A/N: I'm working on writing several chapters in advance so I can update more regularly. But before then, please stay patient for me :) Thank you, and enjoy this chapter!

Words: 1958

retrophilia: love of things of the past

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Ranmaru wandered around his apartment aimlessly, lost in his thoughts. Lost in the memories. He strolled into her room, his hands deep in the pockets of his ripped jeans as he surveys the bare room. It's been empty for a year now – exactly a year, because today was the day marking three hundred-sixty five days since she left. He could never bear to rent it out or rearrange anything.

Those walls used to be covered in posters of Starish, her soul and pride – her friends. Ranmaru stepped further inside, brushing his fingertips along the wall. The punctures in the plaster were remnants of her bulletin board and numerous to-do lists. He shifted his gaze to the working desk she'd left behind because it was too bulky to move. The desktop used to be littered with music sheets – some completed, some in-progress, and others freshly off the top of her head.

There were always pencil stubs laying around, and he used to walk in to sweep the nubs into the trash, swiftly replacing them with a new supply of pencils he'd just sharpened.

Sometimes he would walk in on her conked out on the desk, and he would carry her back to the bed she rarely fell asleep on. The next morning, she'd awake in bed, to an organized desktop and breakfast cooking outside. She would smile knowingly because everytime she tried pointing out the small things he did for her, he'd flatly deny the fact, despite the redness of his face and ears when he turned away from her.

Ranmaru ruffled his silver hair, exhaling deeply. The apartment was deafeningly silent, only the tick of the clock reminding him time was still going and that this was real. He trudged out of her room, his heart leaden with regret and nostalgia. He plopped down on the maroon couch, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

This was where she would find him passed out every weeknight when she came back to a tousled boyfriend, washed out from the long day of practice. He'd awake the next morning and there'd be a fleece blanket draped over him – her fleece blanket. It smelled of lavender and vanilla...all her. Of course, he'd give only a disgruntled "Thank you," precisely because being polite wasn't his forté.

He'd often regret the times he stubbornly kept the rough and tough facade up around her, no matter how bad he just wanted to cuddle her and kiss her sweetly on the forehead. He'd be disappointed in himself every time, guilt weighing in on him when the flash of hurt appeared. He knew he should've given her more love, more attention, more of him so that she wouldn't have had to decide it wasn't worth the effort.

She had felt lonely for too long. He'd coerced her into these living conditions back when they were still senpai and kohai because he was dead set on making her his woman. He had determination and motivation back then; when did it stop? His inability to express his emotions properly showed him up again.

How many times did he want to reach over and hold her hand when they walked, when they talked? For how long did he crave her? Her smile, her laugh, her touch? Why hadn't he done something about it? He prided himself on being such a straightforward guy, blunt beyond the point of caring, but when it came to someone he so desperately longed to love, why was it something he put off doing? He hated himself.

Ranmaru could only imagine how frustrated and angry she must've been at him. How hateful she thought he was. The prospect of her despising him made him sick; he felt his stomach twist and his heart wrench itself, bringing an excruciating pain he told himself he deserved.

He didn't think he stopped loving her because thinking about her now gave him goosebumps and flutters. His feelings hadn't wavered, but he shouldn't have assumed she would always be there.

With a heavy sigh, he rubbed at his face, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. He looked around the apartment and spotted the kitchen table (which really used to be her scrapbooking table). Speaking of which, Ranmaru hastily got up and walked into her room again, retrieving the stash of photos that she'd refused to put in the album. He found the photos the first time he'd went in to clean after she left, assuming she left the stash as a reminder of them. Shuffling through them as he walked out, he set the pile of photos on the kitchen table.

Ranmaru stared at the photographs, wondering whether it was a good idea to rub salt on his wounds and remind himself of the love and beauty that was Haruka, remind him that he's lost all that could've been. He was so distraught he's lost his way, everyday passing numbingly. Shutting his eyes tightly against the  onslaught of self-hate.

Sitting down, he gently picked up the first picture, observing it closely, trying to relive the memories of the moment captured.

"Take it! Quickly!" Haruka's shrill voice ushered between giggles.

She had jumped onto Ranmaru's back and was grasping on tightly for leverage while urging Ai to snap the photo.

Ranmaru could feel her arms tightly wrapped around his neck, legs straddling his back.

She squealed, "Ah! Senpai, I'm slipping off, quickly!"

Ai, a few feet away towards the top of the hill called back exasperatedly, "I know already. Ready...."

The loud shutter of the camera cued Haruka, and the petite girl fell off, landing ungracefully on the grass. Ranmaru quickly spun around, and swiftly hefted her up.

Smiling sweetly up at him, "Thank you!"

He turned away with a blush, the back of his hand reaching up to cover the smile that threatened to creep up on him.

Ranmaru stared at the scene on the photo. His face was one of wild worry, his arms bent back to catch Haruka if she toppled backwards. His eyebrows were furrowed, but his eyes seemed to sparkle in the photo. Haruka looked childishly gleeful, clinging onto him while her mouth was open wide in a semi-smile and most likely was rushing Ai to take the picture faster.

His heart jumping with the relived emotions of that time in their relationship, he moved to the next photo.

This one was a candid; they were seated on a park bench and Haruka had lain her head on his shoulder, having fallen asleep with the sun beating down at them that day. Ranmaru was unknowingly watching her from the corners of his eyes, his body tense from the close proximity.

He couldn't recall who had taken the picture, but he could imagine the blurriness around the edges was because the photographer was trembling with laughter. How'd Haruka come into possession of these anyways?

Ranmaru dug in his memories for any indication of a time in their relationship when she could've gotten her hands on the many photos she didn't already have. He distinctly remembered a period of odd behavior and outings that could've explained the appearance of the photos.

"Where are you going? It's late out." He called from the kitchen, hearing the door opening.

All movement stilled for a while until Haruka replied hastily, "N-nowhere, just going out for some fresh air; I think I have indigestion."

Ranmaru furrowed his brows in hesitance. He couldn't force her to stay in – it wasn't in his right to do so, but she'd been going out at the most random times lately.

"Whatever – just don't stay out too long." He reminded. He distinctly heard a quick and quiet murmur of agreement before the door clicked shut.

His head swam with the worst of conclusions. The first being drug addiction; but Haruka disliked even the smell of cigarette smoke so that was out of the question. The second and most predominant concern was her cheating on him with some shithead. He burned up inside just imagining her with some faceless joke, arms around each other while he was here like a dupe. He shook his head of such doubts, willing himself to establish the trust he craved in her and went back to mindlessly scrubbing the dishes.

Ranmaru's eyes refocused as he came back from the flashback. Such instances had occurred several times, but each time Haruka came back as loving as she was when she left so he gave it no further thought. He smiled at the flow of affection that she had showered him with everytime. In retrospect, that was what persuaded him to fall harder for her – her love became a constant in his life and it ebbed at his resolve until he was no longer just a desolate rocker, masked and devoid.

His eyes still slightly dazed, he shuffled to the next picture.

He felt the air get knocked out of him.

Breathless, his eyes cleared and his face split into a grin. He was looking at the same face that he'd look at every day and never tire of.

It was a selfie she took. She had her fingers up in a peace sign, her eyes bright like her smile. The vibrancy of her hair and eyes didn't help the sudden hollowness in his chest. How could he forget a girl like her? She always reminded him of a fire opal – she was a sunset in the form of a petite female. By that time, her hair was longer and her bangs curved inwards to frame her face. She really did deserve her beauty. Such a mind-blowing girl, inside and out. But did he deserve her?

Ranmaru looked at the photo behind it to see that it was another selfie. He shambled through the rest of the stash, finding selfie after selfie. They all were of her modeling different expressions. He chuckled at one of her pouting sulkily at the camera, her doe eyes teary and slightly downturned. Why did she have so many of these photos of herself?

"Come on! Just one?" Haruka was close to begging now.

She'd been asking Ranmaru to take a picture with her, but he was refusing everytime. As stubborn as he was, he genuinely didn't care and wouldn't mind if she took a picture with him. It was just that once she started whining, he couldn't restrain from teasing her. The thought that he'd taken the joke too far barely crossed his mind before Haruka got up and stormed from the couch to her bedroom.

He flinched when the door shut with more force than she'd ever exert. Seems like he'd mistakenly ignored her pleas and she gave up on her efforts.

Ranmaru sighed and set the mess of photographs aside. He rubbed at his eyes, the strain of scrutinizing the photos too much to handle. The overwhelming lack of presence in his apartment hit him hard. For the first time in a long time, he realized how hollow he was. He used to be so substantial – a musician, charismatic but kind, he was a character. But now that Haruka had come and gone from his life, she had swooped in and taken his passion with her.

Weary, he dragged his fingers through his silver hair. Would it be too late? If he were to fight for her now, would it be too late? He argued with himself that if he didn't do anything at all, he'd miss the belated opportunity and regret everything.

Without a second thought, he picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number. Opting to text, he sent a message to her after twelve months.

"I'm sorry. Can we meet?"