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(His feet are stuck to the sidewalk, frozen in place with the force of the universe pressing down on him. Fate has brought him here - some fortune beyond his wildest dreams has aligned the stars to make this moment happen, to create the magnificent creature he sees through the glass. Eyes like the ichor of the gods, rich and gold and flecked with sprigs of summer green, and a smile as dazzling as the sun on the sea. He is ruined before he remembers to breathe again.)
Harlock looked up when he heard the door open.
Tochiro was standing in the doorway, his hands pressed together as if in prayer, expression appropriately grave and his eyes closed in a display of sorrow. “And so lies the great Captain Harlock, brought down long before his time by a lowly bee. May he rest in peace.”
Harlock threw a pillow at him.
Tochiro managed to catch it and clutched it to his chest like a string of pearls, scoffing with all the prideful airs of a refined lady of pedigree. “Rude! And after I’ve come all this way to you in your time of need. I thought we were friends.”
Harlock shook his head, hoping the hair falling over his face was hiding his smile. “Yeah, yeah. Did you get my text?”
Tochiro reached into his jacket and pulled out a Brown’s bag with flourish. “As requested, only the finest of gas station food for you.” He tossed it over, brow furrowing when Harlock caught it and started opening the packaging with silent glee. “I still don’t get how someone who grew up like you did can like those things. Even I think they’re disgusting.”
Harlock bit back a grin and turned his nose up, chewing through a mouth full of deep fried, greasy, delicious mushrooms and swallowed with as much dignity as he could muster. “I’ll have you know I have highly refined taste.”
Tochiro’s expression went flat. “Right. Okay. Say I believe you, how do you explain that?” he said, gesturing at the stained bag in Harlock’s oily fingers.
“Palate cleanser.”
Tochiro laughed, shaking his head and sitting down on the mattress by Harlock’s knees. “Alright, whatever. Weirdo.”
Harlock smiled, the remaining tension in his nerves finally settling under the familiar cadence of teasing banter and Tochiro’s comforting presence; he always made Harlock feel better.
Tochiro smiled back and rotated to lean his spine against the foot of the bedframe. “So you wanna tell me how you ended up in here?”
Tochiro also made him hate his life. “Uhh.”
(There’s dirt on the young man’s hands, caked under his fingernails; it should be gross but he can’t find it in himself to care when those same fingers are also slender and graceful, dexterous and delicate as they sort through the stacks of papers on the desk and hand him a colorful pamphlet. “Hi! Welcome to Gaia Botanical Gardens! Would you like to join our next tour group or would you rather explore the grounds on your own?”
He glances at the schedule up on the wall, then at the analog clock beneath it - the twelve-thirty tour is to be lead by “Logan.” He turns back to the employee with eyes like melted caramel and scans for his name tag. A smug smile graces his lips when he finds it. “A tour would be lovely.”)
The door opened before Harlock could make up an excuse explain anything, revealing a tall, young man carrying a mountain of spoils from the cafeteria. His shaggy hair hung over his eyes and the tray in his hands was scattered with snacks and drinks. “The cafeteria didn’t have any ice cream left but there was some pudding,” the guy was saying. “I don’t know what kind you like so I just grabbed one of- Oh. Hi.” He had finally caught sight of Tochiro sitting on the bed with his leg wedged in next to Harlock’s and eyebrows raised in curiosity; his eyes flicked between the two of them, expression neutral.
Harlock jumped at the chance to change the topic. “Logan, this is my friend Tochiro. Tochiro, this is Logan. He was kind enough to drive me to the hospital.”
("Oh god, you’re swelling. You’re really swelling. You need to go to the hospital. Shit. Shit, where’s my keys?”
Harlock gestures vaguely toward the kid’s back pocket. He’d seen the outline of what was probably a ring full of keys (and, yes, he had been staring, could anyone really blame him? Those jeans are tight ).
His larynx is going to start constricting any second now. He’s going to start dying and the last thing he’s going to see through his rapidly-swelling eyes is Logan’s flushed cheeks and frantic pocket-patting.
Totally worth it.)
Tochiro smiled nice and easy because he’d always been the better of the two of them at socializing and thrusted his hand out. “Hey, nice to meet you. Thanks for taking care of this guy for me,” he said, nodding in Harlock’s direction.
Logan smiled politely and shook Tochiro’s hand. “It was no trouble. My shift was over anyway and he didn’t have anyone to go with him.”
("You came here alone, right?”
Harlock nods, his cheeking knocking against Logan’s head where it’s wedged under Harlock’s shoulder, supporting his woozy self as they trudge as quickly as his wobbly legs can take them out the side door and through the parking lot.
“Anyone I should call for you?”
He’s panting, lungs working in overtime to get oxygen through his narrowed bronchials, but he manages to squeeze out, “It can wait till we get there,” his voice rasping and labored.
Logan nods and calls out to a pretty girl watering some flowers by the wall. “Nami! Clock me out, will you?”
She looks up, eyes widening. “Uh sure. What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you later!”)
Tochiro’s eyes pinched in curiosity. “Your shift?”
Uh oh.
Logan’s brow furrowed and he glanced over at Harlock where he was subtly trying to gesture for him to stop, abort, change the subject. Something. Anything . But Logan didn’t seem to notice and barreled on. “Uh, yeah, at the botanical garden? That’s where he got stung.”
Shit.
Tochiro’s head began to turn - Harlock could hear the creaking of his spine as it rotated, slowly, painfully; creepy and terrifying like a body possessed by demons - and his eyes blazed with murderous, unholy fury. The monster had been unleashed. “You went to a botanical garden?” he asked, low and quiet. Dangerous.
Harlock resisted the powerful urge to flinch, but only just. “Umm… there were extenuating circumstances-”
(“A friend gave me a cactus once because he said, and I quote, ‘even you can’t kill this.’ It was dead in a month.”
Logan laughs, light and free like birds in the springtime, like the tinkling of a rocky stream, like angels singing from within the heavenly gates. Harlock must have been a saint in another life to be able to see this.)
“You dumbass!” Tochiro shouted. “What were you thinking?”
Nothing appropriate, but he wasn’t about to say anything.
(His work polo stretches taut over his arms as he lifts the massive flower pot and carries it out of the middle of the aisle. He has a tan line around his biceps, rich brown meeting soft pearl, and Harlock is weak .)
Logan’s eyes were wide, darting back and forth between them.
Harlock sighed. He had accepted this inevitability when he had knowingly walked through Gaia’s gate, trailing after his own personal Achilles. But no way was he admitting that to Tochiro. “I suppose I wasn’t,” he said.
Tochiro deflated a bit, as Harlock had planned, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, no shit.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. So you knew you were allergic to bees?”
Damnit. Harlock sent a silent prayer to the heavens for mercy; no one here had any in their hearts for him. But he couldn’t lie, not to Logan. “I… was aware, yes.”
Logan’s eyes widened in panic. “You idiot, you could have died!”
Harlock grinned, raking his gaze up and down Logan’s frame. “Well. The view was to die for.”
Logan flushed up to the tips of his ears, mouth gaping. “I- You-”
Tochiro’s nose wrinkled. “You’re not talking about the flowers anymore, are you?”
He wasn’t talking about the flowers.
“Yep, I’m out,” Tochiro said, raising his hands in the air and heading toward the door. “You two lovebirds are on your own.” He paused in the doorway and turned to give Harlock a thumbs up behind Logan’s back before disappearing.
Logan’s jaw was still unhinged, looking at Harlock in blatant surprise, and Harlock smiled.
(“Well it looks like you’re going to get your own private tour!” he says, still smiling with all the brilliance of a newborn star. “If you don’t like crowds, you definitely picked a good time to come in.”
He cannot think, can hardly breathe, but somehow words come out of his mouth in coherent form. “I’m just on my lunch break.” His heart is racing, beating against the cage of his ribs so hard he’s surprised Logan hasn’t commented on it.
“Must be a long lunch break,” he says.
Harlock hums and doesn’t say that he’s definitely going to be late clocking back in. “And what better way to spend it?” he does say, eyeing Logan appreciatively.
But Logan’s gaze is on a bed of gerber daisies and he doesn’t seem to hear the suggestion in Harlock’s tone, already moving to explain how the aqueducts carry water to the whole garden.)
“I suppose I was a little too subtle with my… interest in you?” Harlock asked, hoping he wasn’t going to have to spend the night comforting himself from a rejection on top of recovering from a severe allergic reaction. He might need more mushrooms.
Logan’s jaw slammed shut and his eyes darted away. “I- Yes. You were.”
Harlock nodded and leaned forward, getting himself in Logan’s line of sight again. “Is that a problem?” he asked, heart hammering in his chest. “My being interested in you? Because I am. Very interested.”
Logan’s gaze roved over his face, expression going soft, relieved. “No,” he breathed. “No it’s not.”
Harlock’s heart skipped in his chest, the rhythm picking back up twice as fast as before. “Can I take you out for dinner?”
Logan nodded. “Yes. Yes, please .”
Harlock smiled.