didn't decide for himself that his reason for living would become Hiro-san – he simply became it, with or without Hiro-san even realizing it.

If Nowaki could, he would give anything - anything at all - if it meant Hiro-san remembering what he said that day. He would give anything to go back in time and redo everything if he had to. He would give anything to reassure himself that Hiro-san was still indeed his.

He would give anything to hold him.

And he feels like an idiot, idiot, idiot. Why had he gone to meet that professor? It was just his bad damned luck for the flight to be delayed. Yet another instance that could be seen as fate working against them.

Nowaki thought that he and Hiro-san were sure to find each other again, no matter how, why, or what happened between them. But he realizes that it was just foolish, naïve thinking on his part.

He remembers. He remembers the rain of earlier in the day, soft yet harsh at the same time. The sky was lighter, more promising. He remembers wishing, praying, begging that somehow Hiro-san would still be there waiting at the restaurant. He remembers how his heart dropped, farther than Nowaki thought possible, when his Hiro-san was nowhere to be found and how it raised again, feebly pumping the last bit of hope it had.

Perhaps Hiro-san returned to the university. It was their final connection; this had to be it. If Hiro-san wasn't there, then he would wait and wait and wait and wait for him to return…

He felt a tinge of guilt at the wet footsteps in university's hallway and thought of how selfish it was of him to leave Hiro-san in the rain like that. But they were there. They were there. And there was a light at the end of the hall; his office.

Nowaki's heartbeat was audible in his chest now, his footsteps too loud, as he ran up to the door and yanked it open.

He thought his heart literally tore as his eyes fell upon his Hiro-san pressed close to someone else, his mouth covered by another's, his body language unresisting.

And he regrets nearly everything that had happened up until that moment more than words can express.

A new emotion surfaces from within his mind's chaotic state, causing Nowaki's brow to furrow:

…Hate. An intense hate for that man, who had his filthy hands on his Hiro-san. Miyagi, or something or other. Why must that man come between them? Is it his fault Hiro-san can't see that he's telling the truth?

Then it occurs to Nowaki - this, these thoughts - aren't they why he remains without his Hiro-san? It's not just jealousy, but also…blame. He wants to blame that man. Every part of him does.

But no. No, this is not his fault. It's Nowaki's own fault.

If only he hadn't this, if only he hadn't that. If only he hadn't of went to America, Nowaki can only think.

He stands alone under the dark, pouring sky. At a distance, there is a single, dim lamppost, blinking weakly, as if to match his slow, erratic heartbeats.

The moon seems melted through his blurry vision, distant and unfeeling. It's as if the sun never existed in the first place.

His knees begin to give out. He crouches, unsure of whether his feet would be willing to move any farther for the time being. He covers his face with his hands, his large, empty hands.