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By the time Kei slogs off the JR metro at Ebisu, the rain is coming down in sheets. It’s rainy season, so the downpour isn’t all that surprising. It’s nice that it slows things down, although it makes trudging up the stairs in the rush hour crowd particularly miserable and humid.
There is no rushing in the rain– not if Kei wants to keep himself and his work dry. He sighs, tucks his headphones into his bag for their safety and opens his clear plastic umbrella, stepping out into the night.
His destination isn’t that far from the station, the path well-worn into his memory. He crosses to the other side of the street, turns right, and walks two blocks until the cafe’s distinct cursive sign comes into view.
Daybreak. A cafe-by-day, izakaya-by-night built on the dreams of Sugawara and Yaku. The two-story establishment is situated on the slant of the street, nestled between a flower shop and a bookstore. It receives high foot traffic at all hours of the day– especially on the nights they have live music.
Since Daybreak opened, Kei has frequented it anywhere from twice a week to twice daily. Ebisu is in between his university and his apartment, and the coffee, free WiFi, food, and occasional company make the cafe a convenient space to work in. Countless afternoons have been spent tucked in one of Daybreak's comfy booths, laptop and notebooks spread across the table, framing a coffee and sometimes also a strawberry shortcake. Many evenings have been spent not so reluctantly with friends in the izakaya, conversing over drinks and sharing stories.
Kei listens more than he shares. On the nights of live music, he hardly shares at all, preferring to exist in rhythms and melodies instead of reality for as long as he’s able. With the cafe’s acoustics, it’s easy to get lost in any kind of music they play. The regular selection is a mix of classical and soft rock that fades into jazz and international music by the evenings. On the rare occasions he's stayed almost till closing, the music reverts almost entirely to dance tunes and various Asian pop songs.
The music and drunken adventures of closing hour are shenanigans Kei prefers to hear about in passing rather than be implicated in. Before Yaku begins to shoo everyone out, Kei is gone, heading briskly to the station to catch the third to last train.
Two years prior, he almost always rode the JR back alone. These days, he has someone that sits beside him.
Kei ducks under the awning of Daybreak, shaking off his umbrella before heading down the stairs directly to the izakaya. The brass handle gives easily under his fingers, and he pushes the dark wood inward to find the space full of chatter.
Friends and acquaintances mill around holding drinks of various colors and sizes. Kei threads his way through the crowd over to the bar, greeting Kita with half a wave. The other man returns the wave in full, sliding a frosted glass over to him.
A glass of umeshu– plum wine– contains a moderately generous amount of alcohol and a light amount of ice. Kei huffs, withdrawing his wallet.
“That won’t be necessary,” Kita says, turning his attention to polishing an empty glass. “It’s already paid for.”
Kei repockets his wallet and picks up the wine glass. “I told him he doesn’t have to keep buying me drinks,” he mutters, but can’t bring himself to scowl.
“And I told you that I’ll buy you a drink whenever you want one,” Tetsurou says, smirking, and drapes an arm around Kei’s shoulders.
The warmth is welcome despite the heat. Kei leans into the gesture, letting Tetsurou steer him away from the bar and over to the corner with the small stage.
“Survive the metro ride here?”
“Barely.”
Tetsurou drums his fingers gently across Kei’s shoulder before taking his empty hand and intertwining their fingers. “Is the umeshu helping?” he asks, grinning like there’s nothing wrong in the world.
Kei can’t keep his mouth from quirking up into a smile. “Haven’t had any yet.” He swirls the wine around the glass, taking a sip. The sweetness rests on his tongue, cold and smooth.
“How is it?”
“Perfect.” He holds the glass out in Tetsurou’s direction, raising it up in a small toast. “Thank you.”
The blush that blooms on his boyfriend’s cheeks is… Kei takes a moment to pinpoint the color, settling on a shade between sakura and plum blossom pink. He fumbles with the straps of his bag, reaching for his notebook and pen so he can write down that description for later.
“Something on your mind?”
Tetsurou’s statement is barely a question. It’s simply an invitation to talk, one without any strings attached to it, but Kei answers anyway.
“You.” Kei flips to an empty page in his notebook, penning in a shade between sakura and plum blossom pink. Clicking the pen closed, he drops his forehead to rest on Tetsurou’s shoulder. “You’re on my mind,” he murmurs into the maroon flannel of his boyfriend’s shirt.
“And you’re on mine.” Tetsurou’s hand slides to cup the curve of Kei’s neck, running his thumb gently over his pulse. The embrace is short-lived, as Tetsurou slowly tilts Kei’s chin up, freeing his shoulder. “I’m on in five,” he says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Wish me luck!”
Kei snorts. “You don’t need it,” he murmurs, “but I’m feeling generous today.” He leans over to kiss Tetsurou’s forehead.
Tetsurou giggles. “You say that every time.” He presses a kiss to Kei’s cheek before slinking over to the stage.
Kei claims the empty table with a reserved card on it, taking another swig of umeshu before resting his chin in his palm.
Tetsurou has always felt like a musician. There's something about the way he observes the world, like he's trying to translate moments, people, and experiences into sound– always listening. He hasn't always looked the part, but Kei knows better than to judge a book by the cover– he’s read the book, and now he has a hand in writing it. It's a damn fine book.
Kei watches as Tetsurou slings his guitar over his shoulder, the black strap embroidered with red roses. The color pops against his maroon flannel shirt, unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up to frame a faded grey Jurassic Park t-shirt– one of Kei’s. He pats Kenma’s shoulder, pulling the hood up over their head and leans over to Bokuto for a high five, elbow smacking the cymbals of his drum set.
Akaashi offers a smile in Kei's direction before playing a few test chords on his bass, tuning the instrument just slightly before leaning over to Kenma to whisper something that makes their cheeks pull at the edges of their mask.
A tap-tap resonates from the mic, and all conversation ceases in a matter of moments.
“Thanks for coming out tonight,” Tetsurou says smoothly, holding the mic in both hands. “We're Fukurouneko, as most of you may know, and we've been performing for you all here at Daybreak for about three years, now.”
Cheers and applause erupt from through the bar, and Kei is no exception. He meets Tetsurou's eyes, crossing his fingers and holding them up for his boyfriend to see.
The gesture is a reference to one of the first songs Tetsurou wrote for him, one he performed live a few times before they started dating.
Kei's mind drifts to the first time he heard Fukurouneko. It had been an accident, nodding off over his homework in Daybreak three summers ago. The cafe had been quiet in the afternoon, so few customers that he hadn't even noticed the ambient noise slow to a halt...
He probably stared at his laptop screen for too long. That must have been it. He yawns, shoulders hunching in before he rolls them back, blinking to wake himself up.
One long, slow blink later, Kei confirms that he indeed fell asleep while working on his literature paper in Daybreak. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he adjusts his glasses and lets out a small snort.
Ridiculous.
“You’re up!” Sugawara waves at him from behind the counter, turning away for a moment before heading in his direction. The cafe co-owner holds a platter with a steaming mug of coffee accompanied by a slice of quiche.
Kei raises an eyebrow.
“It’s on the house,” Sugawara says cheerily, placing the food and drink on Kei’s table. “We’re about to close the cafe, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. Yaku and I will be moving downstairs to manage the bar, and we’re having a band perform tonight, so head down when you’re finished!”
Sugawara left, ducking out to survey the patio before flipping the lock on the upstairs cafe entrance. He disappears into the kitchen, vanishing down the back stairs.
Kei takes a sip of the coffee, tasting a hint of sweetness amid the bitter, and half wishes the liquid burnt his tongue. Staring down his laptop screen, he forces his fingers over the keys and tries to pick up where his tired mind left off.
*
A solid draft of the paper is done. Sighing, Kei removes his headphones and sits back in the booth. Only about an hour and a half had passed since he’d been left alone upstairs, enough time to finish and do a preliminary round of edits on his literature paper, as well as enjoy the quiche and coffee.
He closes his eyes for a moment- a mental reset of sorts. One deep breath, two, followed by him hearing the music echoing up from the izakaya below.
The rumble of an electric guitar, interwoven with the thunder of a bass, and the steady clashing of drums with a keyboard as the backbone. The vocals are muted through the floor, but Kei is already out of the booth and heading for the stairs.
Kei makes it through the vacant kitchen in a matter of seconds, hurrying down the stairs. The music gets louder, melody building, building, and Kei slips through the door, hoping to catch the song before it ends.
There’s four band members on the stage- the singer, one hand holding the mic and the other hovering next to an electric guitar, the bassist, standing behind the only other tall microphone, the drummer, brows furrowed in concentration, and the keyboardist, a black mask covering their nose and mouth.
“ この まま君といたい
もっと 君を知りたい”
(I want to be with you more
I want to know more about you)
“このままふたりで
夜が明けるまで
溶け合う中でいけるならどこまでも
このままふたりで
夜が明けるまで
肌を寄せ合っていけるならどこまでも”
(Just two of us like this
Til morning comes
Melting together, staying forever
Just two of us like this
Til morning
Our skin touching, staying forever)
Kei's pulse thrums in his chest. Live music by new bands always plucks at his heartstrings, some more effortlessly than others. He wants to be closer to the stage, to let the rhythms and melodies echo through his bones at point-blank range- sound resonating through his soul.
He starts making his way around the back of the room, spying Tadashi near the front by a window. The song fades out, and Kei offers applause before nudging his friend.
Tadashi turns, smile growing wider. “You made it!” He shifts slightly, offering Kei the space closer to the wall. “I figured you’d find time. These guys-” Tadashi pauses to gesture at the band before elbowing Kei’s side. “Well, the lead singer. He’s your type.”
Kei frowns slightly, eyes narrowing at his friend before sliding to take a good look at the man in question.
A mess of inky black hair, bright eyes, a grey shirt with a cartoon piano, and ripped black jeans. He takes a swig from a water bottle by his foot, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
“This next one's called Islands,” he says, smiling at the crowd, eyes flashing over it- did they hesitate in Kei’s direction?
The singer adjusts his mic in the stand just slightly as the keyboardist leads into the song. The drums are quick to follow, and are joined by the guitar and bass shortly thereafter, mellowing into the first verse.
“Wake up
A spinning wheel seems to navigate
When I broke free
I stole a ship that took me out to sea”
Kei blinks in surprise at the English, hands trembling as he listens.
“But I started sinking like a stone
And my ocean turns to cold
But in this whirling pool that grows
I feel my colors start to blend with the shore
My yellows turn to gold,
Yellows turn to gold”
Kei only half-processes the lyrics to the second verse, captivated by the melody of the song, and the smoothness of the man’s voice.
“So take me back to when we used to run with the sun
Way back when we were wild
Take me back, we'll find our island lost in the sea
Way back when days were wild.”
Stepping back from the mic, he strums his guitar, nodding to the rhythm of his own music and throwing his head back, smiling in the direction of the stars.
The drums and piano round out the song, and Tadashi elbows him again. “Am I wrong?”
Kei bites his lip, attempting to not visibly sulk any further at his friend’s ability to read him. “No,” he mumbles imperceptibly.
Tadashi laughs. He turns to wave at the stage, earning the keyboardist’s attention. “Hey!” he cheers, grinning as the singer looks over at him.
“Yeah?”
Kei’s knuckles whiten. “Tadashi,” he hisses, “don’t interrupt them-”
“My friend thinks you’re hot!”
The singer blinks, taking in Tadashi’s arm resting at an awkward angle on Kei’s shoulder, and gazes at Kei, blinking again.
Kei feels like all eyes in the room are on him, and he almost wants nothing more than to ascend the walls like a superhero and escape. But the churning in his gut demands an answer, and the logical decision somehow becomes seeing this ridiculous charade through- to know the man’s reaction.
Meeting Kei’s eyes, the singer points to himself. “Me? You think I’m hot?” His tone sounds so surprised, so akin to disbelief that Kei finds himself nodding.
The man chuckles, the sound warm against the nervous ice in Kei’s veins. He scratches the back of his neck, cheeks blooming a fierce pink visible in the dim bar lighting. “I think you’re hotter.”
A flush sweeps over the back of Kei’s neck, a heat wave that burns through the anxious fear and scorches it into an anxious hope.
Sugawara whistles loudly from behind the bar, earning laughter from the crowd and adjusting the center of attention back to the band- as it should be.
“The next song,” the singer says, voice trembling with something Kei can’t identify, “is called Insomnia.”
Listening to new music often leaves Kei in one of three places. He either enjoys the sound, gets lost in the lyrics, or both. Seldom does he find a band that he feels as if the songs were written for him, for his past- sounds, lyrics, and atmospheres that reveal stories of his, stories he’s buried, intending for those times to crumble into nothing- yet he can feel a growing desire to shape that dust into a tomb, and lay those times to rest.
So Kei wades ever deeper into the ocean of sound, listening, listening...
“We’re gonna kick off the night with one of my favorites,” Tetsurou announces, his enthusiasm pulling a cheer from the crowd. “This one goes out to everyone with a special someone or someones in mind.”
Kei holds his breath as Tetsurou leads into Fingers Crossed with the guitar melody, one Kei’s come to know like the back of his hand. It’s one he’ll never forget- it was written for him, after all.
“Crossed, I keep my fingers crossed
But my lips still crack, and my teeth stay locked
And its true, it's a kind of mess
I'm kind of obsessed, I couldn't be so cruel…”
The drums explode in, Bokuto grinning at Akaashi as he presses the drum pedal, kicking the rhythm into Kei’s veins, and Tetsurou’s voice fills the room, igniting something in Kei’s soul.
“And I got a thing for you, now
And it won't go, it won't go
And I think I want you more now
But you don't know, you don't know...”
The words send Kei spiraling back to the first time he heard Tetsurou sing this song. The two of them had gotten to talking about a month after Tadashi intervened…
Kei sits, shoulders tensed, in his usual booth in Daybreak’s cafe, scrambling to finish his literature reading before meeting with Kuroo. Fukurouneko’s lead singer agreed to swing by the cafe an hour before he would perform at the bar downstairs, for a chance to, as he’d so eloquently put it, “get to know each other.”
The literature assignment he’s been working on of late is a critical analysis of Akutagawa’s Rashomon. Wrapping his mind around the ethics ordeal the short story captures proved easier than anticipated, but describing his own opinion- something he loathes doing in academic papers- he needs more words. Better words.
Calling himself a writer at times like these seems like a lie, but the mere thought of not calling himself a writer is even more of a lie, so Kei cuts off his internal debate, looking up from his laptop screen to find Kuroo sitting in the booth across from him.
Kei ignores the impulse for a hasty reaction, instead slowly pulling off his headphones and meeting the other man’s smirk. “Were you there long?” he asks, saving his work before gently pressing his laptop screen down.
“Not long,” Kuroo says, taking a slurp from what appears to be an empty cup for iced coffee.
Kei’s eyes widen, the numbing fire of guilt spreading through his gut. His expression thins, and falls even further after seeing that he was working through when they should have been talking. Of course.
“Hey, it’s okay!” Kuroo places the cup on the booth seat, out of Kei’s sight. “School is your priority, don’t sweat it. Seriously.” Adopting a serious expression, he nods, then points at himself. “Chemistry and English double major. I missed more band practices than I’d like to admit.” Resting his elbows on the tabletop, he props his chin up with both palms and meets Kei’s eyes. “So tell me, is it another lab report? One of those critical language essays where you’re trying for just the right amount of pretentiousness? Analyzing that passage from Murakami’s Tales of Genji for the eighth time?”
Kei snorts, the tension fading from his shoulders. The guilt dissipates in favor of something warmer and far more dangerous that he recognizes as attraction. “It’s a blend of the last two,” he says, offering Kuroo a smile. “Critical analysis of Akutagawa’s Rashomon.”
Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “Is that your pick or your professor’s?”
“Mine.”
His other eyebrow shoots up. “Interesting. How many times have you read the piece?”
Kei considers. “Four,” he says after a moment. “It’s one of the stories that each time I read it, I find something new.”
“That’s… the one with the guy and the coat, right?”
Blinking, Kei nods, surprised by the simple accuracy of Kuroo’s description. “I’m detailing the ethics conundrum- thievery, morality, and honor.”
Kuroo frowns. “Would you mind if I take a look at what you have?”
Kei shrugs, opening his laptop and turning the device so Kuroo can see his paper.
Minutes pass quietly as Kuroo reads his paper, eyes darting back and forth across the screen. After another minute, Kuroo scoots the laptop back in Kei’s direction, clasping his hands together on the table. “This may be a gross oversimplification,” he says, “but isn’t the story just that the guy goes from neutral good to neutral evil? Or to true neutral, depending on how you look at it.”
“... You're saying that Rashomon is just a character alignment shift,” Kei says slowly, raising an eyebrow at Kuroo and then skimming through his paper. He adds that in a note at the end, making sure to save the document. “Thanks. I think that helps.” Kei’s mind speeds toward that tangent, ready to decipher it in full, but he reigns it back. “I think that helps a lot.”
Kuroo’s cheshire cat smile is blinding, bright with the brilliance of a star. “Well, I should probably head down to help set up, the guys are already here-” he pauses to hold up his phone, screen lit with notifications.
Kei packs his laptop into its case, roughly organizing his papers into a folder and tucks his belongings in his bag. Standing from the booth, he shrugs the strap over his shoulder and turns to Kuroo. “Let’s head down,” he says, unable to fight the answering smile.
*
Daybreak’s izakaya isn’t too crowded yet. Kita mans the bar as Suga chats with Akaashi, and Bokuto gestures wildly with one hand about something to Kenma- his other carries two amps.
Kuroo breaks from Kei’s side, threading through the tables, chairs, and standing patrons and reaches Bokuto, taking an amp before it fell victim to gravity.
Kei meanders over to the bar, heading straight for Kita.
“What can I get you?” Kita inquires cheerfully, leaning on the counter with his arms crossed. “Tonight’s specials are on draft beers, white Russians, and the seasonal plum wine.”
“May I have a glass of the plum wine, on the rocks please.”
“Excellent choice,” Kuroo says from behind him, handing Kita a 1000 yen bill. “It’s on me.”
Kita accepts the cash before Kei can say anything. “You’ll have a glass waiting for you when your set is over.”
Kei blinks, pulling out his wallet, but Kuroo backs out of reach, hands raised in surrender.
“You wanted a drink, and you picked umeshu, and I wanted to buy you a drink.” Kuroo fiddles with the strap of his guitar, running his other hand through his hair. “If you still feel like you owe me, please just stay through our set. That’s more than enough for me.”
Kei takes the glass of umeshu Kita placed on the counter without breaking Kuroo’s gaze. “If you insist,” he says quietly, feeling a blush settle over his cheeks. He sips the cold wine, hoping it will wash the warmth away from his face.
“I do.” Kuroo glances back at the stage briefly before his attention returns to Kei. “I’ve- we’ve got a new song for tonight,” he says quickly, breathless with something like excitement.
Anticipation simmers in Kei’s blood. “I’m looking forward to it.” And he is, ever so desperately.
Kuroo smiles, and Kei wonders if the singer was gifted with extra stardust- enough for his every grin to feel like sunshine, for his voice to glisten like starlight, making the world just a bit brighter.
*
“But I got a thing for you now
And it won’t go, it won’t go
And I think I want you more
But you don’t know...”
Kei’s fingers clutch his empty wine glass, his senses focused on absorbing the music in all its forms- the lyrics falling from Kuroo’s lips, the drumbeat rattling his heart in his ribcage, the lingering sweetness of the plum wine on his tongue… all of it. Every word echoes somewhere deeper in his soul, rising in a crescendo to the last lines of the song:
“And I think I want you
And I think I want you
And I think I want you…”
The wish that the song is for him started as a simple stoking of the embers of hope, and with every performance of the song that followed, the embers glow brighter and brighter.
*
Four months go by, four months of living with those embers in his chest, four months of what Tadashi would call “desperate pining”- but Kei has never known, was never taught what being in love should feel like. Literature had too many answers, and none of the right ones. Film representations often left him even more confused, merely showing him what love was not.
It isn't as though he hasn’t dated- he’s tried, enough times to sort out his sexuality and basic romantic preferences, but of those people, men and women alike, none stayed. One after another, they left, some more peacefully than others, and most have kept their distance.
While maintaining formalities is bothersome, Kei finds some distance to be comfortable. Having space and time to himself is a necessity, but living, working, and eating out alone, quiet evening runs by himself, dragging himself out of bed in the mornings- loneliness has never been comfortable. Bearable, yes- sustainable long term, no.
He calls his mother one rainy evening, tucked into the alcove window seat of his apartment, looking out at city lights that aren't quite the right color to be fireflies. They exchange greetings and pleasantries, and talk for a while about his thesis before he manages to bring up the subject of love.
“Kei, it may feel like we never choose who we love, or how we love them,” she'd said, voice tinged with something bittersweet, “but you get to decide what that love means to you. You get to choose whether you stay in love with them.”
Choices are heavy things. They require time and sound mind, two things Kei does not have as a college student pursuing two literature degrees. But he goes to Daybreak in the evenings, makes it to every Fukurouneko performance he can, stays late to pick Kuroo's brain- for everything from song lyrics to chemical formulas to music and book recommendations- and thinks about despite how busy he is, swamped with readings and essays and something in him rotting away from lack of sleep, the embers still crackle between his ribs.
Kei has not felt lonely in a long, long time.
*
“And I think I want you
And I think I want you
And I think I want you…”
Kei points at Tetsurou covertly behind his glass of wine, catching his boyfriend’s attention before mouthing the words “I know.” He floats on sound waves, heart lingering in the drawn out notes of Tetsurou's guitar.
“Thank you,” Tetsurou says to the crowd, his voice an interlude between silence and applause. He turns to Akaashi, motioning him up to the front mic with a grin. “Let’s take ‘em to Sweden!”
Bokuto clangs his cymbals in excitement, yelling at Tetsurou, “Bro! The song’s called Stockholm, not Sweden- wait, Stockholm is in Sweden!”
The man guffaws loudly, turning to Akaashi. “We should go there someday, Keiji!”
Akaashi smiles. “Yes, we should.” He blows a kiss in Bokuto’s direction, moving across the stage to stand next to Tetsurou at the front mic.
Kenma starts to play a familiar piano melody, quickly joined by the deep, smooth notes of Akaashi’s bass. Tetsurou strums the leading melody on guitar, a few measures passing before Bokuto’s drumbeats blare in.
“Won a moment, lost a bet
Saw a mountain, went to bed
Paid a ransom for a ghost
For the thing I want the most
So I left to find a home
For a place to call my own…”
Akaashi’s voice joins Tetsurou’s, harmonizing effortlessly for the chorus- they smile, stepping toward and back from the mic in perfect sync. Tetsurou points skyward as he sings, ever the entertainer- roping the audience into his rhythm.
“We're moving from the ground floor
Rising tide
Push us up more
How we climb
As the water's pouring in
Like it always should have been
We can crawl or we can run
Towards the sun…”
Tetsurou belongs on stage. It isn’t that he was destined for it, though he may as well have been- with a voice that fills rooms, and a presence that takes you beyond it. The only way Kei can describe it is falling into the pages of a book, becoming so enthralled with words and worlds that time fades and reality bends at the edges, blurring the past with the future.
Kei loves that feeling, loves exploring other timelines and faraway places, losing and finding himself between pages, but he loves Tetsurou more- for when pages and words are not enough, he always is.
This is why the box tucked safely in his bag- a pocket would make it too easily visible- is not heavy. The ring inside is not an anchor, it is a promise. It is two tickets for a one-way journey to the next stage of their lives- which for Tetsurou may just be Daybreak every other Friday night, and for Kei, it’s still up in the air- or somewhere in his many notebooks.
They have been each other's muses for three years now, possibly longer, if Kei chooses to believe in things like the red string of fate. Surely it's possible to be inspired by someone you've never met- someone who you imagined yourself meeting, someone who makes you erase those images in favor of what reality presents you.
Kei remembers one of the first times he shared his personal writing with Tetsurou- it had been just over a year since they first met, nearly six months since they started dating when Kei bared the especially fragile part of his soul to his boyfriend.
It was a quiet afternoon, the air rather frigid for December…
“You're here early,” is all Kei says as he lets Tetsurou into his apartment. The man carries two coffees with Daybreak's logo printed on the cupholders, and places them on an end table. Shrugging off his coat, he hangs it on the empty hook next to Kei’s jacket before strolling over to the fridge, plucking the bottle of French Vanilla Kahlua from the top.
Turning to Kei, he grins, waggling his eyebrows. “What are we celebrating today?”
Kei rolls his eyes, removing the lids of the coffees nonetheless. “Come over here and you’ll find out.”
Tetsurou’s laugh is loud and not musical in the slightest. The sound sends pleasant shivers up Kei’s spine, and he takes a moment to tuck his hands under his thighs to quell their trembling.
His navy notebook sits unbound on the end table. The thin black ribbon acts as a bookmark to a poem he wrote perhaps a week ago and had stared at for hours since, frowning over nouns and adjectives and rearranging stanzas until it felt complete- polished enough that he felt an uneasy but undeniable pride for the words inked on the page.
“Is fifty milliliters of rum enough for you?”
Kei frowns, considering. “Can you do seventy-two?”
One of Tetsurou’s eyebrows shoots up. “Can I?” The hints of a smirk quickly retreat into a smile, and he accepts the challenge, stirring the Kahlua into the coffee with what looks to be a candy cane.
“Your dark roast with a seventy-two milliliter splash of rum,” Tetsurou announces, handing Kei his cup of coffee and slouching onto the couch beside him.
Kei snags his notebook with his free hand before Tetsurou pulls him across the couch and into his lap. Back resting comfortably against Tetsurou’s chest, Kei sips the coffee, flavors blending on his tongue. “It’s perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek before he can ask about the taste.
A blush shines across Tetsurou’s cheeks. He fans himself with his free hand, setting his own coffee aside without drinking any. His arms encircle Kei’s waist, and he rests his head on Kei’s shoulder, breath warming the cashmere of his sweater right over his scapula.
They sit like that for a few minutes, basking in each other’s company- whatever nervousness Kei amassed fades, trickling away like the remnants of an already forgotten dream.
“Tetsurou?”
“Mmmphf.” His boyfriend sits up straighter, revealing his now mussed hair, the sight eliciting a spell of silent laughter. “What?”
Tetsurou blinks his eyes open, letting out a yawn and fumbling for his coffee. He glugs a few mouthfuls of the drink, setting it down before turning to Kei once more. “Ah, right. We’re celebrating something. Should we ‘kampai’? What…” his voice trails off as Kei holds up the moleskine notebook, the binding ribbon dangling loosely from the side.
Tetsurou’s eyes widen, his hands moving to cover his mouth. They drop after a moment, revealing a smile so soft it makes Kei half wish he’d shown Tetsurou his poetry sooner. Only half a wish though, since the awe and- dare he say love?- written all over him in this moment is more than Kei had imagined.
Kei thumbs over to the page he's bookmarked and unbookmarked countless times over the past seven days, and holds the notebook up for Tetsurou to see, to take- instead, his hands meet Kei's, thumbs brushing the inside of his own as they hold the notebook open together.
Delicately carved into the page are five stanzas, inked in black.
Sakura, painted blue
beneath festival lights,
tasting wines and
sampling flavors of
your soul.
Fingertips hover, hesitantly
reaching for the stars
written in your skin-
where they touch,
galaxies begin.
Your shoulders, dipped
in a moonlight ocean,
cascade of July rain,
six months by
your side.
Voice like coffee,
reminder that sweetness
hides within the bitter,
gives me reason
to wake.
Your hopes and
my dreams collide
like puzzle pieces,
woven together,
seamless.
Tetsurou’s hands tremble around Kei’s, tightening around the beige paper. He shifts, arms bringing the notebook down to rest in Kei’s lap before cupping his mouth in disbelief. Rubbing at his eyes, Kei realizes he’s crying- no, they both are.
“I… you…” Tetsurou chokes out, hastily wiping away Kei’s tears before his own. Shuddering, he takes a few deep breaths before speaking. “That’s so beautiful, I think I’m still in shock?” A breathy laugh escapes him, and he laces their fingers together. “I’m so honored you shared this with me,” he continues, “it means a lot- so, so much, you know- I’ve written songs for myself, for others… I give music to people, in a way, and I love it, but I… rarely have I received anything in return, much less anything like this…”
It’s Kei’s turn to brush away Tetsurou’s tears, stumbling over the emotions swirling in his chest, and finds himself speaking words, words that perhaps had already been conveyed through gestures and actions but deserved saying as his soul swells with an indescribable joy. “I love you,” he murmurs quietly.
Tetsurou blinks, and Kei cannot believe no one has bothered to give this man gifts, to shower him with the same amount of kindness he offers the world.
“I love you, Tetsurou,” he repeats, voice louder, ringing with pride, “and you deserve the world for all that you give to it- for all you do for me.”
“Oh my gosh, I love you,” Tetsurou says, voice breaking as he pulls Kei tight against his chest. “I love you I love you I love you, it’s not just the poem and I love it too…”
His voice trails off as Kei laughs, loud and vibrant, and he fiddles with his notebook, thumbing through to the beginning. “You know,” he says slowly, trying to quell the flush creeping up the back of his neck, “I have more poems about you…”
“Oya?” Tetsurou perks up, smirking, and snags his coffee, motioning for Kei to do the same. He presses their paper cups together momentarily, cheering “kampai!” and settling back into the couch, where they stayed until Tetsurou read Kei’s navy notebook, cover to cover, asking him what kind of poems would fill each empty page…
There have been times in Kei's life where music has pulled him in a thousand different directions, heart shattering to melodies that keep his soul from doing the same. Now, every direction leads him towards Tetsurou, one way or another- even the paths that seem like they diverge from his boyfriend end up showing Kei another side of him, another facet to treasure for the rest of his life.
Kei is aware of the divergences and convergences of time, space, and people- fate's way of bringing plot twists to reality.
Tetsurou is a musician, chemist and artist wrapped up into one incredible plot twist that Kei still wonders whether it was meant for him- whether fate intended to bestow him the gift of Tetsurou's presence in his life, as fate is rarely ever kind.
The thought of someone so genuinely passionate, brilliantly selfless, and beautifully talented ending up out of his arms... Kei can't help thinking that his time with Tetsurou is simultaneously the most selfless and selfish he's ever been, and he's determined to hold on to Tetsurou forever.
*
The set winds on, Kei living in melodies and coasting on rhythms, time slowing seemingly to a halt- like the last grains of sand trickling down in an hourglass, moving at such a pace that he wonders if gravity is functioning at all. Tetsurou’s voice holds him under a spell, captivating him in a way no other music, no other person has.
こうごう しくフレアを撒き散らす月
街灯の数かぞえてもぼくはひとり
お気に入りのナンバーの数だけアクセル踏み
また情熱への旅路と急ぐ
(The moon scatters divine flares
Even if I count the number of streetlights, I am alone
I’ll press the accelerator to just your favorite number
Let’s hurry toward a journey of passion)
花束をあげよう驚く君に
花束をあげよう泣きじゃくる日々に
もしもこの世界が終りを迎え
嬉しい気持ちしか残らないのかもしれない
知らない 知りたい
(Let me surprise you with flowers
Let me give you flowers every day you cry
If the world is heading toward its end
Maybe only pleasant feelings will remain
I do not know- I want to know)
The melody lingers even after the vocals stop, Tetsurou jamming his guitar with an intensity than never ceases to inspire Kei. The singer takes a moment to glug from his water bottle, brushing his hair out of his face temporarily. “We’ve got one more song for you all tonight,” he announces, easily batting aside the crowd’s end-of-set disappointment. “You’re in for a treat, it’s a new song!”
“What’s it called?” the crowd singsongs in semi-unison.
Tetsurou’s gaze lands on Kei, who takes advantage of the distraction to stick his tongue out at his boyfriend.
“It’s called Life’s Too- bhahaha!” Tetsurou doubles over in a short burst of laughter.
“Life’s Too what?” Kei says loudly, earning a muffled snort from Kenma, quickly drowned out by Bokuto’s hoot of laughter.
Tetsurou coughs to clear his throat. “Life’s Too Short,” he answers, pointing at Kei and smiling. “This is for you,” he adds quietly, and nods to Kenma. The keyboard joins Tetsurou’s voice as he opens the song, lyrics winding across the room to Kei.
This is for you. Those four words send Kei's fingers trembling, the flush on the back of his neck resurfacing in the form of anticipation. Tetsurou has made a habit of dedicating new songs to Kei, resulting in a number of memorable evenings, but tonight's song is rather auspicious- it will forever be his and Tetsurou's proposal song.
“When rearranged, my thoughts of you explain
Just why I'm only here to claim
I've gotta make you famous…”
Tetsurou points at Kei from the stage, the gesture coaxing Kei’s heart out of his chest and into his throat.
“I'm sure we belong somewhere, not sure if we'll share
Moments, months, or lives, I'd like you by my side
Enjoy your conversation, abbreviations
I can't focus with a lens when you're in sight...”
Closing his eyes, Tetsurou shifts his fingers blindly, strumming chords on his guitar- chords that echo deep in Kei’s soul.
“Who knew I'd miss the pleasure, heal me from myself
Who knew I'd know too much, what's pressure to my health?
I'm coughing 'cause I'm anxious
Anxious 'cause I know
My future's inching close and where am I to go?
I just don't know…”
Smiling sheepishly, Tetsurou delivers the chorus, making little jumps in time with the rhythm, each one pulling Kei further into the world of music and memories.
“Someday, you'll know my style’s lame
When I can't provide champagne, will you still say hello?
Someday, you'll change, it doesn't matter anyway
Locked up and say I'm framed, will you still say hello?”
Tetsurou steps back from the mic during the break in singing, nodding his head and shifting his weight back on his heels. He makes a show of playing his guitar, the light hitting the strings in a way that emphasizes his hands- hands that have folded and unfolded Kei like origami, sometimes teasing but never tearing.
In that span of a few seconds, Kei misses the entirety of the second verse. It was short, he realizes as his boyfriend launches into the prechorus again, grinning that incredibly endearing Cheshire Cat grin and professes how entirely lame his style is.
“Someday, you'll know my style’s lame
When I can't provide champagne, will you still say hello?
Someday, you'll change, it doesn't matter anyway
Locked up and say I'm framed, will you come say hello?”
Another session of the prechorus leads into a lull, the izakaya going silent save for Tetsurou’s voice, a live wire in a short circuit that Kei can’t imagine living without.
His boyfriend’s hands drift skyward, his face full of a heart-wrenching amount of affection as he sings, “someday, someday…”
The drums jolt Kei’s pulse awake, bass shaking his feet where they stand as Tetsurou sings the chorus once more-
“Someday, you'll know my style’s lame
When I can't provide champagne, will you still say hello?
Someday, you'll change, it doesn't matter anyway
Locked up and say I'm framed, will you come say hello?”
The guitars crank up loud, keyboard resounding through the room in the vocal break leading up to what can only be the finale, and Kei dives into that ocean of sound, breathing and living and loving the harmony of the instruments and Tetsurou’s voice, which rounds out the song with one word, repeated thrice.
“Someday, someday, someday…”
Applause thunders through the room as the music fades away- Kei's mind is still reeling from it when Tetsurou calls out to him, pulling him back to reality.
“As always, I want to give special thanks to my boyfriend Kei. Kei, would you come up here please?”
His body moves before he fully processes the request, feet carrying him towards the man he loves. Taking the half-step up to the stage, he comes to stand next to his boyfriend, automatically reaching for his hand- Tetsurou's thumb brushes over Kei's knuckles, skittering fireworks over his skin.
Tetsurou runs his free hand through his hair before picking up the mic. “So, uh,” he says, voice trembling in a mix of nerves and awe, “Kei and I have been together for almost two and a half years, now.”
Cheers erupt through the izakaya, loud enough to startle them both into taking a half step back.
Tetsurou lets out a chuckle, a sunset pink blush framing his cheeks as he smiles at the crowd. When he turns to face Kei, the smile grows into a grin, sending Kei's pulse fluttering. His eyes don’t leave Kei's as he leans into the mic again. “You’ve been my muse for far longer than that.”
Kei's hand grows clammy within Tetsurou's, but his boyfriend doesn't pull away- he just intertwines their fingers, offering his touch as an anchor.
“You’ve given me more happiness and love than I ever expected,” Tetsurou says earnestly, “and you remind me that I deserve it every single day. Sometimes without even having to say a word.” His lower lip trembles, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve always considered my luck to be, well, decent, but even so, I knew I'd find someone that'd make me the luckiest guy on earth- though in the whole scheme of things, Bo would still probably win with Akaashi.”
Kei huffs a laugh, even as a wave of momentary goosebumps washes over him. This kind of praise, especially in public, has his pulse racing. Surely there's some big conclusion…
Oh.
Oh.
Tears threaten to prick the corner of Kei's eyes, and he hastily blinks them back. “No,” he interrupts quietly. It takes a second for him to realize spoke, the back of his hand rising to his mouth in embarrassment.
“...no?”
It's Kei's turn to take a deep breath. “Luck is subjective,” he starts, voice low and laced with a carefully neutral undertone usually reserved for casual nights of poker- toeing the line of bluffing and double bluffing, but always sincere. “If there was such a luck contest, I would win.” He swallows, flush scalding the back of his neck. “You're living proof,” he adds, pressing a kiss to the back of Tetsurou’s hand before reluctantly letting go.
“These years with you have convinced me to believe in things fate, luck, and love.” His hand drifts into his bag, fingers closing around the ring box and securing it in his palm. Slipping the bag off his shoulder to rest on the stage, he brings the box into Tetsurou's line of sight- watches as his boyfriend stumbles backward in shock, hands cupping his mouth as he gasps, eyes shining.
“We have our whole lives ahead of us, and-” his voice breaks, words failing him. Let's spend them together. I want you with me. Let me stay by your side… “-and I- I'd be honored to spend mine with you.”
His knee hits the stage, a silent thud that echoes through his bones, and he cracks open the box, offering it towards the love of his life. “Tetsurou, will you marry me?”
Tetsurou fans at his eyes, letting out a shaky laugh. “Oh my gosh, I'm crying,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. He steps forward, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to Kei, and steadies himself with both hands on Kei's shoulders, bringing their foreheads together.
He smiles ever so radiantly, cheeks dusted with sakura pink, and Kei feels his pulse stop as Tetsurou opens his mouth-
“Yes,” Tetsurou answers breathlessly, “yes, I'll marry you.”
A weight Kei held in his shoulders tumbles away and he surges up, fingers gently closing the ring box into one hand and caressing Tetsurou's face with the other, pulling him in for a kiss that extends far past being chaste, but is just as sweet.
Tetsurou’s hands cup the back of Kei's neck, fingertips brushing away tears Kei didn't even realize had escaped. Breaking apart, Tetsurou leans up on his toes to kiss Kei's forehead, bringing his left hand into the light. He waggles his eyebrows- rather, he tries, collapsing into giggles. “I'm just- so happy? C-can I see the ring?”
Kei fumbles with the box, carefully opening the lid to reveal a smooth, tungsten carbide ring. “It should be safe for you to wear in the lab,” he murmurs. “It’s-”
“Corrosion and acid resistant, first on the Moh’s scale,” Tetsurou interrupts, awe rising in his voice as he reaches for the ring. He stops two thirds of the way there, fingers curling in as he laughs nervously. “Heh.”
Chuckling, Kei takes Tetsurou’s left hand, holding his palm steady as he slides on the ring. His boyfriend- fiance- holds his hand up towards the bar lights, admiring the glimmering metal.
At the gesture, the cheers and wolf-whistling of their friends- once muted by the tide of their happiness- swells to a roar.
Kei drops his forehead to rest in the crook of Tetsurou’s neck, hiding from the spotlight. Closing his eyes, he shudders in a breath, visibly melting as Tetsurou gently pulls him into an embrace.
“Bro!”
Even though he doesn’t want to, Kei startles, blinking his eyes open and staring over at Bokuto.
The man raises an eyebrow, letting loose a loud guffaw. “Tetsu, you forgot?”
There’s a momentary silence on stage, broken by Kenma slapping their hand against a blend of piano keys, emitting a discordant blend of sound as their sides shake with laughter.
“He forgot,” Akaashi affirms, holding his hand out, palm up for Bokuto to high-five.
Kei narrows his eyes, gaze shifting from Bokuto and Akaashi to Kenma and then back to Tetsurou. “You forget something?”
His fiance grins a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his neck before glaring dramatically at Bokuto and Akaashi. “I didn’t forget, okay,” he says adamantly, swinging around to face Kei again. “Oi, Kenma,” he drawls, strolling over to his friend and holding out his palm.
Kenma holds up a finger for Tetsurou to wait for their laughter to subside. After a moment, they reach into their sweater pocket, pulling out their PSP- wait, that isn’t a PSP-
Even though he saw it coming, the breath still rushes out of Kei’s lungs, tears beginning anew as Tetsurou walks back towards him- one hand covering his mouth and the other holding a ring box, black velvet nearly identical to the one Kei held just moments ago.
“I know you already asked me, but it’s my turn to ask you,” Tetsurou declares, kneeling down and presenting Kei with a matching tungsten-carbide ring. “Kei, my love-”
Just three words have Kei’s vision running blurry, and he fumbles for his handkerchief, only for Tetsurou to give him his instead. A sob fights its way out of his chest, and a good minute passes before he’s able to deem himself somewhat composed- at least enough to nod furiously.
“I haven’t even asked yet,” Tetsurou says, managing to ask “will you marry me?” around fits of giggles.
“Yes.” Kei swallows the lump in his throat, grateful his voice is working. “Yes, yes.” His hands shake as he reaches for Tetsurou, who guides the engagement band onto Kei’s ring finger with a careful calmness- one that Kei knows quite well.
Offering both hands forward, Kei pulls Tetsurou back to his feet and into his arms, holding him close. “I love you,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Tetsurou to hear, and is rewarded with slightly more rib-crushing.
Tetsurou steps out of the hug, swooping in to steal the kiss Kei was waiting to give him, a kiss that is also a promise- of a future, of happiness- one that he is perfectly sure the fates intended. And even if they didn’t, the matching tungsten around their fingers is sign enough of just how lucky he is-
and always will be.