Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fact that self-restraint was a desirable quality for a priest seemed to have slipped Hiraga’s mind as he sat in his chair, eagerly leaning over the table and vibrating slightly, a result Roberto knew must be from his leg bouncing under the table with excitement. Despite all his genius, he really was like a child at times.

“Be careful now, it’s hot.” he warned, before placing the plate of curry before his friend, who appeared he may combust before managing to blow all the steam away. Unsurprisingly, he had already begun wolfing it down by the time Roberto had returned with his own dinner. He couldn’t contain the affectionate chuckle that arose as Hiraga beamed at him, singing his praises, a slight blush warming his pale features. Roberto allowed himself the freedom to listen to Hiraga’s words, and thank him for them. Hiraga wouldn’t lie, and if he could make Hiraga happy, then this at least, was worth it.

It was unusual for the ants in Hiraga’s pants to linger after dinner, but today he sat inexplicably perched on the edge of his seat, appearing rather awkward as his eyes searched the room for something – what that thing was, Roberto couldn’t say – but in such a way as though he were trying to be subtle about it. Hiraga attempting subtlety was always doomed to be a failed endeavour, but as it could only be for his benefit, Roberto feigned obliviousness as he waited for a pause in their conversation. When it arrived, he asked, with a flawless mask of nonchalance,

“Is everything alright?”

Hiraga’s eyes widened suddenly, and panic flickered in his eyes as he tried in vain to summon an excuse he hadn’t thought of yet. Coming up empty, he simply nodded and smiled, wondering what on earth had given Roberto the impression it wasn’t. While hardly convincing – the ‘smile’ looked more like a grimace, after all – Roberto played along and nodded, announcing that he would clear the table in order to give his silly, stubborn friend the chance to sort whatever was bothering him by himself, as he was really beginning to feel rather out of place at this point.

The moment he turned his back, he heard a wild scampering behind him, followed by a loud bang. After confirming that Hiraga’s place was now indeed empty, he returned to the dishes with raised eyebrows. He'd give him a moment.

With the dishes shimmering on the draining board, Roberto was somewhat surprised to not find Hiraga waiting patiently for him in his usual spot. A brief peek into the next room revealed only an empty sofa, but just as his puzzled eyebrows began to knot together, he overheard soft footsteps and an urgent whisper of “no, don’t-” from behind him, followed by a large crash.

“What on earth are you doing?” Roberto asked, standing utterly perplexed before Hiraga, who, at that moment, was little more than a heap on the floor surrounded by the entire contents of Roberto’s freezer. To make things even more confusing, Hiraga launched into an onslaught of what sounded like apologies, but he seemed to have lost the ability to talk.

Eventually, Hiraga swallowed whatever had been in his mouth and impeding his ability to speak, and sheepishly admitted that his mouth was burning, and he didn't like the way his lips tingled, so he decided to suck on some ice to make the feeling go away. He raised the ice cube in his hand to his mouth as though to prove it. Then his eyes widened and he paused suddenly, and hurled himself into another mass of apologies, this time in order to ensure Roberto was fully aware that his actions didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy his cooking because he did and it tasted wonderful but it was just a little spicy for him and he didn’t want to cause a fuss but now he’s made all this mess and he was so sorry...

Roberto tried to contain it. He really did. But the outburst of laughter was uncontrollable, and between his laughs and gasps for breath, attempted to explain to Hiraga that he really didn’t mind at all, though he expected it was as unintelligible as Hiraga’s initial remorseful barrage.

Eventually Roberto’s laugher subsided and he knelt beside Hiraga, and began to pick the inside of his freezer off the floor and return everything to their proper places. That, of course, included Hiraga, who he shooed away from the pile of chaos on the floor and onto a stool, upon which he spun back and forth in a bashful manner.

“We could go for ice cream, if you want.” Roberto suggested, hastily adding, “I won’t insist on paying this time,” in response to the complaint Hiraga was about to voice. Hiraga didn't look particularly convinced at Roberto’s assertion, but returned to his ice with a shrug of agreement anyway. He really didn’t see the problem with how much he enjoyed taking care of Hiraga. He more than deserved the care and attention and at times, really, really needed it. He dreaded to think what would become of Hiraga if he was left to cook for himself.

Glancing up from his tidying, Roberto’s eyes were immediately drawn to the ice cube Hiraga held between his fingertips. The heat from his fingers was steadily melting it, and he watched the clear liquid trickle down his palm, and past the sliver of exposed wrist. For reasons he could never say aloud, he didn’t mention it, nor did he retrieve a handkerchief for him. Luckily, Hiraga’s eyes were unfocused and aimed at the floor, but that did nothing to lessen the guilt as Roberto’s own moved higher of their own accord...

The way his tongue moved over the ice, slowly but with purpose, the way he ensured it stroked his lips, leaving them moist and swollen and glistening, the sudden cold bringing the blood rushing in to heat them, as red as the wine he had abandoned. He was every bit a maiden from an ancient song, stumbling wide eyed out of a fairy tale but regarding this new, dark world with the same wonder and love as he had the old.

Hiraga’s eyes raised suddenly and Roberto snapped back to reality, forcing his attention back to his cleaning. He really ought to work on how easily he got distracted.

~~~~~~

“Bubblegum, please!”

. . .

Roberto’s heart pounded, heavy thuds echoing in his chest.

Bubblegum?

Bubblegum?

It couldn’t be...

After all this time... could every word of Hiraga’s culinary praise have been a lie?

If he was the sort of person to enjoy bubblegum ice cream, how could he possibly appreciate-

“Aren’t you getting anything, Roberto?” Hiraga asked, interrupting his internal monologue, and staring up at him with those dark, innocent eyes, wide with concern. And suddenly, everything was back as it should be.

“Ah, of course – I'll have the coffee, please.”

Chapter Text

Gasping with delight as the plate was laid in front of him, Hiraga reached for his cutlery and dived in, too impatient to wait for Roberto to join him. He knew Roberto didn’t mind, and was very familiar with the fond smile that would be on his face at that moment. They’d accidentally got drunk together a few months ago, and that day Roberto had admitted how Hiraga praising his food warmed his heart. Since then, Hiraga had been sure to express his feelings every time Roberto laid a dish before him – and since there was no one else’s cooking in his Lord’s earth that he enjoyed more, that was a rather frequent occurrence. That same night, Hiraga had confessed in retaliation that every night in his prayers, he thanked God for allowing him to know and be friends with someone as amazing as Roberto. Roberto had asked if by that he just meant Roberto’s cooking, only revealing it was a joke after Hiraga had gotten upset and insisted on the contrary. He had hugged him then, soothing him and telling him not to worry, and that he was touched. Hiraga hoped that wasn’t a lie. Roberto was too self-loathing and it hurt to know he couldn’t see how wonderful he was.

When it came to alcohol, Roberto always held up better than he did, whether due to build, constitution or just being Italian he never said, and he had helped Hiraga into bed that night, assigning the sofa to himself despite being head and shoulders too tall for it. He’d kissed Hiraga’s forehead before he left. He probably didn’t remember, and if he did, would be convinced Hiraga didn’t. But Hiraga did remember. And Hiraga thought about it constantly, just as he thought about how safe and comforting his hugs were, or even the arm he wrapped around his shoulders when he felt nervous. He knew Catholic history, he knew all of the teachings, all of the rules. He also knew that love was the greatest gift God had bestowed on his blessed creations after life itself. So, while he did not know what he should do, or any person he could possibly ask for guidance, he trusted that the Lord would forgive him for his lack of direction. Love is a gift from God, and covers over a multitude of sins.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 8.30am. 

Roberto Nicholas stirred, eyes pressed into a frown as he woke. His head was still pounding from the night before, but that came as no surprise – they only reached Hiraga’s apartment at 3.30am, and, though his memory was extremely blurry, he seemed to recall Hiraga hauling him up the stairs and into his bed. Roberto cringed as he considered what a struggle that must have been for his petite and – in the kindest way – pathetically weak friend. The case they'd been working on hadn't been their most difficult, and thankfully Julia hadn’t been involved for once, but they’d been careless, and at the last minute Roberto had ended up drugged. Nothing too serious, just a one-time overdose of morphine, but it had left him very much at the mercy of Hiraga’s care. A vague memory swam before his eyes, presumably from last night, as he stumbled out of the cab that had dropped them off. A memory that ebbed and flowed around his vision like the ocean’s surface, impossible to grasp firmly. Well, almost. While the words he was saying were scrambled and fuzzy, Hiraga in his memory was crystal clear – one arm wrapped around his back, the other pulling Roberto’s arm over his own shoulder to support him. His face was so close to Roberto’s, and there was a quiet, repressed fear in his dark eyes. Despite that, his eyebrows were set in determination, his teeth gritted, his bottom lip bleeding from how hard he’d bitten it on the ride over. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he struggled to bear Roberto’s weight. Thinking over the entire situation, the fact they arrived in Hiraga’s bedroom in one piece was something of a miracle in itself.

Having roughly recalled how he had ended up here, Roberto scanned the room, finding no evidence of his partner at all, no sign he’d even slept in his bed. Knowing Hiraga, he’d either crashed on the couch downstairs and let Roberto have the bed to himself, or simply hadn’t slept at all, and had been busy monitoring him all night. His self-consciousness threatened to overpower him and send him hiding beneath the covers in embarrassment as he prayed it was not the latter. Hiraga worried too much anyway, it was just morphine. Some sleep and rest, and Roberto would be absolutely fine.  

A minute and a half later, Hiraga stepped into his bedroom to find Roberto sitting at his desk on his laptop. He’d carved out the space from Hiraga’s treasured clutter, and sat nonchalantly between his armillary sphere and ironing board, a bedsheet draped around his shoulders in lieu of a proper dressing gown.  

“Roberto! What are you doing out of bed? You have to rest!” Hiraga exclaimed, catching Roberto by surprise. He put the cups he was holding on the desk and fussed over Roberto for a moment, though what he expected to find, Roberto couldn’t say.  

“The worst is over, I can’t just sit around doing nothing.” Roberto paused for a moment, cursing his foggy memories. “And... thank you for last night.”  

“You’d have done the same for me!” Hiraga said brightly, as though his eyebags weren't as dark as his irises and his entire body wasn’t in absolute agony. He stepped back to observe Roberto as a whole, and seemed to be reluctantly satisfied that he wasn’t in any immediate danger. He explained, “I noticed you were waking up so I made you some coffee, but I’d prefer it if you had it while resting in bed.” 

Under Hiraga’s scolding gaze, Roberto eyed the coffee cautiously. Though Hiraga couldn’t comprehend why, the coffee having been made in such a place and by such a person gave Roberto every right to be fondly distrustful of it, especially when his system was already loaded with questionable substances. With a nervous gulp, he took the cup into his hands, then paused and sat it back down again, eyeing the ring of liquid it left behind that threatened to stain the desk if they weren't careful. His gaze turned and lingered on Hiraga’s hands, then flicked up to his crestfallen face, taking Roberto's actions as a refusal of the coffee. 

“You scalded yourself, didn’t you?” He said. A statement, not a question. 

“What? No, I’m fine.” Hiraga replied, surprised. He’d simply forgotten that he was holding hot coffee when he saw Roberto out of bed already, and raced to his side with a little too much enthusiasm, splashing some piping hot coffee over his fingers. It was just a careless mistake, not something to trouble Roberto with after the night he’d had. Roberto, however, was having none of it. Without allowing him room to protest, he took Hiraga’s delicate hands in his own. With his thumbs he stroked over his soft, pale skin, and just as he had expected, found it wet to the touch. His tired eyes met Hiraga’s, expectant. Hiraga looked away. 

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” He said, unconvincingly. He’d never been a good liar, not that he ever wanted to be. 

“Go and run it under cold water.” Roberto instructed, dropping his hands to allow his partner to go. Hiraga hesitated a moment longer. 

“I said it’s fine-“ He protested, weakly. 

“You’re the scientist here. You know about health and safety.” Roberto argued, well aware that there was nothing Hiraga could say in his defense. “Go on; I won’t let yours get cold.” Reluctant to leave Roberto any longer than he had to, Hiraga obeyed, heading to the bathroom somewhat sheepishly. 

“I’ll be right back!” He called from the hallway. 

“You’ll be five minutes at least!” Roberto ordered, barely catching Hiraga’s defeated sigh as he entered the bathroom. “Honestly...”  

Shaking his head with an affectionate smile, Roberto rose from his chair and crossed the room to Hiraga’s nightstand, where his hotplate lay abandoned after an experiment a few weeks before. He shoved Hiraga’s puzzle lock box to the side to make space, and plugged it in next to his laptop, placing Hiraga’s mug on top as it heated up. He turned back to his laptop, attempting to resume his research, but his concentration only slipped more and more. Aware that he could avoid his fate no longer, he finally dared to have a suspicious sip from his own cup. 

When Hiraga returned, exactly five minutes later and not a moment longer, he perked up when he saw his drink was indeed still warm and steaming upon the hotplate. He reached for it, significantly slower than he really had to, conscious of being firmly in Roberto’s peripheral vision and willing to do anything to avoid another cold, lonely trip to the sink. He sat on the bed, warming his frozen hands on the cup before he drank any. He suppressed a shiver as his body temperature evened out. 

“Thanks, Hiraga.” Roberto said, turning to face him and deliver his praise directly. “It’s good.” 

A smile as bright as rays of sunlight lit up Hiraga’s face. He was a frequent creator of what one might call an “unfortunate” coffee, and while he could never figure out what exactly went wrong, he was well used to polite but insistent declination whenever he offered around hot beverages of his own making. So to have Roberto of all people assure him he’d done well – and he had done well; it was easy to tell when Roberto was lying when it came to food – was nothing short of the highest praise. 

“You’re welcome!” He beamed, and proceeded to burn his tongue on his own coffee.