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A long, drawn-out sigh escaped Tōya as he sprawled out next to Keigo, who was shuffling his phone to the side, onto the queen-sized bed of their hotel room. He flattened his head into a pillow to muffle his agonized groan. The sheer amount of emails, phone calls, and reporters straight up hassling him outside was ridiculous. There was an entire crowd in the lobby downstairs, in fact. They had jumped on him the moment they spotted him, and he had just barely managed to escape to the safety of their room. Why couldn’t they all mind their own business?
But no, they hear fucking trouble with the Todorokis, and they come swarming to gawk like it was another showcasing of the rich, famous, and Kardashians. He was fucking sick of it. Sure, his father’s crimes finally aired brought a rush of euphoria that any high would have a difficult time contesting with. He had lived with this burning hatred his entire life, wanting nothing more than to burn his father’s career to the ground. With the help of his father’s agent—former agent now—he was finally able to prove his father’s wrongdoings.
The thing was, for over ten years, revenge had been his single drive. Everything he did was to spite his father—the dyed hair, staples, niche movie shoots, sleeping then dating Enji’s agent—all of that had been in service of defying his father. But now that all the unsavory details of the Todoroki divorce had been exposed and Enji was a disgraced and blacklisted actor without an agent or director to offer him a role, Tōya was left feeling purposeless for the first time in his life.
“You’re free,” Keigo had said as they watched the TV projection of his father confessing to his crimes. But who knew freedom could be such a bittersweet experience?
All his body modifications suddenly itched red and blustered like they hadn’t since he first got them to ruin his father’s image of perfection. He hadn’t even realized he was picking at his tattoos too much until Keigo pointed out that he was bleeding. He was more conscientious after that, but the itching persisted.
He was itchy now, in fact, and it was everything he could do to clutter out the sensation with mindless tangents. He lifted his head up to Keigo. Golden eyes watched him with mirth. A hand reached out and laid against his head, fingertips rolling through his scalp. Physical contact was one of those things he didn’t think he would ever get used to, but he leaned into the touch anyway. Physical contact was one of those things Keigo wasn’t used to either, but he still offered pets and hugs, so Tōya could try to accept the affection in return.
“Think you’re going to live, princess?” Keigo asked with a soft chuckle. He sounds more exhausted than usual.
Tōya was also more exhausted than usual since all he could muster was “m’not a princess” in protest.
He waited for a contrary retort, but Keigo’s usual mouthiness never came. God, recognizing Keigo’s exhaustion was making Tōya realize how much more drained he was. After causing more scandals than he can count in his current, addled state, he thought he would have already built a resistance to the bullshit storm of reporters and hecklers that always followed, but this took the icing.
Fuck, this itch. He wriggled his hand to his other wrist and swiped at it once, then withdrew it before Keigo noticed the action. Ash-lined eyes turned in wrinkled suspicion told him that he failed with his attempt at subtlety. Accusatory glances had Tōya huffing and looking away.
“Should’ve gone with my original plan after all,” he muttered.
Keigo withdrew his touch; Tōya did not whine, because no, but disappointment had him rolling onto his side to face Keigo in a silently indignant inquest. Good-natured only about a quarter of the time. Surly and pungent the rest. Keigo’s expression lacked bemusement, and the short huff that escaped his boyfriend was not unexpected.
“You mean the one where you commit arson and other crimes that could have you locked away for a few decades if you’re lucky,” Keigo deadpanned. He did not look impressed, glaring at Tōya as though he should feel guilty for even considering such a reckless plan. In the past, he would have sneered and mocked anyone who suggested he “ought” to feel a certain way, especially in regard to the scum of a man whom he called “father.” This was Keigo though. If only because his disapproval came from a place of genuine concern and worry, Tōya didn’t. God knows what he would have done without Keigo to rein him in.
“Yeah, that one. Probably would feel a hell of a lot better right now.”
A blunt lie that both knew, but Tōya was remiss to acknowledge. The frown that tugged at Keigo’s lips, and the beads of frustration that seemed to roll discontentedly beneath the surface of his gaze conveyed what he thought of that particular untruth. He seemed to debate with himself whether he should take Tōya’s comment seriously or brush it off as yet another half-joke that he would probably mull obsessively over until his hairs turned gray.
“Nothing screams ‘family night’ like prison visits,” he said, subverting their gaze by brushing past Tōya’s shoulder to stare at the wall behind.
Tōya didn’t know whether to feel relieved or resigned that Keigo faltered to the latter. Always kinder than his wit implied. Or maybe he was too tired to put up a fight. It didn’t matter why, Tōya slinked away the moment Keigo pardoned the immediate discussion. One day, they would have to stop dancing around each other, sit down like at least semi-adjusted adults, and fucking talk, but today was not that day.
Because that’s what they were: adjusted. Right.
The painfully awkward way Keigo shuffled closer and laid a hand over his hip had him snorting. It was honestly more like Keigo was hovering his hand, like he thought Tōya might flee like a scared, wounded animal.
Tōya said nothing to the effect, but he hoped the way he pushed his way into Keigo’s space, pressing their bodies together unabashedly that had the dumb, gawking bird eyeing him in mild surprise conveyed it. He took great pleasure in the fact that he was the cause of the stupid face, but it wasn’t meant to last.
Keigo quickly recovered and moved his hand up Tōya’s side before stopping at the curve of his chest. He leaned his head forward and murmured, “Feeling affectionate today?”
He hummed, “Something like that.”
A sigh fell awry, landing quietly and muffled as he curved an arm behind Keigo’s back, tracing through his shirt the lines of the gorgeous, red wings etched on his back.
“Tired, then?”
Was that even a question?
“You’re not?”
He rose a brow at Keigo, taking in all the signs that said to the contrary. The tension that seemed built up in his muscles released all at once beneath Tōya’s pointed gaze in a heavy groan.
“Of course I am, hot stuff. This was supposed to be a vacation. How’d the press even find out? We only told your mom, siblings and—oh, fuck.”
Keigo’s touch stilled as he stared at Tōya with growing alarm. His bird had fucked up somehow, and it was written all over his face.
In a barely pitched whisper, Keigo confessed, “I told Rumi.”
That—wasn’t what Tōya had expected to be the thing that Keigo messed up on. Rumi was a reliable friend, driven, and not the type who would run her mouth about their secret getaway.
Confusion writ upon his expression. Noticing, Keigo explained, “Rumi’s current girlfriend is—chatty. I wouldn’t be surprised if she spilled the beans to a friend who spilled it to the press. Fuck,” he titled his head back to stare at the ceiling, “I’m really sorry, Tōya. I didn’t think Rumi would say anything. I’m sure she didn’t mean to, but—”
“It’s fine, birdie,” Tōya interrupted. Not unkindly—there wasn’t much to be done about the situation, and he couldn’t fault Keigo for telling his best friend. He didn’t want the fretting bird to agonize any longer, so he ran his fingers down Keigo’s back in languid strokes that assured, I’m still here, it’s okay.
“Anyway,” he poked Keigo’s forehead with his other hand, “Don’t you think this is an opportunity?”
Keigo stared incredulously at him.
“For what?”
“For my dad to see how much of a happy couple we are. It’d piss him off so much if we acted all lovey-dovey in front of the cameras,” he said, grinning cheek to cheek in a smile that he knew Keigo had come to distrust. Really, a shame. Bird boy used to be so pliable to all of Tōya’s ideas; now, he bitched about everything. Nothing was too sacred for Keigo’s brand of ire.
Wide-eyes, turned incredulous. Keigo’s lips formed a shocked ‘o.’
“Babe, I thought we were over this,” he waved his hand around between them, “spiting your father scheme. What ever happened to closure?”
Closure? Like Tōya could ever have closure after everything his father did to him. Keigo knew that, but Tōya opened his mouth to quibble anyway. Keigo was faster to the chase.
“You know I don’t mean it that way. I just—dunno, want to enjoy being with you without your dad in the background?” Keigo titled his head slightly, amber imploring understanding, before he added with a grumble, “And I don’t like other people spectating our relationship.”
It successively got a snort out of Tōya. Possessive bird.
“Don’t think we can do much about that. Curse of fame and all. Still, I can—yeah. I don’t like my dad constantly,” he frowned at the ends, “being the reason I do everything I do. I don’t want to be defined by him. I want—”
His voice faltered. I want, what? A lot of things. Too many things that he couldn’t voice. They left him feeling selfish, as though he hadn’t functioned on a purely selfish basis for the past fifteen years. But now that he actually had someone that he wanted to keep—couldn’t keep—wasn’t obligated—he was terrified that his ugly selfishness would scare Keigo away.
I want, I want, I want.
What was he, five?
“Tōya,” Keigo crooned.
Gold slipped through the folds of his rumination; talons picked at the blanket of loathing around his heart and unveiled it to a crown of light. Nails skimmed against Tōya’s cheeks. Weak—he was weak to reflective copper, and he leaned into the touch. Still, his heart, but it kept on fluttering in a strangely comfortable sort of way. Like an old friend, tired but content in its affection.
“Let’s elope,” was whispered into his ear, and lulled by the easy proximity, shifted his head in what Keigo must have interpreted as a nod when he smiled brilliantly at Tōya.
It made him feel light-headed, so he turned his head down and mumbled, “Off into the sunset?”
“Yeah, on a pretty, chestnut horse.”
“Do you even know how to ride?”
“No”—Tōya sighed exasperatedly, earning him a scoff from the offended bird above—“do you?”
“I took lessons.”
Keigo hummed in acknowledgement.
Silence overtook their conversation, wrapping around them peacefully. Tōya returned to the tranquility of his partner’s presence. A dabble of anxiety to pepper the dish, but unlike in the past, it did not drown out the sweet and savory of the moment.
This was nice. He wanted to sauté more in the atmosphere. He closed his eyes and bumped his head against Keigo’s chin. He heard a pleasant sigh as fingers wandered across his shoulder and to his back.
Just as he drifted off, he asked in non-pressing curiosity, “Pretty bird, did you ask me to marry you?”
A beat spent to bask in the moment, before Keigo replied, “I guess I did. Did you agree to marry me?”
“Hm. I guess I did.”
“Oh,” was breathed in the faintest of whispers.
Keigo suddenly shifted, pulling slightly back and exposing Tōya to the prettiest shade of wide-eyed gold, tentative in its query, “But we don’t have to get married this second, right?”
He silently cursed as the moments of gathered relaxation fled in a single, swift exodus. Wearily, he said, “‘Course not.”
“Okay, that’s good, ‘cause I kind of said that without thinking, and while I’m definitely serious about us, I don’t think I’m ready for marriage quite yet, and—”
Mid-way through the prattle, Keigo inhaled to take a breath. Tōya immediately interjected, “Keigo,” before he could continue babbling.
“Huh? Wait, did you want to get married now? That’s kind of quick, don’t you think? I’d think we’d wait at least a year before we got engaged. Then we could actually take the time and plan a wedding ceremony. The elopement thing was a joke. Unless you’d prefer to elope? I wouldn’t mind. I mean, what makes you happy”—
He rolled away and flopped onto his face. God, could the overgrown chicken stop squawking for once?
—“Tōya?”
“Noisy bird,” he groaned.
More squawking. The bed dipped on one side as Keigo scrambled over to him. It sounded like he was about to continue his previous dithers into a dog-driven train of thought. The little inhale that telled faltered, however. Before another silence, though unlike and awkward, could spill between them, Tōya propped himself up onto his arms and turned his head toward the gaping dumbass sitting next to him.
“I mean it. Jumping into marriage is a bad idea.”
Keigo nodded and slowly folded down next to him. Tōya folded his arms and dropped his head back into the bed, hoping this was the end of Keigo casually panicking over the prospect of marriage that he brought up in the first place. However, Keigo’s eyes never left him, rapt with attention that left Tōya buzzed and blood drowning in the luminent pleasure of someone’s pledge to him. He was an actor—the desire of the limelight sung in his veins. Keigo liked to call him a natural drama queen. As though he, Tōya’s darling partner-in-crime, had any room to talk.
“Neither of us are ready,” Keigo said. The way caramel dulcets drizzled steadily and dragged out every word seemed to prove Tōya’s point.
Lucky stars for Tōya, it wasn’t the end yet, but at least Keigo didn’t sound like he was about to pass out from asphyxiation. Improvements.
“Nope.”
“And we can figure out ceremony versus elopement—later.”
“Yeah.”
“When we’re not tired.”
“Uh huh.”
“Does that mean it has to be tomorrow?”
For fuck’s sake, why was his boyfriend like this? He reached out to Keigo and pulled him closer by the arm. He turned his head just slightly to catch the way long lashes fluttered against the lisp of messy makeup.
“You’re going to explode your head with all that thinking you’re doing.”
“Am I?” He sounded a little too amused.
Tōya snarked, “Yeah, so lay off your head already.”
“Thought you wanted me to lay on it.”
“One, that’s cheap. Two,” he caught Keigo’s smug grin and rolled his eyes—there was always remaining energy to be a wise-ass, it seemed, “weren’t you tired?”
Keigo adjusted onto a propped arm. “Going to sleep so soon?”
“You’re the one with the fucked-up sleep schedule, not me.” Tōya considered flipping the bird before deciding it was too much effort to lift his hand.
“Have you even taken a shower yet,” a finger pressed against Tōya’s bottom lip, “or brushed your teeth?”
A “no” on both accounts that had Keigo frowning and scraping at a bottom canine until Tōya opened his mouth ajar and swiped the top of the offending appendage with his tongue. Keigo quickly yanked his hand away and whined, “Gro–oss. Go clean yourself up!”
God, was it Tōya, or was Keigo just the prettiest guy he had ever met? Even though the thick, inky liner that he painted beneath his eyes looked a little smeared along the edges, it still defined Keigo’s eye into a slender, long shape and accentuated the warm, golden hues of his eyes. He would much rather keep staring at Keigo than shower or brush his teeth.
“Eh, too comfortable,” he said.
“Seriously, dude?” Keigo clicked and scrambled up. “That's fine, man, but I'm taking the shower then.”
He didn't make any move though, so Tōya watched him with increasing confusion.
“Uh huh?”
Keigo cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, no complaining if I end up using all the hot water, ‘kay?”
Tōya stuck his tongue out partially. Keigo didn't stick around after that. He climbed out of the bed, and Tōya heard feet pittering against the tile floor before he heard the sliding door of the bathroom open.
Just before it shut, Keigo called out, “Don't fall asleep on me.”
Tōya mouthed “I won't” beneath his breath, but he didn't grace Keigo so much as a noise to confirm that he heard him.
Anyway, in his defense, he had meant to keep his silent word, but listening to the pitter of the water pelting the shower’s floor proved more relaxing than Tōya anticipated. Knowing how tired Tōya was, he was sure Keigo would find it in his heart to forgive him.
Keigo glared at the unmoving mop of dyed hair, tattoos, and piercings snoring on the bed. He shook his head—he hadn't even bothered to take his shoes off, which was just unsanitary. Bottom scraping levels—literally, too.
He was still butt-naked though, only a towel to preserve decency. (Not that either of them really ought to care at this point, but Tōya had a thing about showing skin outside of certain contexts that Keigo would respect.) He leaned down to the suitcase at the foot of the bed and opened the flap. He fished for a clean set of clothes that might have been Tōya’s—they tend to steal each other’s clothes—and hopped and danced into them.
God, clothes were so fucking overrated.
Also, they smelled weird. It was the “traveler odor” as one of his colleagues called it. It wasn't stinky per se, but it was worse in its insidiousness.
At least he still smelled better than the lout who had forgoed hygiene and passed out while Keigo was still in the shower. Rude, and after he asked him to not fall asleep yet.
He slid under the covers next to Tōya. He reached his hand out and pinched a piece of black hair. It was unfair how soft his hair was, despite the fact that he hadn't showered. He flicked it between his fingers, begrudging to admit that Tōya’s hair was softer. Though, Keigo’s hair was still silkier, so whatever.
Tōya grumbled beneath his breath momentarily, and that was the only indicator that he might be conscious. He stilled a moment later, and though Keigo experimentally poked and prodded, Tōya didn't respond outside of expected reactions within sleep.
Out like a lightbulb. Lil’ firefly? Nighty night, nighttime not his scene. Cute.
Then again, Tōya always found a way to endear. It was an effortless endeavor on Tōya’s part, and Keigo ate it up along with the rest of his fans. Unlike the rest of his fans though, Keigo had a private exhibit of never-seen-before aspects of Tōya. Obviously—former agent of his father, all but officially confirmed dating him, but he felt the need to iterate it in his head anyway.
Fuck, he wasn't possessive, he was just—appreciative of what he had.
Just for good measure, he leaned his head against the crook of Tōya's neck and laid a hand over his abdomen. The physical contact felt almost natural now.
He sighed and rolled his shoulders, fine tuning the way his body fitted into the mattress. Honestly, he had been putting off going to bed because he knew he would quarrel with his sleeping position for at least an hour, and that would just annoy Tōya. He moved in minuscule movements so as not to disturb Tōya, every twitch and stir from the other side an anxious affair. They all eventually faded into the silence, and Keigo was given another breath to move. But just as the anticipation quieted, it broke.
Low tones from a fogged throat crackled, “Kei—?”
His heart quickened for a moment until he willed it to slow.
“Yeah.”
He heard a soft exhale. It lingered. Keigo tilted his head. The faint bathroom light (Keigo couldn't sleep in the complete dark, as childish as it was) illuminated Tōya’s figure. His eyes were half-open and glistened in bleary blue. Though they looked in his direction, they were too tired to process anything of note. Keigo could freely stare and Tōya wouldn't mind, so that's what he did for the next few minutes.
As he tried to make out the faint freckles that speckled Tōya’s cheeks and jawline, the blue slowly slipped away until Keigo realized Tōya had closed his eyes again. A sigh befell at how quickly he had gone back to sleep. Right as the last note of minor disappointment faded, in contradiction, Keigo heard, “Night.”
Woefully soft and saturated with drowsiness. Keigo's heart fluttered as endearment brushed past. He smiled a loose little thing, barely strung together by a thread of sincerity, but more honest than he was ever prone.
Quiet became the night before he replied, “Sweet dreams.”
Tōya was definitely asleep by then.