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The sun shone on him like something Kakyoin had never seen before. As if he were a sun in his own way. He beamed with energy, with a brightness and a warmth. A beauty surrounded him, a beauty that goes beyond the sun. His radiance in his graceful navigation around the field, the impressive swell of his muscle, his grinning face—a face complimented by a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones, full lips. The sun never really impressed Kakyoin, anyways.
He seemed alive on the field. He led his team with an enthusiasm that no one else matched.
At first, Kakyoin had been annoyed by his obnoxious energetic attitude, thinking it's just soccer. No reason to act like they're playing MLS. It all seemed so fake. (Jealousy sat below his criticism, which he was aware of and only infuriated him further.)
Every Saturday a casual soccer meet occurs a few blocks from Kakyoin's apartment. Just far enough to reach the necessary daily amount of exercise. So, every Saturday, he walks to that nearby soccer field with a sling backpack containing a novel and his sketchbook. He played soccer in his teenage years so he isn't totally clueless when it comes to the sport; it provides sufficient entertainment if he wants to spend time outside. Sitting at the computer playing video games for hours on end isn't particularly healthy for him, anyways.
Regardless, he didn't anticipate that a man his type (more aesthetically than personality wise, though) would be playing. And for that man to be disabled as well. It's drawn him in more than the attraction to his face. He plays soccer so gracefully on those running prosthesis, Kakyoin wonders just how long he's been doing this. How can he be so full of energy? While Kakyoin is sitting on the bleachers feeling sorry for himself, a man missing both of his legs is having the damn time of his life. Kakyoin can't help but feel bitter, despite his stupid attraction to the silver-haired man.
And of course, he can't stop himself from drawing him. Over, and over.
Capturing the way his high ponytail swung, in a sketch of him turning with a broad smile on his face. Kakyoin often accentuated his muscular chest and biceps, because why the hell not? It was kinda fun drawing his prosthesis, too.
Kakyoin had filled pages of various drawings of him stretching, running, smiling, drinking water, tying up his hair into a ponytail. A couple shameful drawings of him shirtless, or wearing scandalously short shorts.
On one of these sunny Saturday afternoons, Kakyoin sits in his usual place—at the top of the bleachers so he can rest his back against the backrest, his forearm crutches propped beside him against the metal bench. His knees are drawn up, feet planted on the lower seat. He lazily draws a sketch of a buff dude from a fighting video game he's been playing again lately, his scarred eyes hooded and cheek propped in a hand, elbow set on his thigh.
The breeze brushes over him, causing goosebumps to grow over his arms, his long red bang swaying in the breeze. The shouts and commotion of soccer carries, though he's not particularly interested in watching at the moment.
Once he finishes his current drawing, he sighs and closes his sketchbook. Maybe he'll go home early today. He's not feeling that great.
As he begins to slide his sketchbook into his backpack, he hears the shrill blow of a whistle and yelling. Looking up, he squints to see the silver-haired man sitting on the grass, clutching at his forehead. Blood is dripping from his nose. Kakyoin watches as a few players offer to help him up, but he waves them off and moves to stand himself. He stumbles, and then multiple hands reach for him. Kakyoin hears his laugh even from this distance, and then the reassurance that he's fine, he just needs to sit down for a minute. The others stand around, watching as he's passed an icepack kept in a nearby cooler.
Discomfort rises in Kakyoin, watching reluctantly as he approaches the bleachers he is currently sitting on. Kakyoin grabs his bag and sets it on his lap, as if it'll work as a wall to separate them further. He doesn't want to be addressed.
Silently, he watches as the other man took a heavy seat, clutching the ice pack to his forehead with a Powerade placed beside him on the bench. He sits maybe six feet away. Kakyoin wants to leave.
Kakyoin stares at his knees, debating if it would be awkward and telling if he got up and left. He doesn't want to be an asshole.
“Hey, you come here every week, right?”
Damn it.
Kakyoin looks up to eye him past the olive green frame of his glasses. The silver-haired man is staring at him with a friendly smile. The blood had been wiped from his lip, a slight smear left behind, wiped towards his cheek. For the first time, Kakyoin realizes he has a long scar on his cheek, over his right eye. The distance between himself and the field had prevented him from noticing until now. His right eye is cloudy. Can he see out of it?
Shakily exhaling, Kakyoin nods.
“Yeah.”
“What's your name? Why don't you play?”
Frowning, Kakyoin stares at him. The other man arches a brow. His smile lessens. He shrugs.
“Sorry. I'll leave you alone,” he says, turning back to look at the resuming game, continuing to press the ice to his head. Kakyoin stares at his back, where his tank top clung with sweat. Jesus, he has very pronounced muscle in his back. This guy must work out a lot, aside from the soccer.
“My name is Noriaki,” Kakyoin says just barely above a mumble. He feels uncomfortable, but he doesn't want to lose this chance to possibly, maybe, make a friend. He hasn't really interacted socially in a long time—ever since his injury, really.
Glancing back towards him, the other man eyes him up and down and then smiles. Kakyoin notices he has a gap in his front teeth. It's cute. His sapphire eye is beaming—as if Kakyoin introducing himself could may as well be the best thing that's ever happened to him. Kakyoin feels heat in his cheeks.
“I'm Jean! Noriaki, huh? Haven't heard that one before,” the silver-haired man says—now, Jean. Kakyoin shrugs.
“It's because it's Japanese and we're not in Japan.”
Laughing, Jean nods. Kakyoin silently watches as he wipes at his bloody nose again, while he says with a laugh, “Jean-Pierre isn't terribly common around these parts, too.”
“French?” Kakyoin guesses, arching a slender brow. Jean's grin extends. He nods.
“That's pretty obvious, though. French pronunciation isn't a mystery to many people.”
“Indeed,” Kakyoin agrees. He realizes he's rubbing his fingers together—a habit born from anxiety. He stops when he notices he's doing it. While Jean rearranges the icepack on his head, Kakyoin stares and asks, “What happened? I wasn't watching.”
“I twisted my ankle and fell,” Jean answers, lifting a leg, bringing attention to his running prosthetic. Kakyoin looks at him blankly. Jean lets out a laugh at his own joke and muses with a smirk directed towards the redhead, “Wow, you're not easy to crack. Everyone always laughs at that.”
“Humoring you, I assume.”
“Wow! I see how it is,” Jean huffs, and then turns away, slumping over dramatically. Kakyoin feels a smile pulling at his lips, but it doesn't have the strength to show. Jean manages to pretend he's upset for a full five seconds before turning back around towards Kakyoin and smiling broadly, bringing out his dimples and drawing Kakyoin's attention to his freckles and gapped teeth again. Each time he grins, the ragged scar on his cheek wrinkles up.
“So! You draw a lot while watching us play, right? What do you usually draw? I couldn't help but notice, y'know,” Jean asks enthusiastically, and then continues to say, “Can I sit with you while I recover from my fatal injury?”
Kakyoin's anxiety increases and his heart leaps. He swallows hard and says, “Sure.”
Smiling, Jean rises and steps up over the bleachers. Kakyoin can't help but stare at his prosthesis—they look really good on him, somehow. Though he isn't sure how to feel about that. He isn't sure if it's rude to think someone's prosthesis is attractive on them. Kakyoin blushes, flustered by this whole exchange.
“Can I move these?” the other man asks, pointing at his forearm crutches. Kakyoin nods wordlessly. Jean gently grabs them both by the rods using one hand and gingerly rests them across the bench below them. Then he plops down beside Kakyoin and looks at him with a smile. Kakyoin peeks over at him shyly.
“Um. I draw various things. Sometimes people if I'm inspired, sometimes fictional characters, scenery.”
He doesn't provide details beyond that. Jean nods, continuing to smile. Kakyoin stares, thinking he smiles enough for the both of them. He could only dream of having such a positive attitude like Jean. Kakyoin is a cold-hearted asshole and typically he doesn't care that he is, but whenever he meets someone like Jean, he wonders why he never turned out like that.
“Can I see?” Jean asks, “I understand if it's private, though.”
Kakyoin hesitates. It is private, but... he also feels kind of guilty for drawing him all the time. It's almost like taking pictures without permission. Maybe it would make him happy if he knew he drew him? People typically flatter him all the way to his deathbed and back whenever he draws them. It's not like he's drawn any porn in there.
“Sure,” Kakyoin says, passing him the sketchbook stiffly. Jean beams at him and happily takes the sketchbook. He gingerly places it on his lap and opens the cover. The first page is a charcoal drawing of a nude woman—practice, more than anything. Surprising Kakyoin, Jean doesn't comment on it or make any teasing jokes. He turns the page to a drawing of muscular men, flexing in various stances. Well, shit. Kakyoin forgot about that one. He feels his ears burn. Jean peeks at him and says with a smile, “These are amazing. You're really talented at drawing.”
“Thanks,” Kakyoin mutters, rubbing at his bicep nervously. This reminds him of high school. Peers constantly asked to see his art, and sometimes repeatedly demanded for him to draw them. This went on until his junior year, when word got out that he wasn't into girls. And here he is again, as an adult, going through that familiar moment of apprehension that the truth will come out. While he isn't bothered by people knowing his sexuality, he's bothered by the possibility of being attacked for it. Jean doesn't seem like that kind of person—though no one shows their true colors to a stranger.
Then Jean flips to a random page, landing on the double-page spread of the sketches Kakyoin did of him. Kakyoin watches his face. Jean blinks widely and then exclaims, staring down at the realistic drawings, “Oh! That's me!”
“Haha... Yeah,” Kakyoin says, sheepishly. Jean glances over each sketch with a broad smile.
“Wow! I look hot. And you gave me back my eye. I love it.”
Kakyoin grimaces slightly.
“Well, I—I didn't realize you... I didn't see your scar until just now.”
Jean looks at him with a grin, arching a brow.
“I certainly look better in your drawings because of it. I don't mind. Hell, I'm kind of really flattered you drew me at all. And you were really generous with my appearance, too. Your drawings are prettier than me!”
“I don't think so,” Kakyoin disagrees with a frustrated expression, “My drawings hardly do it justice.”
He shuts his mouth, realizing just what he was saying. Jean blinks and searches his face with a his smile softening with surprise. He nods and looks back down at the pages. Silently, Kakyoin watches his expression, noticing the softer look in his sapphire eye, the slight bitterness in his smile. Jean flips the page to the sketch Kakyoin had just done of the video game character.
Pausing, Jean blinks and then asks with a broad grin, meeting his gaze again with bright eyes, “Is this Street Fighter?”
Nodding, Kakyoin drops his gaze to the drawing; it's of Akuma, his favorite male character of the franchise.
“Do you play it?” Jean asks excitedly, nearly vibrating with enthusiasm. Kakyoin nods again.
“Since I was a kid.”
“Do you own any of the games?”
“Yes,” Kakyoin answers, becoming much more interested in this conversation and where it may lead. Video games has always been an easier topic for him when it comes to conversation. Jean beams.
“We should totally play it together. I kick ass with Cammy.”
Looking at him with a baffled expression, Kakyoin takes a second to digest what he suggested before saying blankly, “We're complete strangers. Why would I invite you into my home.”
“Well, that's how you make friends, right?”
Kakyoin eyes him incredulously. Jean waggles his eyebrows and then passes back his sketchbook. Kakyoin accepts it warily and presses his lips together. He's not sure what to say. Jean shrugs.
“I don't expect you to say yes. I just think it would be cool if we hung out and got to know each other. I like you, and I think you like me, considering you drew pretty gay drawings of me.”
The blush that blooms in Kakyoin's face certainly shows, because it has Jean grinning and laughing lightly, saying, “I don't mean any harm by that, by the way.”
The tension that suddenly develops renders Kakyoin silent. He isn't sure what to say. It isn't often he's thrown into scenarios like this. He looks at his knees again. Damn it. He used to be more confident than this. Why is he so pathetic?
Jean lets out a breath and says, “Can I put my number in your phone? You don't have to text me if you don't want, but I want to give you that option.”
Kakyoin meets his gaze again, searching in his pretty blue eye, and then nods. He digs his phone out of his backpack's small pocket and passes it to Jean after opening up the 'new contact' page. The other man types in his number and his name before saving it and passing it back to the redhead. Kakyoin stares at Jean, gazing at the smile on his face and the understanding look in his eyes.
“When I first watched these games,” Kakyoin begins to say, monotone, “I was annoyed by how cheerful you are. I thought it was all fake. While that may be the case, I think you do it to uplift others.”
Blinking, Jean looks at him with an expression of surprise, searching in his scarred eyes. His smile becomes weaker. He shrugs.
“Well, it's not like I can just be a downer all the time. I would rather make people smile. If I act depressed, it brings more attention to my disabilities. I can't stand pity, y'know?”
“Yeah,” Kakyoin says quietly, looking down at his phone, his long bang hiding his face, “I get that.”
“Anyways,” Jean begins, his voice warmer and earning Kakyoin's gaze again. He's smiling, though this time it's a kinder smile. Lowering the icepack from his head, Jean flips it around in his hands, saying, “I think I can rejoin the game now that I'm no longer dying. You gonna head home?”
“I think I'll stick around a little while longer,” Kakyoin answers, giving the Frenchman a faint smile. Jean's grin grows at the sight of it.
“Awesome! Alright, watch me kick some butt, then.”
“Don't twist your ankle again.”
“I'll be careful, but I can't promise anything. I might hurt a knee, who knows.”
A slight smile remains on Kakyoin's lips, violet eyes softer. He glances towards Jean's prosthesis and says blankly, “You don't have knees.”
Eyes widening, Jean jerks his gaze down to his prosthesis as well and gasps, saying lowly, “Oh, shit. You're right.”
Kakyoin huffs a slight laugh. That has Jean grinning and chuckling as well. Standing, Jean begins to descend the bleachers, glancing back at the redhead as he did.
“If you leave, text me when you get home. If you want. I just want to be sure you didn't die on the way there.”
“Wow. Dark,” Kakyoin remarks, earning another sharp laugh from the other man. Jean gives him a thumbs up and a grin, before he begins to jog up towards the field. Kakyoin watches his ass as he goes.
The first thing Kakyoin says upon opening the door to Jean with a stoney expression is, “I hope you're not allergic to cats.”
A blindingly bright smile breaks out over Jean's face. Kakyoin looks him up and down briefly, taking note of how he's wearing cargo shorts and a three-quarter sleeve henley shirt. His long hair is tied up into a tight bun. Kakyoin stares. Somehow, he looks even better than usual. Noticeably, he's lacking an eye patch of any sort to conceal his scarred eye.
“I love cats!” Jean gushes, grinning with wide eyes, and then peeks past Kakyoin's legs, “Do you have cats?”
“Yeah,” Kakyoin says, stepping aside, “Come in.”
Jean happily enters and looks around. Kakyoin shuts and locks the door behind him, and then turns to see Jean crouching down to greet one of Kakyoin's three cats that has always been the most curious. While Jean coos at the cat (Eevee, a Siamese) and begins to pet her, Kakyoin enters the adjoined kitchen to approach the fridge, his forearm crutches clicking along the way.
“Do you want a drink?” he calls, pulling open his fridge to grab himself a cherry Coke, “I have soda.”
When he looks over, he sees Jean leaping up and approaching him and the fridge with a smile, “Sure! What chu got?”
“Knock yourself out,” Kakyoin says, monotone, and steps out of the kitchen into the living room. Once he reaches the couch, he flops down on it and rests his crutches against the side of the couch. He cracks open the soda and takes a drink, trying to ignore the anxiety that's crawling up to his throat.
“Woah, you have three cats?” Jean asks, noticing the other two who are currently watching from a safe distance atop the cat tree in the corner of the living room. One is a jet black Bombay (named Sting, due to Kakyoin's favorite musician and the fact he tends to swipe his claws when aggravated), the other an orange tabby cat named Charizard, for obvious reasons.
“Yeah,” Kakyoin sighs, leaning over to set his soda on the coffee table, replacing it with a controller in his hands, “And a snake, but he's in my bedroom.”
“What the hell!” Jean exclaims, flopping down beside the redhead while looking at him with disbelief, “I want to meet your snake!”
“Sure,” Kakyoin agrees, gaze fixed on his flatscreen TV as he turns it on, along with his PS4, “But, after some Street Fighter. I don't feel like getting up again.”
Laughing, Jean nods and says, “Sounds good to me!”
“Can you grab the two arcade sticks?” Kakyoin asks, gesturing to the open shelf in the TV stand. Jean dutifully rises from the couch and crouches by the TV, reaching out to grab the two rectangular arcade pads, before he pauses, staring down at them.
“These are awesome?!” he shouts, grinning, “One of them has your boy Akuma!”
“Bring them over here,” Kakyoin says, to which Jean obliges and gets up, carrying both arcade sticks to the couch. He passes the one with Akuma over to the redhead, while keeping the generic Street Fighter one for himself.
As Kakyoin sets up a versus game, Eevee comes sauntering up to Jean. She places her paws on the edge of the couch, looking up at him with big eyes. Jean beams and is about to ask if he can touch her, but Eevee jumps up onto the couch and lays down neatly between them. Kakyoin doesn't acknowledge it, though Jean is nearly vibrating.
“Okay, choose who you're going to be,” Kakyoin says, glancing over towards the other man. Jean is staring down at Eevee with a broad grin. Kakyoin feels a faint smile pull at his lips, though he doesn't let it show. Reaching out, Kakyoin gently rakes his nails down Eevee's back. Eevee's tail lazily flicks.
“She's friendly. Pet her if you want,” Kakyoin answers what Jean had been desperately wondering. Jean beams and reaches out to gently rest his broad hand on her back. He strokes at her short beige fur while Kakyoin chooses his character. Jean glances up at the TV and then protests with a laugh, “Hey! I was gonna be Cammy!”
“Oh?” Kakyoin challenges with a sly smirk, arching a brow at him. Jean huffs, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, sure, you play Cammy. I'll just kick your butt with Juri.”
Kakyoin deselects Cammy and navigates to Juri to select her. Jean laughs aloud and stops petting Eevee to grab his arcade platform, growling, “I see how it is, you ass.”
With jerks of the joystick, Jean selects Cammy and readies up.
“You'll regret crossing me, Noriaki,” Jean says with a smirk, waggling his eyebrows challengingly at the other man. Kakyoin doesn't change his selection from Juri. He meets Jean's gaze and states, “Oh, I'm scared.”
Following three matches that consisted of Kakyoin brutally destroying Jean with dexterous non-stop combo attacks from Juri, the Frenchman grumpily stated he has to take a piss and rose from the couch. Kakyoin watches as he departs from the living to approach the hallway bathroom, feigning irritation along the way, of course. Kakyoin finds himself admiring the striking black covers of his prosthesis. He's never seen covers like those before. They have rows of open circles going down the sides.
Kakyoin looks over at Eevee, who rose to jump up to the back of the couch and lay behind his head.
After introducing Arbok, his ball python, to Jean, Kakyoin considers how to kindly suggest he get the hell out now. He's reached his limit of socializing and he just wants to lay down and read. But before he could come up with a solution, Jean gently sets Arbok back in his tank and turns to Kakyoin, smiling faintly as he asks, “Hey, Noriaki, I really want to have a drawing from you. Would you be willing to do one last sketch of me?”
That was a bit sudden. Pausing, Kakyoin eyes the other man and presses his lips together.
“I'll draw you again if you go home after.”
Jean looks surprised, and then he laughs faintly.
“Tired of me, are you?”
“Not of you. I'm tired of socializing.”
“I get you,” Jean says with a smile, searching in Kakyoin's tired violet eyes. He nods.
“Sure. It's a deal.”
“Sit on my bed,” Kakyoin remarks, approaching his desk to grab the chair and pull it out with a rattle of its wheels. He positions it a few feet from the bed. With audible clicks of his prosthesis, Jean approaches the bed, turns, and carefully sits down on it atop the dark green duvet. He watches as Kakyoin grabs his bag from the desk to dig out his sketchbook and a pencil.
Once he gets situated in the desk chair, Kakyoin sighs and flips open the book to a blank page. Jean watches him with a faint smile, rubbing at a bicep with uncertainty. Kakyoin flicks his gaze up to him, adjusting the sketchbook in his lap with a pencil poised to draw.
The unsure, weak smile on Jean's lips seems more true to him than the beaming grin he often puts on display. Kakyoin gets the feeling Jean is a lot like him in some ways. He begins to draw.
The quiet scratches of the pencil and the hum of traffic outside are the only sounds that fill the silence. Jean watches the other man work, Kakyoin's violet eyes occasionally glancing up to study his features. Jean gets distracted at times, looking around at Kakyoin's posters, his shelf of books and manga, his computer set up, his display of different action figures. His room is very neat.
Ten minutes into the silence, Jean breaks it by boldly asking, “So, what happened to your eyes? Those are some pretty clean scars.”
Kakyoin pauses, hand freezing. He glances up to meet Jean's curious gaze, though he can see the nervousness in them. Worried he crossed a line by asking, maybe. Kakyoin looks back down at the drawing and continues sketching out Jean's prosthesis.
“My ex was an asshole. He used a knife to cut my eyes. I'm partially blind because of it,” he answers blankly, and then he pauses again. He lets out a sharp exhale, realizing he just basically told Jean he's gay. Whatever, it was obvious already. He continues drawing.
“Oh. Damn,” Jean says lowly, his expression becoming tense, “That's fucked up.”
“Yeah.”
“I fell off a cliff while hiking,” Jean explains plainly, and then laughs, “That's so dumb. Who the hell manages that?”
Kakyoin looks up at him and presses his lips together. He doesn't know what to say. Jean shrugs and then with both hands, demonstrates by punching his palm with a fist, saying, “Rocks crushed my legs. I don't remember how I lost an eye, though. It wasn't really clear in the moment.”
Silence hung, until Kakyoin swallows hard and says, “That's... How do you—How could you recover from that? That's terrible.”
Shrugging lazily again, Jean looks at his feet while rubbing at his bicep again, saying in a softer voice, “I didn't, at first. You know how it goes. Depression and PTSD held me back from getting to where I am now. I mean, those never really go away, of course. But I just don't let it control me anymore.”
Saying nothing, Kakyoin stares at his drawing of the other man and feels his throat tighten. Anxiety curls in his stomach like a snake. Silence hung for the longest thirty seconds, his jaw clenched and chest tingling with anxiety. He sighs.
“Three years ago, I was diagnosed with a ruptured disc in my lower spine,” he mumbles, eyes downcast, “Nonsurgical treatments have all proved to be failures, so my last option is surgery. But I refuse to. I hate the thought of having surgery on my spine. It's not like a ruptured disc is fatal. But surgery could paralyze me forever. So... I just take medication and live with it. The pain isn't as bad as it used to be, anyways. I just have trouble walking.”
He isn't sure why Jean decided to take the leap to talk about it. It's not like they have to talk about it. Although, Kakyoin doesn't feel as anxious when it's with someone like Jean. Someone who understands a little better than an abled person.
“Wow,” Jean says, frowning, “That's really tough. Though I get why you would be reluctant to get surgery.”
Kakyoin nods and silently goes back to drawing. Jean continues to say softly, “I thought losing my legs ruined my life. It did, for a few years, because I let it. But in the end, I can still walk. I can still do almost all of the things I did when I still had my legs. I think in the end, the mental disabilities hold me back more than my physical disabilities do. That's kinda weird, how it turned out that way.”
Kakyoin doesn't say anything, furrowing his brow. What makes Jean think he wants to hear this? Jean continues.
“What I'm saying is that I understand. 'Cause while it sucks being stuck with crutches, it's better than the chance of being paralyzed for the rest of your life. Which I mean, I feel like the quality of life at that point wouldn't be as great.”
That has Kakyoin smiling wryly. He flicks his gaze up to meet Jean's and says, “Words of wisdom from Jean-Pierre.”
Huffing a laugh, Jean blushes and remarks, “Shut up. I'm just sayin'.”
“Here,” Kakyoin says, putting an end to the discussion by passing the sketchbook to the other man, “It's done.”
With excitement blooming on his face, Jean reaches out and takes it. Looking over it, Jean's face softens to a fond smile.
“Hey, somehow you made the scar look really cool on my face,” he laughs. Kakyoin smiles faintly.
“It's because it does look cool.”
Jean snorts and then silently admires the drawing with a soft look in his blue eye.
“You really do make me more handsome in your work. It's amazing.”
“Well, the drawing is like the model,” Kakyoin mumbles, fidgeting his fingers together. Heat blooms in his face. Jean laughs again and beams at Kakyoin, baring his gapped front teeth.
“You're such a flatterer! I like it, though.”
“Are—are you not straight?” Kakyoin blurts, his hands in fists and face alight with a deep red. He has been dying to know ever since Jean's comment on the bleachers. Jean blinks widely at him and then raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, blushing himself. Kakyoin stares. It's cute. Laughing softly, Jean answers with a faint bashful look in his eye, “I'm into people for who they are. I don't care if they're a guy or girl... Or neither. Whatever works.”
“So, you're pansexual,” Kakyoin states. Jean shrugs.
“Sure, if you want to put a label on it.”
“Okay,” Kakyoin says with a light smile growing on his thin lips, his violet eyes searching in Jean's, “Thank you for being honest.”
Dropping his hand back into his lap, Jean looks at Kakyoin with curiosity, asking, “What about you? I mean, I know you said you had a boyfriend, but...”
“I'm gay,” Kakyoin answers, “That's it.”
“Okay. Cool.”
Grabbing his crutches, Kakyoin slips his forearms into them and then rises. He meets Jean's gaze and says, “I don't mean to be cold, but I want to have the rest of the night to myself. It was nice having you over, though.”
Kind of. There was a lot of anxiety, but Kakyoin didn't hate it overall. He didn't particularly expect to talk about his disability, nor his sexuality. It's giving him a bit of whiplash, really. It feels like his stomach is going to twist into a knot. Despite that, it was almost refreshing in a way, talking about those things he internalizes. He just needs to trust Jean more before being completely comfortable with him and talking about those subjects. But he's beginning to think Jean lacks his own set of boundaries.
Jean smiles understandingly and then rises from the bed. He gingerly tears off the page with the drawing from Kakyoin's sketchbook and tosses the sketchbook back onto the bed.
“Sure thing! I'll text you, then?”
“Sure. Get home safe. Steal another soda if you want. I shouldn't be drinking them to begin with.”
Jean laughs and exclaims while stepping out of the bedroom, “Maybe I will! You couldn't stop me.”
Kakyoin watches the way his prosthesis move as Jean enters the kitchen; they seem to bend at the knee, considering Jean's walking gait is as smooth as any other person's—which amazes Kakyoin. He's interested in learning more about his prosthesis and how they work, but figures he could just look it up instead of pestering the other man with questions (which would be at another time, of course). Jean snatches up another Dr. Pepper and turns to Kakyoin while carelessly flipping it around in his hands. Kakyoin watches warily.
“Well, catch you later, then?” Jean asks, grinning broadly at the other man. Kakyoin nods a little.
“Yeah. I'd like to meet up again.”
Even if it gives him anxiety, Kakyoin wants to be better about socializing and interacting with others. He hasn't had a friend in person for a long time and he's sick of it. Not to mention, knowing Jean is on the gay spectrum gives him some relief and confidence.
“Great! Me too, definitely,” Jean agrees with an ecstatic expression. He turns to the living room and blows some obnoxious kisses to the cats, calling out dramatically, “Don't miss me too much, Eevee!”
Kakyoin presses his lips together. Jean begins towards the front door, waving back at Kakyoin with a smile and a cheerful, “See ya, Noriaki!”
“Yeah,” Kakyoin replies with a weak smile, “See you.”
When the other man finally steps out of the apartment and shuts the door behind himself, Kakyoin lets out a deep breath and approaches the door to lock it again.
After going through the motion of putting food in his cats' bowls, getting a glass of water, and grabbing his book, he enters his bathroom to take a much needed hot bath.
The tub is soon full with steaming water, bath salts dissolving on the bottom with lavender scented bubbles built up on the surface. Kakyoin undresses and carefully lowers himself into the hot water that surrounds him with relief. On his phone, he puts on Pink Floyd, and sets his phone down on the bathtub mat. In the dim light of the candles, Kakyoin sinks back into the water and closes his eyes.
The melancholic melody of Time plays, mixing with the sounds of lone droplets breaking free from the faucet to meet the water below.