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“Ow! Son of a – ”
For the hundredth time that hour, the sharp yelp from a not-as-sharp Dice Arisugawa rose up over the din of crumpling paper and tearing tape. A hand shoots up to his mouth and sucks at the scene of the crime. Papercuts are the devil in disguise, he’s certain. They’ll heal, moderately, and it won’t be until much later when he’s eating or in the shower (if there’s a shower…) that he’ll be reminded of the stinging wounds.
“Diiiice.”
The man’s name is positively whined. Resolute, Dice refuses to look at the source. Not this time, he isn’t falling for this. Nope. He’s going to just resume wrapping this square box with one hand. Certainly it can’t be that hard…?
“You ought to clean that,” begins a voice from his left, now.
Defensively, Dice hunches his shoulders and more aggressively tugs the shiny blue wrapping paper around the edges of the box. Maybe if he ignores them both they’ll stop? He’s trying his best here.
“If you don’t,” continues that voice, near ethereal and Dice feels it growing ever closer, “it’ll become infected and you’ll lose your whole arm. In fact, did you know that half of all papercuts lead to the removal of that limb?”
“Huh?!” That does the trick.
Dice wildly turns his head, nearly his full body, and gawks. All he’s met with is a pair of amused green eyes and a sleeve covering a mischievous smile. “But, of course, that was a lie,” are the words that fall from those hidden lips and Dice swears they’re going to be on his headstone.
“Asshole,” grunts Dice and he dejectedly drops the half-wrapped present onto the floor.
“C’mon, Dice!” chirps Ramuda from the right. “We can’t teach you how to be a master wrapper if you just give up!”
“Ain’t I already a master rapper?” mumbles the gambler as his brows furrow in confusion.
Gentaro laughs, the sound a lot more mocking than one of those tiny airy ones Dice sometimes hears. “Not quite,” says the author and then he’s leaning across the small space between them on the floor to collect the discarded present. “It’s a useful skill to have. You can add it to your resume.”
“Uh-huh…” Dice’s nose wrinkles and he halfheartedly swats the other man’s hand away. “These ain’t even my own gifts, though. Dunno why I’m doin’ your jobs for you,” he complains.
“This is for charity!” sings Ramuda and he’s barreling across the floor, one arm hooking around each of his teammates’ shoulders. “…And besides, the other divisions are totally doing it and we need the good PR. So chop, chop, posse!” he sings and there’s that glint in his eyes that doesn’t quite tell the full story.
“Figures…”
“If you had just paid attention earlier,” Gentaro begins as he carefully extracts Ramuda’s arm from his shoulder, using the guise of re-instructing the gambler on the art of wrapping a present. “You would be an expert by now. Alas, perhaps our efforts are lost on you…”
“Huh…” As expected, Dice tenses. “Is that a challenge or somethin’?”
“And if it was?”
“Oh, oh! Let’s make it a bet!” interjects Ramuda and he’s scooting back across the carpet of his penthouse to his wrapping station. “If Dice can wrap five presents better than a toddler, then I’ll buy everyone takoyaki after this!”
“A toddler?! You’re fuckin’ on!”
* * *
Dice, in fact, did not wrap five presents better than a toddler. In fact, the five presents he wrapped looked as if they had met an untimely demise in a shredder. Still, his teammates seemed to take pity on him and not only remedied the calamities, adding them to the sack of presents they themselves had meticulously wrapped, but had offered to pay for street food.
No one spoke of other plans, nor did any of them speak of the fact that on this Christmas eve, the only people they knew, that would willingly spend time with them on such an occasion, was each other.
It’s cold, though. It’s fucking cold and Dice keeps blowing on his hands and rubbing them together. Ramuda is leading the way, dancing in the flurries of snow that cover the familiar backstreets of Shibuya. By Dice’s side, as usual, is Gentaro, his face a rare flush of red.
“You cold or somethin’?”
Gentaro, again, seems lost in thought and it takes the author a surprisingly long amount of time to respond. When he does, his head tips to the side. His bangs are obscuring his eyes and Dice thinks, just for that moment, he wishes he could make sense of what’s behind them. “What gives you that idea?”
“You’re shiverin’ and all that crap,” Dice answers and, for good measure, rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Dontcha have a heavier coat or… a scarf? Or gloves?”
“I’m allergic.”
“Eh…?!”
There’s a smile blossoming and Gentaro laughs, that noise sweeter and softer than the one from back in Ramuda’s penthouse surrounded in ribbons and tassels. “Just kidding.” And Dice thinks that’s it on the matter but, surprisingly, Gentaro continues, “I don’t usually venture out much during the winter. I have poor circulation and grew used to spending most of my time inside.”
“Huh.” Dice is squinting at him like he’s the god damn Sphinx. “That another lie?”
“Is it?”
Defeated, Dice groans. Again, he thinks that’s that, but the author reaches out and by god he’s placing a hand gently on the back of the gambler’s hand. It’s freezing, colder than the air, and Dice is surprised by it. From this angle, he can see the veins and how the tips of his fingers are already turning a light purple.
“Doesn’t your hakama have pockets? What fuckin’ good is it?” grumbles Dice and before Gentaro has time to react to the comment Dice is turning his hand over and clasping his significantly warmer one with Gentaro’s.
They don’t comment on it.
* * *
“Diiice, have you ever had one of these?”
It’s Ramuda who is, yet again, in his friend’s personal space and waving around what looks like a giant tree nut. The smell is peculiar – kind of like burnt fudge – and Dice is gawking at the thing like it’s some creature from another planet. Gentaro is at this side, hasn’t left him for a second, and Dice swears he hears a laugh bubbling up. God damn both of these liars.
“It’s uh..? Nah? It looks friggin’ weird. You eat that?”
“In America they do, yup,” Ramuda says and he gives the little cardboard box holding said creation a jostle. The nut sways side to side. “Don’t you know that song?”
“What song?”
“Ah, the song,” Gentaro supplies for Ramuda and he’s clasping his chin rather thoughtfully. “It’s popular in satanic rituals. It’s said to rise the dead on this eve of Christmas. I do hope you remembered to leave out the salt, Dice.”
“T-the hell are you two going on about?”
“A lie,” says Gentaro for the millionth time as Ramuda throws his head back and laughs.
“What a werid posse, gosh you two,” sings Ramuda and he spins on his heel. “C’mon! Let’s head back to my place! Gentaro can tell us real Christmas stories!”
“I’m doing what now?” asks Gentaro. “I have a few pages I need to turn tonight and—”
“We both know that’s a lie,” interjects Ramuda and he is already stalking off, the chestnut in the little serving container in hand.
“Is it a lie?” murmurs Dice, eyes flitting between the retreating form of their formidable leader and the peculiar stare of Gentaro beside him.
“For once, no,” sighs the author and it’s a shake of his head, a bit dramatic, before he stalks off after Ramuda, saying, “But I suppose I can entertain the pair of you and cater to his whims for just a bit longer.”
Dice wonders what he did before them, either of them. He really, really does.
* * *
“And that is, exactly how the Grinch stole Christmas.”
“Wait a friggin’ second.”
Dice is sitting cross-legged on the floor, Ramuda perched on his couch, and Gentaro sitting in the armchair. The penthouse is warm and the snow is raging on outside, momentarily shifting from the expected flurry into a full blown blizzard. At some point Gentaro has acquired Dice’s jacket and hasn’t taken it off, his limbs a lot less purple now.
“What is it?” wonders the author, eyes positively beaming.
“You’re tellin’ me,” begins Dice and he has this offended look on his face, “that some dude on a mountain, all by himself, managed to steal an entire town’s worth of presents and not a single god damn person noticed? I’m callin’ bullshit.”
“Oh! Maybe he’s like the thief in Gentaro’s story,” suggests Ramuda as he swings his body to the right, now laying fully on the couch. “Isn’t that right, Gentaro?”
If there’s some secret being shared between the liars, Dice doesn’t catch on. Instead, he’s too busy trying to riddle out just how a man with a giant sack was able to stealthily bust into so many homes and move such probably half-assed wrapped presents.
“Perhaps,” says Gentaro and he’s almost interrupted by Dice’s wail of disdain.
“Another friggin’ lie,” he bellows and then hangs his head. Two seconds later, the gambler is shifting onto his knees. Hands rapidly slam together and he’s bowing his head, begging, staring right up at his seated friend. “C’monnnnnn, it’s Christmas! No more lies for twenty-four hours, please, please, please.”
“Dice seems pretttty serious,” notes Ramuda, so helpfully.
There’s a long stretch of silence.
And then…
“All right.”
“Really?! Not a lie?” Dice is practically crying in relief. All things considered, it’s fairly comical.
“Just this once.”
“You’re the best, Gentaro!” And Dice slams his hands down on the floor in relief, sucking in air as if he had been holding his breath. It’s theatrical and he swears he hears a tiny snigger from Ramuda.
“You can start repaying me for this wonderful favor,” begins Gentaro, the toe of his boot slowly coming to nudge at Dice’s face. The man lifts his head, slowly, eyes trekking up that shiny boot towards the garbed ankle and then finally the pair of shining, bright eyes staring down at him from that luxurious chair that would probably pay off most of Dice’s debts. The boot nudges under his chin and Dice audibly swallows, a thick electricity in the air and the thrill he gets before a big roll settling into his bones, and then, “By getting me a cup of tea. I’m so very parched.”
Dice flops back, losing his balance as Gentaro quickly moves his foot away. He mutters “Whatever,” when, strangely, tease is the word that assails his senses.
* * *
It’s around midnight when Ramuda finally kicks them out. It’s been about two hours of listening to bad holiday tunes, interspersed with more absurd holiday tales from Gentaro that Dice is pretty sure exaggerated but that isn’t quite a lie and a story is a story and not a lie so he isn’t breaking his promise but damn does Gentaro confuse him. Ramuda is certain to button and bundle Dice’s jacket tight on Gentaro and then fix Dice’s scarf – that one on Dice – before he shoos the pair of them out for the night, claiming that he needs his beauty sleep. Neither of them comment on the fact that Dice usually crashes there and that it’s the holidays. Dice wonders if he has a chick coming over after but…
“I’ll walk ya home,” says Dice and before Gentaro can speak, this confused little look in his eyes in the shade of olive, adds, “’cause you’re wearin’ my jacket and all and you look cold as hell still and I don’t want you to freeze.”
“Ah. Of course.”
So they walk the small trek towards Gentaro’s apartment. The snow is still falling and it’s been a long day, all things considered. Despite the exhaustion in his bones, Dice is happy. He hasn’t spent the holidays with anyone in years and this is better than getting drunk or wasting money or sleeping under some freeway. No, this feels like a family – more than the one he ran from – and he can’t be more thankful. For how weird Gentaro and Ramuda can be, he’s… thankful for them.
As they walk, Dice’s eyes stray. He catches himself multiple times staring at the little curl at the edge of Gentaro’s jaw that so effortlessly disappears into the obnoxiously large and fluffy hood of Dice’s jacket. He looks cute, Dice realizes, in Dice’s jacket. There’s a misplaced sense of protectiveness seeing him like this.
But hadn’t that been there before? Hadn’t he wanted to protect Gentaro the moment he had been shaken off balance by that host?
Shit, he never had anything in his life he ever wanted to protect before.
He nearly draws blood as he bites his bottom lip, mulling it all over. It isn’t the first time he’s thought Gentaro was pretty or unfairly cute. And it isn’t the first time there’s been a weird sloshing in his gut at the idea of them holding hands or kissing and he has to stop himself there because if he doesn’t his face will get a hot red and he’ll out himself.
He hasn’t really had a real crush before so he doesn’t if that’s what this is. Maybe it’s frustration over Gentaro’s lies combined with a sense of loyalty to a best friend he never had before. Or maybe it’s deeper and maybe the fact that it’s Christmas and all he can think about is if Gentaro is happy, warm, enjoying himself should be a big fucking clue.
“Dice?”
Dice doesn’t realize they’re back at Gentaro’s apartment complex, nor does he even consciously pay attention to their entry and journey to Gentaro’s front door. Gentaro hasn’t quite yet taken off Dice’s jacket and Dice thinks good before he can correct himself.
“Sorry, guess I spaced out there for a sec,” says Dice and he awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck.
“I see.”
“A-anyway,” mumbles the gambler, “I had a really good time today. You and Ramuda really ain’t half bad. I can’t remember havin’ that much fun on any holiday before, so uh… thanks.” He isn’t sure that’s what you say to your friends, to a guy you might have a crush on, but he thinks he doesn’t say it enough. So he’s trying.
Gentaro looks confused. Dice pales and is about to backtrack, backpedal, mumble something surely ineloquent when the author laughs, the sound fainter, like freshly fallen snow, and he tips his head to the side.
“You aren’t coming inside?” asks Gentaro and his hand is lingering on the doorknob.
Dice isn’t sure how to play that, to interpret that. “I, uh—can?”
“Where else would you go?” So Gentaro answers it for him, opening the door and heading inside before Dice can come up with an excuse. After all, Dice isn’t forbidden from lying tonight.
Like any good stray being allowed inside, the safety and security of a home, Dice shuffles inside and is quick to toe off his shoes so as to not make a mess. His shoes join Gentaro’s as the man slips on his house slippers and then meets Dice’s gaze just around the time Dice is shutting the door.
“No one deserves to be alone on the holidays,” Gentaro says, finally, as he makes a wonderful show of undoing the jacket he’s wearing. His words sound casual but they hit Dice hard, give him pause, and suddenly he thinks – nah, he knows – that Gentaro has been just as alone as him.
Gentaro is about to slip the jacket off his shoulders when Dice’s hand stops him, strong fingers gripping at the man’s shoulder, keeping the fabric in place. As before, there’s confusion brewing in those eyes that Dice thinks he could probably stare at for hours and not get bored.
“What is it?”
“You look good in it,” says Dice, honest and earnest and reckless Dice, a smile taking shape like he’s just now deciding what numbers to bet on before the next big roll. “Like, it suits you,” he continues and his hand squeezes, watches the color spread across Gentaro’s ears and cheeks instantly.
“Are you saying that because it’s yours, I wonder? What a humble brag,” scoffs Gentaro and he looks away.
Cute, Dice thinks again. Cute, because Dice is pretty certain not many people get to see this side of Gentaro that’s easily flustered and witty all the same. It’s remarkably attractive for some unknown reason and Dice takes the plunge, rolls the dice, places the bet.
“Nah, a brag would be somethin’ like,” begins Dice and he thumbs at the hood of the coat, reclaiming Gentaro’s gaze on that action, “I’d look better on you.”
There’s a long pause.
Dice swears he hears the dice rolling somewhere. Or maybe that’s Gentaro’s unreliable radiator. Or maybe it’s just the rush of blood in his own ears because Gentaro can’t lie tonight and for some reason that emboldens him, gives him the courage to push this over the edge its been teetering on for months, a game of cat and mouse and uncertainty—
Gentaro’s gaze slowly rises. When it does, there’s a spark of mischief and Gentaro’s lips close, tongue darting out for just a second, wetting them, and then he speaks and it sounds like poetry, “That’s not a brag, Dice. That’s a pick-up line.” Sort of like poetry. Bad poetry.
Dice meets that gaze, heady, and he curls his hand loosely in that jacket’s hood. “You wanna tell me if it’s working, or should I fuck off while I’m ahead?”
“Do you ever stop while you’re ahead?” wonders Gentaro, words slow, eyes half-lidded, long lashes pretty in the dim light of the entryway of Gentaro’s apartment.
“Sometimes,” admits Dice. “I’m not always losin’,” he corrects and then his hand curls higher, up, fingertips gently skirting along a pale, soft jawline, catching on the end of that curl. “If the prize is good enough, you better believe I’m not bettin’ anymore. I’m not throwin’ that away.”
“Are you taking advantage of the fact I can’t lie?” questions Gentaro, his head tipping just a fraction into those warm fingers. “How do you know that that wasn’t also a lie?”
“Easy.”
“Oh?”
“I trust you,” says Dice and he’s moved closer, they both have, and it’s Gentaro’s forehead he finds, resting his there, eyes searching his friend’s gaze. “So I’m gonna ask this, and you don’t hafta answer, but…” He claims the dice, prays to the god in them he truly believes in, and then takes the risk, “Do you not wanna be alone this Christmas?”
Gentaro doesn’t answer at first, his breathing quicker now. So Dice continues.
“Do you wanna maybe see what it’s like to, y’know, wake up next to someone on Christmas morning? ‘Cause for the first time ever, I kinda wanna try that. Not with anyone, just – uh, you.”
Gentaro’s gaze softens, or at least Dice thinks it does, because the man’s smile is unmistakable. “Are you implying I give out on the first date? I hardly even consider this a date. Though, you did lend me your jacket, so I suppose—” Again, like everything else that night, these past few months, he feels restless energy building. He feels that urge to touch, to feel, to hold. Gentaro is so pretty and his lips just keep moving, so kissable and real and fuck it, Dice does want to kiss him and try this out because he’s not getting any pushback yet.
So naturally, Dice cuts him off by knocking their noses together, trying to kiss him, but merely ends up making a mess of it and hurting them both.
Gentaro recoils, just an inch. And then, then they’re both laughing, Dice’s arms easily going around his friend’s waist. Their laughter, much like their rhythms and words, mesh so well together, highs and lows, and Dice feels like he belongs for the first time in a very long time.
“You really are something,” says Dice into the crown of Gentaro’s hair, lips pressed there, breath warm as he holds the most precious thing he’s ever managed to not gamble away.
“Says the one who missed,” lilts Gentaro and then adds, before Dice can speak up again, “Have no fear. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to prove your aim.”
“Oh yeah?” His heart races, soars, sings.
“Tonight, at the very least.”
“Think I can live with that,” says Dice and for the first time, he truly means it.