They sit on the swings, like they've done so many times before. It feels like years ago though it hasn't been more than a few months since the Change, which had felt important enough to warrant emphasis, though it had been on such a minor scale. It had very little impact on more than four people and for three of them, it was a lessening in the danger of hearing loss, because Watanuki had, as Yuuko put it, 'gotten over himself'. Watanuki still protested at that, but couldn't argue much, since it was pretty much dead on. Regardless of personal opinions, it could not be refuted that Watanuki had Changed, and of all of them (Watanuki besides) it was Doumeki Shizuka who appreciated it the most.

Which brings them back to the now, as they sit on swings they've sat on before and Kimihiro's foot traces familiar circles in the dirt as they sway in place. In the span of the past week or so he'd been making a lot of discoveries, about Shizuka, about Yuuko and most importantly, himself. He'd found that Shizuka was a good listener, capable of keeping his mouth shut, but paying perfect attention. Shizuka had listened to some of his deeper fears and stupid worries and secrets he had never meant to give voice to, but they had spilled out into Shizuka's waiting ear just to spite him.

In turn, Shizuka had opened up to him, talked a bit more, seemed just that much closer to resembling an actual fallible human and instead of making him gloat, as the Old Watanuki most likely would have, it both scares and reassures him at the same time. Shizuka talks (sometimes) and Kimihiro talks (most of the time) and occasionally neither of them speak. Where before the silences were stifling and awkward and dense, they have become comfortable things, an assurance that you don't always need words to have some sort of connection. In fact, everything in their previous relationship has been built on the things they didn't say and they both work now to change that, to get things out in the open, just once, and remember these things so they don't need to bring it up again and possibly upset the delicate (though more stable) balance they had.

Kimihiro shifts in his swing and it drifts over to bump Shizuka's, causing the other boy-almost man to glance over him, a silent question hinting across his features. Kimihiro says nothing, but lets his shoulder brush the other chain, pressing it there slightly longer than physics would dictate. He looks away, out of shyness or embarrassment maybe, and they sit, staring off into nothing as the sun slips away and the park is slowly flooded with twilight. Dusk sweeps across their laps and they sit contentedly, more or less. Kimihiro nervously wonders when, and maybe how to perform the next necessary action. He's scared, that much is certain, though not of Shizuka's rejection, which will invariably never come, but of the significance, the actual definition of a step forward.

He turns back to examine Shizuka's profile in the near dark. He's looking away, directly forward, but his eyes are unfocused, his mind maybe far away. Kimihiro takes this as an opportunity to take in Shizuka's features, the slope of his brow and slightly proud straight nose, the short dark hair in uneven lengths though within the same centimeter of length, the way lighter tendrils brush the back of his neck and the brilliant halo the streetlight casts on the off-center of his scalp. Shyly Kimihiro brings his hand over to brush the back of Shizuka's, still lightly gripping the swing's chain. Shizuka turns to look at him and sees the wordless request. His hand slides off the chain slowly, dropping down to his side and their fingers tangle. Both of them sway contentedly, two boys-who-are-not-yet-men and two-men-who-are-no-longer-boys holding hands in the middle of a public park in the half-darkness of a city night.

A/N: Came up with this concept on a swing in a park in Albany, CA on Sunday. I really liked it, so I followed up on it. :D I listened to Collide a ridiculous number of times while writing. Can you tell:D