Work Text:
For the first time, Daisuke came home from work. He punched the code into the door-pad, waited for the latch to release, and stepped into the house.
Something was off.
“Haru?”
Their shoe rack still wasn't set up. Daisuke set his work bag down on the box it was packed in.
Several other boxes were piled around the living room, in and amongst the furniture- still covered in canvas drop cloth- save for the coffee table they'd had dinner at last night. The kitchen was a little more put together, since kitchen gadgets were a secret obsession of Haru's, but as Daisuke moved throughout the house, he found that most of their belongings had not been given a place yet.
“Haru?” he called out again, growing a little concerned at the quietness of it all. Haru had taken today off to unpack, but it didn't seem like he'd gotten very far. Had something happened?
“In here,” came a voice, muffled behind several walls. Daisuke rushed up the bedroom, but found only a half assembled bed frame, and some bins of clothes that had been opened- but abandoned. Haru wasn't in this room.
He wasn't in the master bath. Or the walk in closet. He was wasn't in the guest room either.
“Haru?!” Daisuke called again, and honestly he didn't care if the panic was clear in his voice. He did not like not knowing where Haru was; he did not like his mind showing him a dozen dreadful possibilities of what he might see when he finally found him.
“In the office,” Haru said, not bothering to raise his voice. Daisuke rushed in, not seeing Haru at first, until his eyes darted to the back corner. Haru was on the floor, behind the soon-to-be moved mahogany desk, knees pulled up to his chest. He had a large sweater on, and his hands had disappeared far back into his stretched sleeves.
“Hey,” he said, looking up at Daisuke. His voice was lacking in life, like the push of car that had no gas, but was trying to climb the hill anyway. His eyes were sunken, and his hair was even more of a mess than usual.
Haru sniffed, once.
Daisuke knelt so fast that he nearly banged his knees.
“Hey,” he said softly, squeezing in beside him. “What's wrong.” Haru didn't move right away.
“It's stupid,” he said, by way of posturing.
Haru always needed to object at least once, to give Daisuke a chance to back out now and just let him sulk.
It had been a long time since Daisuke had taken that chance. He pushed right through Haru's self-deprecating behaviour, and asked again, “what's wrong?”
Haru sighed.
“It's too big.” He laughed at himself, darkly, and shook his head. “It's silly, because I know this place is a downsize for you but...” He breathed in sharply. Daisuke put a hand on his back, as if on instinct, and rubbed. “I started to work on the bedroom but there was just so much space, even when I decided where the bed would go, it just didn't work- there was too much- on either side... and I just... got scared? I don't know why...”
“You should have called me,” Daisuke said. “I would've left work.”
Haru snorted, and rolled his eyes.
“Honey this is me we're talking about. I like my suffering solo and compartmentalized.”
“Suffering, Haru?”
Haru's gaze darted away, and he shrugged.
“I may have had an anxiety attack,” he muttered.
“For the love of-” Daisuke said. “Come here already.”
He opened his arms awkwardly in the cramped space, but Haru crawled over, sitting between Daisuke's legs and and leaning sideways against Daisuke's chest. Daisuke tucked Haru's head under his chin, and looped his arms around him. He squeezed, and Haru sighed into, deflating.
“Good,” Daisuke said, rubbing Haru's back again. “Relax.”
Haru tried.
“We'll get a new house,” Daisuke said, but Haru shook his head.
“We picked this one. I should just... I'll learn to deal with it like an adult.”
“Stop it,” Daisuke said, squeezing him again. “You deal with things better than I do. It's not your fault you've never had more than a 2LDK to your name.”
“I haven't even had that,” Haru muttered, half muffled by Daisuke's dress shirt. “And screw you, eat the rich.”
Daisuke chuckled, having heard that phrase a multitude of times in their relationship- usually when he found out something he'd considered normal was in fact excessive by commoner standards. Daisuke usually let Haru get away with it, because frankly some of the old monies and debutantes Daisuke had grown up with were pretty terrible.
Most people were pretty terrible, compared to Haru.
“I feel a little better now that you're home,” Haru said, after a lengthly silence. He was casual about it, as if it didn't just melt some portion of Daisuke's ever-thawing heart. “I'm sorry I didn't get much done.”
Daisuke shrugged, wholly unbothered. Haru was his priority, always.
“It's alright. What do you want for dinner?”
They ate on the coffee table again, wooden chopsticks and cardboard takeout containers. After dinner they both broke a sweat, grunting and moving box after box out of the office, until there was enough room to set up Haru's old bed. It was the single from his apartment, that Daisuke had waited long enough to replace with their shared king size.
That night they laid on their sides and kissed just like they used to, crowding each other just to stay on the bed, trying to stay quiet on account of Haru's paper-thin walls. In that room Haru finally relaxed for him, feeling contained. Daisuke didn't expect to be sleeping in the study of his own house, but he didn't really mind either. He supposed he understood the closeness of it all, the intimacy that Haru was used to. He liked the closeness too.
It turned out that, compared to the master suite, the study had an east-facing window. It meant that the sunrise crept into the room, the light finding the gold of the rings on their clasped fingers. Neither awoke in time to see it, the metal sparkling in the light and casting dancing refractions onto the walls- but that was okay.
There was nothing new to see. They already glowed.
Looks like it'll be a late night for me. You might as well take the car home.
I can wait- how long will you be?
It's already 9. Go home, Haru. I'll see you tonight.
Okay...
Love you.
Do you want anything from the store?
Love you too.
We need eggs.
Haru met Daisuke at the door after midnight. He was a ghost of a man; he floated in on air and kicked his shoes off without a word.
“I should have been there,” Haru started, but Daisuke turned to him, sharply, terribly.
“Shut up,” he said. “This isn't about you.”
“I just meant,” Haru started. His words dropped off again as Daisuke walked past, knocking Haru's shoulder as he went. “Hey!”
Haru felt his own anger flare up. He stared daggers at Daisuke as he disappeared up the stairs.
“Asshole,” Haru muttered, though there was at least a cause for it. Haru and Daisuke had been on separate jobs today- Haru manning a community outreach booth, while Daisuke had ended up pursuing the suspect in a money laundering case. It hadn't ended well. The suspect never made it to the precinct.
Kamei, the annoying but golden friend that he was, had texted Haru when he'd heard, giving a decent amount of warning for what kind of Daisuke was coming home today.
At the sound of running water, Haru sighed. At least Daisuke was taking a bath to cool down.
He trudged into the kitchen and to the oven that was keeping two bowls of curry warm. He grabbed a spoon and ungracefully shoved a few bites into his mouth, along with some of the rice, until he felt somewhat less hungry. They he shovelled the food into a plastic container and put it into the fridge.
He ran the tap on the bowls, but had lost all motivation to wash them tonight.
He retreated up to the bedroom, which had graduated from the study, to the guest room. It was still smaller than the master suite, but fit their king size bed with at least a few feet to spare. Haru climbed in and pulled out the book he liked to tell himself he was reading (even though he tended to pass out after 2 pages).
He tried to make himself look non confrontational, and not mad, because Daisuke was right, this wasn't about him- and what Daisuke needed now was a listening ear, and support, and patience.
Daisuke stopped in the doorway, a towel slung over his bare shoulders, pajama pants too long for his legs. He took one look at Haru and then turned around and walked back out.
“Hey!” Haru scrambled out of bed to follow him. Daisuke silently padded into the original master suite, which was currently just a storage room for all of their clothes, and pulled the futon out of the linen closet. He laid in on the floor and bent to start putting the fitted sheet on it.
“No,” Haru said, seizing the rest to the bedding from the closet, and holding it hostage. “Sleeping alone isn't going to make you feel better.”
Daisuke slowly turned, dead eye locking onto the bundle of sheets in Haru's arms.
“Haru,” he said carefully. “Give them to me.”
“No,” Haru said.
“Haru.”
“Daisuke.”
Daisuke inhaled, exhaled.
“I don't need you to tell me what will and won't make me feel better. You are not my therapist.”
“You don't have a therapist,” Haru said, petty. “But if you did-”
“If I did they would probably tell you to leave me alone,” Daisuke shot, cool, and cold. “It's your fault I'm like this anyway.”
Haru took a step back, and blinked at the words, which were a sharp and unexpected blow.
“I... I thought you said this wasn't about me?”
“It's not,” Daisuke said. He clawed at Haru, grabbing for the sheets, but Haru jumped back. “But before I met you this would all be nothing to me. He was a criminal Haru, there's not a single reason to care.” He shook his head, and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “But you. You just had to- you care. You made me care! About stupid shit like this- some scumbag who was stealing money from his job to pay for online poker instead of child support-" Daisuke inhaled a stuttering breath- "who wanted someone to pity him so badly that he waited until I was there, until I saw-” his voice cracked and caught. Suddenly he wrapped his arms around himself, and sunk to the floor.
Whatever anger Haru felt dissolved at the sight; he dropped the blankets and went to hold his husband. Daisuke flinched at his touch but didn't pull away.
“I saw everything,” Daisuke said. “I felt everything.”
Haru's heart broke in the face of Daisuke's pain.
“That sounds terrible,” he said. Daisuke shuddered, and sagged against Haru.
“It was." He exhaled, and it sounded- just barely- like relief. "It was the worst thing I've ever seen. I can't get it out of my head.”
“Well it just happened,” Haru said. “You're only human. You can't just feel nothing after that.”
Daisuke pulled away then, and sat on his butt. Haru let him go, but he stayed kneeling, waiting.
“You're not mad at what I said?”
Haru stood, held out his hand. Daisuke took it. Wordlessly they left the futon behind, and moved back in the guest room.
Daisuke suddenly looked very small as he shakily crawled in between the sheets. Haru flicked off the lights, then crawled in on the other side and pulled him close.
“My mom taught me never to go to bed angry,” he sighed, and tugged the covers up over them. “And I know it's not my fault that you have empathy- you always had it in you.”
A sob shook Daisuke, and he shuddered in a breath, trying to hold himself still.
“But- it is. You made me a better person.” Daisuke shuddered again, and buried his face in the thin fabric of Haru's t-shirt. “You're so good.” Haru felt a wetness through the fabric. “You're too good for me,” Daisuke whined, muffled. “I don't deserve you.”
“Okay come on,” Haru said, rubbing a hand broadly over Daisuke's back. “Enough of that. You think I married you for your looks?”
Daisuke snorted, messy and gross, but then his laughter was bowled over by another sob. Haru sighed and wriggled in place until he could successfully pull his shirt off. He handed it to Daisuke to wipe his nose on.
Daisuke laughed at that too, and cried, and then perhaps a confusing combination of both.
Haru held him through it all, until they both fell asleep.
In the morning Daisuke woke up first, and made omelettes for breakfast.
Haru looked up from his fancy plate of pasta, to his fancy fork, which had failed to prevent a fancy noodle from falling off and getting Alfredo sauce on his fancy suit.
Daisuke was purposefully straight faced as he handed Haru a cloth napkin. He was perhaps reconsidering the merits of taking Haru somewhere expensive for this particular milestone.
Haru said, “do you want to go home and get drunk after this?”
Daisuke said, “definitely.”
They went home and got drunk.
They didn't sleep in any of the rooms that night per se, despite have both a bed and a futon available upstairs. Nope, Haru woke up naked on the couch, covered with a throw blanket that would definitely need to be washed. Fast food wrappers and tipped beer cans littered the coffee table. And then, in front of his gaunt face, a mug appeared. Haru reached for it. The mug receded.
“Ah- no,” Daisuke said, his voice pleasantly raspy. “Sit up first.”
Haru sat up. The world sat up several seconds later. The mug approved, and pressed warm and comforting into his hands. Soft lips pressed against Haru's forehead, and a hand ran through his already disheveled hair.
“I love you,” Haru murmured, muffled by the cup. Some of the coffee inside rippled from the soft puff of air.
“I'm going to assume you're saying that to me,” Daisuke said, and sunk onto the couch beside him. A warm arm squeezed around Haru's lower back. Haru turned his head, eyes still just cracked open, and pursed his lips to demand a kiss. Daisuke laughed softly. His hair was a mess, his eyes sunken just like Haru's, and his cheeks still a little red.
This was a sight; no one else got to have Daisuke like this. No one else even came close to that soft smile, still so slight as if it were too timid to come out the rest of the way.
Haru kissed the smile, and made it grow. He kissed it again.
“I love you,” he said, against Daisuke's mouth. “Happy anniversary.”
“Love you too,” Daisuke sighed. “You're spilling coffee on the floor.”
Haru yelped with surprised and threw the blanket down to soak up the puddle.
Yep, he would probably need to wash it twice.
At exactly 1:16 am, Daisuke's phone rang. He jerked awake, glancing around the room to see nothing but a cold, empty space. Haru was right- the master suite really was too big, especially without Haru in it. He wondered briefly why his husband wasn't home yet- but then he answered the precinct's call and got his answer.
At 1:43, he arrived at the station. The MCPTF had all gone home, but Hoshino was there, clearly trying to think of something to say.
“I just... hope it's not him,” was what he came up with. To be fair, that was probably the best thing he could have said.
“Me too,” Daisuke said, his body so cold that his breath might has well have been visible with frost. “We've been though enough already.”
Daisuke followed the coroner down a long set of clinical white halls. In his years working in this building, he could never bring himself to become familiar with these parts. There was never a good reason to be here.
Especially now.
“I'll warn you,” the coroner said, looking up at him with as much sympathy as she could muster. “That fact that we were not able identify whether it was one of ours or not should tell you how bad of shape he's in. You should prepare yourself.”
Daisuke didn't hesitate.
“Let me see him.”
The coroner lifted the sheet.
The body underneath was pale, and terrible, and Daisuke turned himself to stone for as long as could, holding back the feelings, holding back the fear and forcing himself to look.
On the left hand was Haru's gold band, thin and simple, a symbol of something far more valuable than it's parts. It represented not a union, but a choice: to be together, in life, in death, in public, and on paper.
It didn't belong on this corpse.
“That's not Haru,” he said.
Behind him, Hoshino made a strangled noise of relief.
“How do you know?” he asked.
Daisuke shook his head at the poor soul on the table. With a gloved hand, he slide the ring off the finger, and dropped into an evidence bag. He'd have to look up how to disinfect gold later.
“It's loose,” he said, slipping the bag into his pocket.
“He's was wearing Kato's clothes,” Hoshino said, his voice floating.
“My husband has a scar on his thigh,” Daisuke said. “A run-in with the Yakuza, if you remember.”
“I do,” Hoshino said carefully.
“And a birthmark on his hip.” Daisuke turned his back to the body. “And some other details that I'll keep to myself.”
“Right,” Hoshino said, backing up a step as Daisuke took one forward. “But- Kato's phone was found, and he hasn't been seen since noon so...”
“So he's still alive,” Daisuke said. His body wasn't cold anymore. His heart was a reckless fire. “And waiting for me.”
The coroner gulped, and hastily covered the body back up. She made a quick excuse to leave.
“I feel bad for anyone who gets in your way,” Hoshino said, watching Daisuke as he glided out of the room.
“Don't,” Daisuke said. The world was a tunnel, dark and unforgiving. It had but one path, poorly lit and glowing red- and only one light at the end- Haru. “I'd make it quick for them. I'm in a hurry after all.”
Daisuke was a stubborn mule. Usually Haru liked that about him, but times like this were a little much.
“Honey,” Haru said, trailing behind his impatient husband. “I can carry my own bags!”
Daisuke stopped for a moment, turned, and looked Haru up and down. His eyes lingered on the tensor bandage on Haru's elbow, locked with a brace. As far as Haru was concerned, it was a vast upgrade from the cast it had been in, and the sling that followed; as far as Daisuke was concerned, it was just as bad as day he'd broken it. Daisuke narrowed his eyes and handed Haru the room key.
“Wow,” Haru said, pretending the card had a tangible weight to it. “I don't know if I can handle this- I'm still so weak.”
“You didn't have to carry yourself out of a gang hideout,” Daisuke muttered, and walked the rest of the way to their room with both suitcases in hand. “If you were there, you'd understand.”
“I was there!” Haru said.
Daisuke rolled his eyes.
“You know what I mean,” he said, and then added, “conscious.”
“Semantics,” Haru shrugged. He strode past where Daisuke had stopped, and used his sacred keycard privileges to open the door.
The room was a picture in a magazine.
Haru stared at the marble floors, crisp white linens on the bed, and in the curtains, glowing with the invading sun. The glass doors opened out onto a balcony that perched over a crystalline beach and a cloudless midday sky.
This was a real place, that existed in the world.
The wind smelled like the sea. Daisuke's hand was warm in his, and his lips were soft on Haru's cheek.
“Are you relaxed yet?” Haru asked, turning to face him. “We're on vacation now.”
Together they wandered back into the room.
“We've been on vacation since your shift ended,” Daisuke said, tilting his head. He lifted one of their bags onto the bed, and unzipped.
“No-” Haru said, and pressed forward. He stopped Daisuke with his good arm. “No unpacking. Just get your swim trunks. We're going down to the water.”
Daisuke rolled his eyes, but pulled his black shorts out of the mesh side pocket.
“I suppose it'll be nice to put on some cooler clothes.” Daisuke tugged at his buttoned-up collar for emphasis. Why he didn't at least wear a t-shirt on the plane was beyond Haru- except that it wasn't. He knew Daisuke had a lot of hang-ups about dressing down in public, but that just made it all the more heartwarming when he did.
“That's the spirit,” Haru said. “Now we're on vacation!”
They walked up and down the beach until nightfall, and then slowly retreated into the safety of the resort. Haru took his bandage off for long enough to swim in the pool, and up to the sunken bar were he and Daisuke hung off the ledge and sipped their unnecessarily pink cocktails. They lounged in the jacuzzi and chatted with strangers from 6 different countries (and naturally Daisuke's ability to understand them all was quite the conversation starter).
While Haru told the dramatized tale of how he he'd injured his arm (and Daisuke translated) Daisuke's hand lingered on his thigh, over the scar he'd had for a few years now. Daisuke's fingers had been going there a lot lately, tracing the ridges, and smoothing over sensitive skin. Haru wondered if he even knew that he was doing it- and if he did, what was he thinking about?
They wandered back their rooms drunk and full and giggling like idiots. Haru had enough sense to make sure they'd closed the doors and windows, before he turned around and tackled Daisuke onto the bed.
He woke up first for once, and quietly pulled on enough clothes to justify stepping outside. He wandered down to the dining hall to fill a paper plate with pastries and fruits, and desserts that surely didn't count as a balanced breakfast. He snuck a large to-go cup of coffee as well, and took it back to their room. They sat cross-legged on the bed, and ate, taking turns sipping at the “7/10” coffee, fingers warmly brushing each time it changed hands.
They listed to the ocean, and the breeze making the curtains float, and Daisuke said, “So what do you think?”
“Of the food?” Haru asked. “Or the hotel, or...?”
Daisuke shrugged.
“In general.”
Haru leaned back on his good arm, and glanced thoughtfully over his surroundings.
“Well it's not as big as our room back home, but it'll do.”