According to the plan, Adachi handled the funeral arrangements. The will specified all the people who were allowed to, and none of them were in any state for it - except Adachi. And Adachi wasn't going to let Yu's parents swoop in and act like they gave a damn.

Yu had done most of the work beforehand, anyway.

So Adachi handled it. He was handling all of it fine. It wasn't like it was a sudden, unexpected thing. They'd known. They'd had time. Adachi already mourned. So of course he could take care of everything.

The wake, the funeral - all of it went off without a hitch. Lots of sobbing, though. So much fucking crying. Really, it was ridiculous. Everyone had known Yu was sick.

He didn't cry.

His hands didn't shake as he accepted the bone fragments from Nanako, as he dropped them into the urn.

Nanako sobbed on the ride home. Ryotaro held her close.

Adachi held onto the urn and didn't feel anything at all.

*

He stayed one night with the Dojimas, and then he returned to the apartment. Ryotaro tried to get him to stay, with an offer of breakfast and coffee, but Adachi begged off. Said something about the apartment needing cleaning.

He slipped into the futon as soon as he got through the door. He shut his eyes, but he couldn't keep himself from breathing in the scent of Yu. It was bitter, tinged with illness, and it was everywhere.

Adachi wrapped the blankets around himself and slept.

*

When he woke, it was dark. A street lamp glowed angrily through the flimsy curtains. Adachi stared at it. Rolled over.

The clock on the stove blinked out the early hour.

His breathing was the loudest thing in the room. He focused on the inhale, the exhale, the expanding muscles in his chest.

He didn't feel anything.

In the absence of Yu, there was nothing. He was empty. Again.

He slept. Again.

*

When he woke in the morning, the apartment was quiet. No scent of coffee blossomed from the kitchen. No gentle clatter of cutlery. No tinkle of pills being tipped out from their bottle.

Yu wasn't in bed. He didn't need Adachi to get up and cook - he was still shit at it, even after all the practice the last few months gave him. Yu didn't need anything from him anymore.

Because -

Adachi got up, relieved himself, and went back to bed.

*

He drifted in the quiet. He threw a blanket over the useless curtains, casting the room into perpetual darkness.

It was fine. He had done everything Yu needed of him. He didn't need to do anything anymore.

His body ached. His stomach hurt. He drank water, when he remembered, when he got out of bed.

He ignored every buzz of his phone.

*

Shrill ringing - someone calling - interrupted the dark.

He ignored the call. And after the third attempt, he turned the phone off.

He'd done what was needed. He didn't owe anyone anything more.

*

There was a loud thudding in the apartment. Adachi groaned. He covered his ears. It didn't stop.

"Adachi!" someone yelled. "Open the fucking door! Adachi!"

"Go away," he called, hoarse.

"Open the door or I'll kick it down! I swear to god!"

He groaned and got up, knees wobbling, stomach rolling, and shambled to the door. He unlocked it, not feeling the metal underneath his fingers.

Yosuke Hanamura stood outside the apartment. He shoved into the room before Adachi could say anything.

"We thought you were dead! You asshole!" He strode through the space, stepping over the disheveled futon before pulling down the makeshift curtain. Light flooded the room. Adachi winced and covered his eyes. "I've been trying to call you all morning. Do you have any idea how worried Dojima has been?"

Adachi looked at Hanamura. At the perfectly blue sky outside. Snow was on the ground, on the roofs of the adjacent buildings.

"I don't care," he said.

"What?"

"I don't care," Adachi repeated. "Can you get out? I'm alive. So you can leave."

Hanamura marched toward him.

"Are you kidding? I'm not leaving. You - when was the last time you ate?"

"Don't care," Adachi repeated.

Hanamura gaped. "I - what - no! What the hell are you -" He cut himself off with a harsh sound. Adachi looked at the window again. It was tiring, to try to looking at Hanamura. "Do you think Yu would want you to do this?"

"He's dead," Adachi replied reflexively. Hanamura stilled, all his restless energy focusing to a point. "So it doesn't matter what he would want."

They stared at each other.

Something snapped in Adachi. In his throat. That was how it felt, anyway.

Shaking - he was shaking. His throat felt full, like he was about to vomit, but there was nothing, nothing to puke up, nothing to spit out. There was only the pain and the tension in his throat and

Oh. He was crying.

He was finally crying, and in front of Hanamura, of all people.

"Adachi," Hanamura murmured sympathetically.

And Adachi hated him in that moment, viciously and with every fiber of his being, he hated Hanamura and it felt so good and so bad because at least he was feeling something, and the dam of every other stupid emotion in his chest broke.

Yu really was - dead.

Hanamura tried to touch him. Adachi elbowed him in the face.

"Adachi," Hanamura said, again, like he was pleading, like he was talking to a child or maybe a cornered animal.

It hit, then, the realization that the one person who called him by his name, who called him Tohru, was gone, and Adachi wasn't getting him back. He wasn't going to wake up tomorrow to Yu in the kitchen, or in his bed, or at the chabudai laughing at some quiz show.

"I'm gonna be sick," Adachi said through the tears and snot.

He puked in the sink - just water, and bile - and Hanamura, the moron, rubbed his back the whole time.