Archive of Our Own ^beta

He’s cornered by the idiot teenager squad in a matter of seconds. As soon as he walks out the door and dares to think optimistically about the day ahead of him, they descend upon him like a couple of hellish little rats bent on chaos and destruction. It’s Sara that tugs at his shirt to grab his attention, Joe who careens the three of them into an empty room (Nao’s studio, he thinks, judging by the half-finished portraits of Mishima in here) and locks the door. He’s dumbfounded as he watches the lock click into place. 

“Didn’t think it’d be that easy…” Joe remarks with a doofy grin on his face.

He blinks very slowly. “Well, we can’t always be on guard, can we? Not good for the heart.”

Sara scoffs at him. “Don’t act like you’re seventy and about to die of high blood pressure. You’re sixty at worst.”

He places a careful finger to his lips and pretends to contemplate that. “I look damn good for a sixty year old.” 

Joe muffles his hysterics into his sleeve, disguising it as a cough when halfway through both pairs of eyes fall upon and scrutinize him. 

Has he been kidnapped? By literal children? A human puppy dog and the actually capable Sara Chidouin, but still literal children nonetheless. What a blow to his pride. Sheesh.

“Why am I being kidnapped, huh?” 

The two of them exchange stares. Sara shrugs. “Joe thought of something funny.”

“Wha—?” Joe’s face turns bright red. “H-Hey, don’t put all the blame on me! You were totally down for it!”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t funny or that I wasn’t down for it,” Sara points out. “Just that it was your idea. So Keiji knows who to blame.”

“Guh…!” Joe wrenches back, acknowledging in all facets that he just got, for lack of a better term, owned. “Fine… yeah, I thought of something funny, but don’t get mad at me! It was Sara’s idea to kidnap you!”

Now it’s Sara’s turn to look embarrassed. He levels her with a look that he hopes conveys the true disappointment in her actions. A bit impressed, too, maybe, but mostly disappointed. She blatantly avoids his stare which tells him just how effective it is. He allows a small sense of victory at that. 

“You couldn’t have just… talked to me? Like normal people?”

“Prying ears!” Hisses Joe. He wheels a chair from behind a desk and pushes it towards Keiji. It awkwardly bumps into his knees. Not wanting to give in and play their game, he stares at it for a beat.

“What’s up with the chair?” He asks with not a hint of humour in his voice. Joe’s face gets all scrunchy and annoyed and a bit flabbergasted, so he breaks the facade with a cool laugh and sits down, crossing one leg over the other. To maintain his status as the cool adult here. To keep control. “Tell me what you thought of. I’ve got places to be.”

“That’s a lie,” Sara points out.

“No it’s not. Why would your friendly policeman lie to you?”

“Why would he indeed…?” Joe squints at him. That gives him pause, if only to wonder what in the hell the kid is even trying to get at. “Uh. Sara, you wanna explain?”

“No.”

“Sara!” He whines. “Fine. Okay, so you know how you do that whole… flirting thing? And it’s weird? And it makes people uncomfortable?” 

He bites his tongue. “Yep. What about it?”

“Well we thought it would be really funny if you did that to someone other than Sara. Because it’s sort of weird --”

“Just so you know,” he cuts Joe off before he can keep talking. “I don’t mean anything by it. Getting serious here,” for once , “but I would never make advances on Sara. It’s inappropriate. So don’t think I’m interested and get jealous or anything.”

He omits the part that he’s a homosexual from his little tirade. The kids don’t need to know his preferences. Hell, the adults don’t need to know his preferences. They just need to know that he’s never gonna be serious about flirting with a fucking kid— nope, no way. He’s also omitting the fact that he just does that shit to dodge questions,— sort of a bad habit, at this point— because Sara can be frighteningly persistent and accurate with her questioning. 

“Ok, firstly ,” Joe starts with red-tipped ears, “I’m not jealous. At all. Secondly, I know you’re not serious. ‘Cause you’re a good guy! And you’re also, like, a policeman, and they’re supposed to be good and not… bad.”

The intelligence shines through.

“ Supposed to be.” He points out. “You’d be surprised, kid… don’t think I’ve met more than a handful of good cops.” Himself definitely not included in that handful. Damn. Maybe ‘handful’ is too broad a term if he’s being honest. Two good cops sounds more correct.

Sara sighs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Now’s not the time to talk about corruption in the system—“

“It’s always a good time to talk about that.“

“—we should just tell Keiji what we wanted him to do. Right, Joe?”

“Oh!” Joe brightens up like a puppy being tossed a bone. “Yeah, okay, so we wanted you to flirt with someone else.”

Ah. The ever ambiguous ‘someone else’. Keiji racks his brain for options and finds that he doesn’t like what he’s coming back with. The kids would probably find it funny if he put the moves on Reko and then got the shit beaten out of him. Or maybe Nao, because then he’d have both Reko and the crazy fucking professor hunting for his damn head. All these options include significant bodily harm being done to him. He might just have to opt out of this one.

Plus, putting the moves on women is good and all, but it’s really not his thing. There’s the chance they might actually think he’s serious and into women and then he’ll have to awkwardly explain that, nope, he only likes other dudes— sorry to lead you on, but a couple of teenagers kidnapped me and told me to do it for the laughs, so I did it. Hope you can forgive me? 

Vivid images of his nose being broken enter and flash through his mind.

“Who is it.” He asks as a phantom pain runs through the bridge of his nose. At the amused look in Joe’s eye, he rubs the section of his nose where he knows Reko’s rings would impact the hardest. “Look, if you’re tryna get me killed I appreciate the planning and the sentiment, but being beaten to death because some kids told me to flirt with someone isn’t the way I wanna go.” 

Joe puts a contemplative finger on his chin. “No, I totally understand that… but I don’t think you’re gonna get the shit beat outta you?” 

“Definitely not.” Sara wobbles her left arm and derives a laugh out of Joe. “Spaghetti noodle arms.”

“Spaghetti noodle arms?” He echoes. Only one person that really comes to mind. “You’re suggestin’ Sou?” 

Joe looks impressed. “Slow down, Mr. Detective!”

“We think it would be a good way to get back at him,” says Sara with a glint in her eye. He’d be worried if he hadn’t met the damn guy. The malice in her gaze is completely understandable; the guy’s kind of an enigma, but mostly a dick. He shrugs and scratches at the back of his neck, trying to pretend like he hadn’t made his mind up the minute Sou’s face came into his head. He wants to say it’s because the guy is a fucking prick, a real asshole, but when he tries to put words to that mysterious feeling he gets when he thinks of Sou’s face, all vocabulary fails. It’d just end up being embarrassing for everyone involved. 

“Don’t gotta ask me twice.”

The two teenagers cheer and high five and he pretends that his fond laughter is an irritating cough. You know, to protect his ego.

--

It commences during dinner that night. He finds that his usual seat has been taken by Gin, and hell, he can’t really get mad at Gin, so he turns his gaze towards the empty seats. Remembering their conversation earlier today, his attention gravitates towards Sou. Flanked by empty chairs on both sides and looking not the least bit bothered by that fact, Sou’s brought his dumbass laptop to the table and is neglecting his plate of food as he rapidly types on it. Huh. No time like the present.

He throws himself into the chair next to Sou. Across the room he sees Sara and Joe perk up. He swears that they both bring out their phones to record, but he’s got no real proof because he’s too busy focusing on whatever the hell Sou is doing on his laptop. Call it a detective’s hunch. Sou narrows his eyes at him and takes off his headphones, angling himself so that his slight frame covers the screen.

“Do you need something, Keiji?” He asks with a thin smile that absolutely reeks of malice. Keiji can’t help but laugh at that. 

“Nope,” he answers, popping the ‘p’. Sou continues to stare. He doesn’t meet the gaze and picks at the food on his plate. In his mind, he starts to decode just what the hell he’s about to eat. He thinks the green stuff is spinach, but since it was Mishima and Nao cooking tonight he can’t be too sure. He does this for a good five minutes, cataloguing each section of his plate, as well as cataloguing the increasingly baffled stares he gets from Sou. 

Fuck, he hasn’t even said anything yet and this is already hilarious. 

Dinner is in full swing when Sou finally decides to talk again. Neither of them have touched the food on their plate-- him being too wary, Sou probably being too distracted. His voice cuts through the argument on whether water is wet that Joe had started with the rest of the table. Countless profanities are hollered yet they become nothing but a backdrop to the sickeningly sweet sound of Sou’s loaded questions. 

“Don’t you normally sit beside Miss Sara?” 

He cocks an eyebrow and turns to acknowledge Sou fully. “I usually do. Some kid took my seat, though, so I had to grab a new one.”

“And you couldn’t have sat anywhere else?” 

He grins. “Sounds like you don’t like me.”

If looks could kill, fuck, he’d be dead. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question, detective .”

“Ouch,” his shoulders shake as he laughs. “What, you wondering why I sat next to you?”

“That is exactly what I’m wondering.” 

“Keep wondering, then,” is all he says, turning back to continue playing with his food like the adult he is. 

“You--” Sou huffs; it’s a tiny noise filled with fury, something that reminds him of a spoiled little dog angry at its owner for not sharing their food. He tugs his beanie further down over his ears in what Keiji can only process as an attempt to hide how pissed off he is. Not that it’s doing anything for him. “I’m not sure what game you’re playing, Keiji, but I don’t intend to lose it.”

His shaking hands betray the reality of the message; he’s been disrupted to his very core. Sou enjoys holding the power in each situation, Keiji has noticed-- not that it takes a detective to notice something as simple as that. Those shaking hands grip his glass of water. As he moves to take a sip, Keiji shrugs. 

“Not playing any games, believe me. I just sat beside you ‘cause you’re cute. Hell, you’re even cuter when you’re mad, so that’s a win for me.”

What he didn’t expect is for the normally composed guy beside him to do a fucking spit-take as soon as he finishes talking. Fuck, he actually jumps. The conversations come to a halt and everyone turns to stare at Sou, whose cheeks and neck are turning an unbearable crimson colour. Water drips down his screen, seeps into his keyboard. Sou stands up, his chair screeching as he does so. He slams the laptop screen down and picks up his things. 

His scarf and beanie hide most of his mortification from a distance, but up close Keiji can see the tremors of his hands, the furrow of his brow. His nose is scrunched up in confusion as he regards Keiji. Their eyes lock. For a split second Keiji sees panic, until Sou steels himself and turns around, his scarf almost whipping Keiji in the face from the sheer speed of it all. 

“W-Where are you going, Sou?” Kanna asks with all the purity and confusion in the whole damn world. 

“ I’mgoingtobed --” he mumbles out. He trips over himself as he runs out the door, not once looking back to assess the damage done to his image. Keiji feels something unfamiliar swell up in his chest as Sou retreats.

Laughter replaces that feeling. He laughs in utter disbelief, carding his hands through his hair as Sara and Joe shoot him excited thumbs up. Fuck.

“Cute…” is all he manages to grumble to himself. 

For the rest of the night he can’t get Sou’s face out of his head, and he idly wonders if maybe he’d made a huge fucking mistake in accepting this stupid mission from those stupid teenagers. 

--

They run into each other in the middle of the night. He’s been thinking on and off about the implications of knocking on the guy’s door and demanding he explain what the hell kind of curse he put on his heart, and finally he’d decided against it and gone to grab a glass of water. That’s when they quite literally ran into each other . 

It would be romantic and heart pounding if Sou didn’t look ready to kill him. It’s not his fault he was rubbing sleep out of his eyes and Sou just happened to fucking run into him. He offers a hand off the ground and it goes wholly ignored. 

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s alright. Goodnight.”

Sou moves to push past him. Something crazy and stupid and literally insane in his head causes him to reach out and grasp his upper arm. It really is as skinny as he imagined it to be. Shit, the guy really is a twig. 

He doesn’t realize he has said nothing until Sou sighs in his direction, prickly and resentful. He swallows, finds his mouth is dry as the desert, then swallows again. Then chokes on his spit. Coughs into his fist for about a minute, his grip on Sou’s upper arm never faltering, and finally takes a deep breath to speak. 

“Uh.” His voice cracks. “You wanna… talk or something?” 

Cool. Fuck yeah. He’s going to throw himself out of his window the next chance he gets. 

His laugh is sweet with an underlying edge of venom beneath it. “Why? Do you think I’m too unstable to be left alone? Do you think I’m going to set the house on fire out of my boredom?” 

“That’d be funny,” he breathes out before he can think. “No, no… I just… you looked tired, and, uh… I know it helps for me to be near people when I can’t sleep.” 

What is he doing what is he doing what is he doing--

Sara and Joe aren’t even here to see this. He’s straight up just doing this out of his own volition. What is wrong with him.

“Hm,” says Sou. It’s not like it’s a lie-- the guy looks like shit. But when doesn’t he? “Nice of you to offer, Keiji, but I have things to do. Not all of us are so lucky to have zero responsibilities other than look hot and be charismatic.”

Hold on. His grip falters as his heart spasms, and Sou takes that moment to slip away from him, his face shadowed so deliberately by the environment that Keiji can’t make out his full expression other than the wide smile that permeates the darkness. 

“Night.” He hears Sou say as he slips away into the shadows. He stands there for a good two minutes.

“Night..?” He croaks out, wondering what the hell just happened and who the hell just hacked into his mind and shut off all of his higher thinking.

-- 

Morning of the next day and his head pounds like he binged an entire bottle worth of tequila last night, when the sad reality is that echoes of that conversation reverberated around in his head all night until it caused actual physical damage. He pops two pills with a hastily filled cup of water from the sink and stretches out his sore muscles in the dawning light of the kitchen. 

He’s up remarkably early. Fat chance that anyone else is gonna be up, so he’s safe for a while. He decides he’ll cook something, given how inedible last night’s meal was (and how Sou’s face has been fucking with him all night). With a quick consideration of everyone within the house and their sleeping habits, he surmises he’ll have around an hour of silence before someone barges in. Sara, probably, or Mishima. Both early risers.

He’s thirty-six minutes into a full plate of pancakes when the internal timer counting down to his inevitable breach of privacy buzzes and stops. Entering the kitchen with bags almost as bad as Keiji’s, Sou marks his arrival by a loud yawn. He turns around and is met with a criminally cute sight of messy hair and loose pyjamas and a soft, gentle face with nothing to hide.

Embarrassingly enough, he drops the spatula he was holding, and down plummets two perfectly good pancakes onto the dirty fucking floor. They both startle. The gentle expression warps until it’s frigid and guarded, leaving Keiji wondering if those few scant seconds of softness were real or just his stupid imagination playing tricks on him. They both stare at each other for long enough that the pancakes begin to burn behind him, the only indicator being the rise of an eyebrow from Sou and the literal burning smell behind him.

“You want some pancakes?” He chokes out as he tries to flip them but finds they’re stuck to the pan. Nice one, Keiji. Real fucking awesome and smooth. Without giving a chance to respond, he dumps them onto a plate and throws that plate far away from them. Moving on from that . Maybe he can salvage his image. “Didn’t know you woke up so early.”

“Does it upset you that you didn’t know that?” 

“Not really. Just surprised, is all.”

“Do I not strike you as the type to wake up early?”

He gives him a once over. “Eh. You probably didn’t even sleep.”

“That’s just stupid.” The red tips of his ears give away the truth. His eyes shift towards the charred pancakes that he, legally, can’t even count as food. “Are you really gonna serve those?” 

Of fucking course he isn’t. “What, you think I shouldn’t? I don’t know, they look delicious to me.” 

Strangely enough, a smile begins to creep onto his face. “Well, we can’t all be as good as Kai.”

“I think I’m pretty good…”

Sou brandishes a fork from god knows where and takes a stab at one of the pancakes. It doesn’t even dent . It’s a fucking molten rock. Had he a few less hours of sleep, he’s sure he’d be in hysterics at the sight. All he can manage is a tired wheeze. Sou emulates the sound, a bit breathier, and leaves the fork laid across the top like a ceremonial weapon atop a shrine. Their walls both fall a bit in that moment. They stand too close to one another, shoulders brushing, and the impact-- though unintended-- sends jolts up and down his spine. 

“You coming to breakfast this morning?” He asks lamely. The contact stops as Sou pulls away. The electricity shortstops his heart and leaves him a frazzled mess. He’s really lost his touch… not that he ever really had it in the first place. 

“No, I think I’m just going to starve away in my room if this is my only option of food for today.” 

It wrenches a laugh out of him. Sou’s face blanks for a moment, cheeks reddening. 

“I tried but, uh...” he stops; thinks of Sara and Joe’s words, then of Sou’s words, and finds that the only thing spurring him on in the next few moments is the beating of his own heart and the fluttering in his stomach. “I got distracted by a cute face. It should be illegal to barge in on me cooking when you look like that.”

Sou jumps back as if scalded. He thinks he’s gone and done it-- broken their very slight budding friendship over his knee-- but then Sou begins to laugh. There is a wild look in his eyes as he skirts around the counter to put space between them and leans across it to address Keiji. A wall, a barrier, a guard, but Sou is actively draping himself across it, and Keiji really doesn’t know what to think anymore. 

“If it’s illegal, then why don’t you cuff me, officer ?” He offers his wrists, palms up. Keiji swallows past the lump in his throat. Tempting. Too tempting. He doesn’t like this feeling. “Can’t have a dangerous criminal like me running around.”

“Dangerous criminal?” He chuckles out before he can think. The wrists drop a bit, as does the tricky smile. “Nobody with a face that pretty and a body that thin can be considered dangerous.”

“You look at my body?” Is all Sou asks.

His face heats up, “I… plead the fifth.”

A crazed snorting laugh. They delve into silence, Sou staring at him with questions in his eyes and fondness in his gaze. Fuck, it’s only been a day-- or has it been even longer and he just now realized the true reasons why he avoided Sou? Has this been brewing for a while? Is that why he could never look the guy in his eyes whenever they talked? 

Shit. Why the hell is he already falling this hard? What’s wrong with him? 

Their staring contest is cut off as an overexcited Gin runs into the room, yelling about how he smelt pancakes and will absolutely be the first to try them. Alice comes in quickly behind, echoing the same sentiment but with more arrogance behind it. He can feel a cold sweat overtake him as he realizes that he’s just been standing here bantering with Sou for… fuck, god only knows how long, and now the only pancakes are either: A) cold B) on the ground, or C) hard as a rock. Some are even all of the above. He pleads with his eyes for Sou to help him.

“I think I heard Kanna calling me,” he says as he leisurely strolls out of the room. 

Damn him. He can’t use any term other than ‘damn’, because he’s finding that terms like ‘screw’ and ‘fuck’ are starting to become relevant . 

--

Next time he sees Sou it feels like he’s been trapped with his stupid thoughts for thousands of years in a claustrophobic prison cell . In reality, it’s been about a day, and he’s just holed himself off in his room to think. He’s out now. Unfortunately. 

He sits down in the empty seat next to him yet again and ignores the stares. Thank god someone who knows how to cook made dinner tonight. He says so out loud, too quietly for anyone else to hear but just loud enough so that Sou has no way to back down from the conversation. Surprisingly enough he chuckles and responds, his shoulders no longer blocking the two of them. 

Progress. 

“Yes, Kanna is a remarkably good cook.”

“Damn,” he whistles softly. “This shit looks like a professional made it.” 

“It does, doesn’t it.” He preens as if the compliment was directed towards him; drops his shoulders once he notices the stare. “Why are you here this time, Mr. Policeman? Come to bug my innocent self some more?”

“I told you why last time.”

His cheeks turn red but he doesn’t close off. “Ah… well, then, let’s enjoy.”

And that’s that.

--

“I can’t believe he hasn’t called you or us out,” Joe wheezes as they celebrate the success of their plan with a few bottles of sparkling cider in Sara’s room. Not his idea of fun, but the kids seem to enjoy it. “I mean-- I’ve been videoing his reactions and he hasn’t even noticed ?” 

Sara pops a grape into her mouth. “He must be distracted.”

“Yeah,” says Keiji absently. “He must be.” 

Sara fixes him with an odd look. Joe doesn’t notice, continues to blabber on. “Isn’t he supposed to be smart? Aren’t hackers supposed to be observant?” 

“Ideally.”

“Whatever, it’s funny! I was thinking of doing the professor next. Wouldn’t that be funny? Keiji, what do you think? Would you be okay with putting the moves on Mishima?”

“I’d rather someone cute.” 

“What, you think Sou is actually cute?” Joe guffaws.

“...” He scratches at his neck and nods his head towards their unopened bottle, the epitome of calm and aloof. “Funny. Hey, could you pop open that bottle? I need a drink.” 

Another odd look from Sara that he ignores while Joe prattles on about how it's not actually alcohol. There's a thin line of sweat pouring down his neck as he sits and listens. He’s so fucked.

--

It’s become a routine, at this point. To sit beside Sou, that is. Even when Sara and Joe have made it obvious that they’re no longer paying attention and laughing at his advances, Keiji doesn’t give it up. He likes sitting next to Sou, likes talking to him, likes the sly jokes he makes under his breath that makes Keiji lose his cool like no one else ever has. It’s not a slow and steady downward slope like he had hoped-- no, it’s more like a pitfall trap that sends him tumbling and careening into a viper-pit of suffocating feelings. 

Eventually Sou stops asking his reasons. Eventually their chairs shift closer together. Eventually it’s commonplace for him to sit next to Sou, so common that nobody even looks twice when he walks right past Sara and makes a beeline for him. Nobody but Sara, that is. 

Damn her perceptiveness. 

“Hey, Mr. Policeman, do any investigating lately?”

“Nope. Do any hacking lately?”

Sou pushes at his food with his fork. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” 

“Ordinary for you is pretty spectacular.”

The tip of his ears turn red. “You’re one to talk.”

He huffs out a breath, “what, you think I’m spectacular? Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Good to know,” he says, a glint in his eye. “I’ll do it more often if it’ll get you to smile like that.”

He unconsciously touches his mouth with his hand. Yep. He sure is smiling. The realization only makes him smile more, a warmth creeping up his neck like a slowly spreading poison. Sou smiles back, shy and soft and gentle and adorable and all the things that make his heart feel like it’s beating out of his chest. 

Damn him damn him damn him -- why’s he have to be so fucking cute and charming? 

After dinner he gets a weird lingering look from Sara’s direction. She communicates solely through her eyes and, unfortunately, Keiji’s got no fucking clue what she’s trying to say with this one, so he shrugs. It doesn’t seem like an adequate answer, as her eyes narrow in the telltale sign that says ‘ we’ll talk about it later’ . 

And it’s funny, because they never do. At least not that day. 

--

The next day goes by relatively normally, Sara’s stare tinging the edge of his consciousness like an overly persistent ink stain. He makes Gin and Alice a whole stack of chocolate chip pancakes as an apology for that fiasco and then retreats before anyone else can dig more food out of him with stupid puppy dog eyes. That’s his one weakness. The rest of his day is spent reading in his room… and by ‘reading in his room’ he means contemplating when exactly he’d started to harbour any sort of feelings other than general annoyance towards Sou. The usual.

It really crept up out of nowhere. That’s annoying. He doesn’t like being caught off guard.

He gets a text from Sara at exactly 5:00 PM and finally lets go of the tension he was holding in his shoulders all day. It’s an invitation to dinner with her and Joe, so he shrugs, thinks why the hell not , and accepts. They’re getting food at a place down the road-- all on Joe, Sara assures him, because he’s not about to go out just to pay for his own shitty meal. He can just ask Kai to make it and it will almost definitely be ten thousand times better. But hey, if it’s on Joe, then why not? What’s he got to lose?

His dignity, that’s what he’s got to lose. 

He arrives two minutes early and yet somehow the two of them are already sitting down, conspiring amongst each other in voices too loud and whispers too harsh. He swears he hears his name when he walks up. Sara notices him too quickly, cutting off their conversation.

“Keiji! So glad you could come.”

Oh, something’s definitely happening. He doesn’t like this. All innate survival instincts advise against sitting down yet he does it anyways. Joe shoves a menu across the table and it spins akin to a top, landing perfectly against his folded hands. They don’t speak as they assess the overpriced food choices. Eventually they order and the silence turns contemplative-- sort of unfriendly, a little uncanny, and uncomfortable as all hell. 

Other patrons gossip and chatter, lit by the fluorescent glowing menus that sit above their heads like halos. He clasps his hands together and it makes enough sound that the two of them startle. 

“What do you want to talk about?” 

“N-Nothing!” Squeaks Joe. “J-Just a dinner between pals, y’know? Just hanging out!” 

Sara sighs out her disappointment. “Joe, you don’t have to lie. Keiji knows something is up.”

“H-He does?”

“I do,” he confirms. “Nobody just invites you out and offers to pay for food if they don’t have an ulterior motive. So cough it up.” 

“Jeez… detectives are scary.”

“It’s called basic intuition.” 

“Scary.” Joe shivers. 

He puts his head in his hands as Sara begins to speak. “We noticed that you’ve been talking to Sou a lot… you know you don’t have to do that, right? We really only meant for you to do it once.”

Joe nods very quickly and speaks in the highest register he’s got. “Yeah, we didn’t wanna force you into anything! It was a one-time thing, y’know? You don’t gotta keep talking to him.”

Sara leans in closer, talks quieter. “Unless you like talking to him? Is that it?” Ah, there it is. He keeps his face in his hands, shows no signs of the true effect her words have on him. His eyes are twitching. 

“You think so?” Joe whispers to Sara in awe-- as if she’s done anything remarkable by noticing his fat crush on Sou. “N-Not judging you!”

“Sure you aren’t,” he says so quietly that it’s a fucking miracle any of them hear it. Not like he really wanted them to hear it. It’s basically an admission of guilt. It’s him baring his heart and soul and going ‘ yeah, that’s fine, just take a long gander at every piece of myself I’ve kept hidden from the world. That’s cool’ . 

“Keiji…” Sara looks like she wants to keep talking but she’s cut off by the waitress slapping her food down in front of her. So swift, none of them had even noticed that she’d crept up on them. 

They eat in complete stillness. It would be tranquil if not for the ogling from both of his dinner companions. He was right about the food. Kai could do better. It would taste better at home, made by one of his friends, sitting next to Sou and trading jabs while the drones of meaningless conversation acted as background music to them. 

He clenches his fists so hard he snaps his chopsticks. Joe stares at him, utterly flabbergasted,with broth dripping off his chin and noodles hanging from his mouth. 

“Alright, we need to talk about this.” Sara decides for all of them that they’re finished with their meal. She waves over the waitress and swipes Joe’s card from him, grinning benignly as he complains the entire time. 

She leads the way during the brief walk back to the house, purposefully taking the longer route to prolong his suffering because she is wicked and horrible. 

“You can just hit me with whatever you want to say.” He points out after their second circle around the neighbourhood. The house has never looked so far away and so inviting. “We really don’t have to… walk around like a bunch of idiots until somebody cracks.” 

“I literally have no clue what we’re doing right now, I just like hanging out with you guys.”

“We know, Joe. The sentiment is shared.”

Sara turns around suddenly, something fierce in her eyes. She points a finger as if accusing him of a terrible crime. He swears he can hear a gavel hit wood in the background. “You have a crush on Sou, don’t you?”

He blanks. 

“Oh.” Joe titters before slapping his knee. Clarity dawns on his face. “Oh! That makes so much sense.” 

Her finger remains pointed at his nose. Eventually he lets his shoulders drop as he sighs in defeat.

“Fine. You got me.” 

The laughter cuts off. Silence. “Y’know, I didn’t really expect you to just come out and say it. That takes balls. Ha, wait-- d’ya get it? Come out?” 

Sara pats him on the shoulder. “Yeah. Good one, Joe.”

“Can we get out of the street, now?” He neglects to mention how uncomfortable he is now. He’s certain they can see it. Sara drops her hand and gives him an empathetic once-over that does nothing to help the jabbering of his thoughts.

“Fine… but we’re going to create a plan so the two of you stop dancing around each other.”

“I don’t think he knows how to dance.” He says with the craftiest grin he can muster. 

Sara crinkles her nose at him before turning and leading the way back home, finality in her steps. There is no escaping this. 

--

Their plan sucks and he goes to bed regretting ever talking to them in the first place. What the hell do kids even know about romance anyways. They sat him down and made him create a playlist for Sou, detailing all his stupid feelings. Once that was done they whisked him out yet again to buy a bouquet of flowers. He ended up getting the ugliest ones he could find just to spite them. 

One of life’s small little victories, you know? 

He and Sou end up bumping into each other ten minutes or so after the lights in the house have shut off. A ritual, of sorts, he thinks. He enjoys it; loves watching the way Sou will chuckle and lead him through the house, quiet, light on their feet, as if they’re wanted criminals. Wanted for staying up an hour or so past their “curfew” despite them being full grown adults. It makes him feel young again. Makes him feel good. Makes him feel… a lot of things. 

Nevermind that. 

He greets Sou with a curt wave. “Glad to see you out and about.”

“You too.” He yawns and stretches and Keiji averts his eyes so not to stare. Because he will stare. And it will be uncomfortable for everyone involved. They fall into step with one another, Sou cracking his knuckles in the dark, a telltale sign that he just ripped himself away from the screen after a day of virtual shenanigans. “You, Joe, and Miss Sara were out for quite a long time. What torture did they subject you to?” 

“Talking about my feelings.” He answers with zero hesitation. 

“True psychological torture,” crones Sou. “You’re safe with me, Mr. Policeman. I’d rather choke on my own spit than talk about feelings.”

“Nice to know we feel the same way.” That sounded weird and could be taken differently than intended. Uh. “Glad to see you understand me.” No, that’s too genuine. He clams up; coughs into his elbow. “So what brings your cute self over here?” He made it worse. He just keeps making it worse. 

“Kind of tradition now, isn’t it?” The darkness obstructs his view of Sou’s face. The halls are too tight. His shirt is too tight. He thinks he is suffocating. “To walk around and talk about nothing, that is. I like it.”

He’s dying. He’s dying. He’s dying. 

“Same,” he responds, mighty fucking proud at how his voice doesn’t crack. His next words fall out of his mouth in a jumble, absolute jargon to his ears and yet realistically perfectly understandable to Sou. “The kids wanted me to buy flowers for you. Sara and Joe. They thought you’d like flowers.” 

He chuckles. “Really? Flowers? Hm…” his eyes glint. “Do you think I’d like flowers?” 

“...not really. Doesn’t seem like your style. Besides, I got the ugliest looking ones there because they wouldn’t get off my ass. I mean if you really want ‘em they’re back in my room, but someone as pretty as you deserves way better.” 

“There you go again.” Laments Sou. He’s walking faster now. Fuck, shit, fuck, who knew that scrawny motherfucker could walk so fast. “Calling me pretty. Have you no shame?”

He’s jogging to keep up, footfalls slamming against the ground and surely waking everyone in near proximity up. “Not really. Nice that you thought I did. Shows you have faith in me.”

He swears Sou rolls his eyes in response yet he's too far ahead to really assess his facial expressions.

The sight of the living room has never calmed him so. Sou stops at a loveseat, contemplates, then flops down onto the couch. He hears it before he sees it-- Sou patting the space next to him, an invitation to sit down. 

Moonlight is the only thing illuminating the two of them at this moment, glinting off the clear glass of the coffee table, finding purchase in Sou’s eyes. He complies and sits, unsure of what to do with his hands. Real fucking smooth of him. For all he knows the guy could be livid at the prospect that Keiji bought him fucking flowers and now he’s going to let him down easily-- and by “let him down easily” he means “stab him in the fucking chest with the knife Keiji is certain he carries around”. 

He’s ready for it. He lived a… life. Not a good one, but a life. 

“So nervous, Keiji.” Sou says with a decisive air of calm. 

“Nervous?”

“What, are you a parrot? Yes, nervous.”

He purses his lips. “Some might call it that.”

“What do you call it?”

Nervous , he thinks. Terrified . 

“On the ready,” is what he really says. 

Sou’s laughter is like an oasis in a desert. He’d be waxing even more poetry if he wasn’t so fucking nervous . Sara’s encouragements echo in his ears like long bygone dreams. Just kiss him, just go for it, he’s obviously in love with you . Crazy girl. Teenagers don’t know anything about mutual interest , let alone the ever pervasive topic of love. 

The laughter peters off. A sigh, content. “What are you nervous about?”

The way you look at me, the way you laugh, the thing your face does when you’re relaxed. Anything and everything in the world and in this moment and it all has to do with you. 

“What do you think?” He asks instead. 

“Do you find it fulfilling to dodge my questions?”

He raises an eyebrow at him. Sou raises one right back. “Do you find it fun to keep asking questions?”

“Do you find it personally rewarding to answer a question with a question?”

“I don’t know, do you?” 

The smile dies off his lips. “Sometimes. It makes things easier.”

“Yeah…” there’s a phantom itch at the back of his neck, a prick. “Yeah. It does, doesn’t it.” 

“Funny how that works.” 

“Yep.” 

Tranquility is so often hard won in this huge house. Silence, he finds, is taken for granted. Quietness, stillness, calm-- these are all things that Keiji worships, keeps close to his heart. That’s why his room is always locked, why it’s so far away from the action. The stillness that invades the air now is nothing but uncomfortable, as if one move from either party could break the fragile cord that binds the two of them together, and then that would be it. Their budding relationship would be too shattered to put back together, no amount of glue or words or flowers or apologies or whatever the fuck would help. That’s what terrifies him the most, he thinks. 

Losing him. That’s scary.

Finally seeing somebody for the first time is a baffling experience. Seeing the kindness they keep hidden behind barriers, the care they so deliberately lock away, the love they neglect to reach out for and thus neglect to give-- finally seeing it all laid out is world-changing. Sou never caught his attention before-- mildly annoyed him if anything-- yet now he is all encompassing. Not a second goes by where his thoughts don’t lapse into daydreams of blue hair and red scarves, as if he’s a fucking thirteen year old again in the back of the class neglecting all his homework because a cute boy talked to him once . And he finds that he can’t bear to think of going back to the way they were before. 

It’s so tiring. He thought he was done with this. He didn’t move out here to fall in love. He didn’t even move out here to make friends. Financial necessity, personal necessity; a need to run from his past and the ghosts that haunted him. He didn’t expect to fall so deep into this trap. 

If only Mr. Policeman could see him now. What would he think?

“Wow, what a serious face.” Light teasing brings him back from the brink. Ghostly hands crawl back, tickling his shoulder as they release his neck. He can breathe again. “Care to share what you were thinking about?” 

Maybe he’d be proud of him. Maybe he’d hate him. 

“Ghosts,” he replies honestly. 

“Ghosts…?”

“You the parrot now or what?” 

“You the parrot now or what?” Sou mimics with an annoyed twist to his face, capturing his infliction perfectly. A crooked smile breaks out. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

His face is heating up again, heart pounding too quickly. He looks away. He takes a breath. Honesty is key. Honesty is the way to people’s hearts. 

He thinks someone told him that before. Load of bullshit. 

“Things I’d rather keep in the past. Just… thinking.”

“Thinking sucks.” 

“Not all the time.” Not when it’s about people you love; not when it’s about you. “Sometimes it can be beneficial.” 

“We’ve all experienced firsthand what not thinking can do to you.” 

“Not sure which of our housemates you’re insulting, honestly. I find it funny anyways.” 

“I could be insulting you for all you know.” 

A grin. “Hey, still funny. You’re always funny, so no surprise there.”

Sou regards him for a second. Stops fidgeting. His voice is too quiet, “yeah?”

He swallows nothing but air. “Yeah.”

There is an unspoken feeling buried so deep beneath those irises that it starts to choke the life out of him. He can’t define that look, nevertheless he knows what it means, because he’s seen it in his own eyes. Longing, maybe. Or regret, yearning, aching-- really, anything under that umbrella. 

There is an allure to the way Sou looks at him, a gravitational pull, and he lifts his trembling hands as the distance between the two of them seems to grow smaller. 

Smaller. Smaller. 

Smaller, until the only sensation he feels with acute sensitivity is Sou’s breath against his face. And it’s wonderful to be so close. It is. Yet he feels like he’s going to explode. 

They look at each other and Sou must not like what he sees when he gets a deeper read on Keiji, because he starts to pull away, a half grimace working into his expression. His mouth feels like someone shoved ten cotton pads into it. He tries to speak, finds that his tongue is numb. His hands are still shaking. He needs to say something.

“I’m tired.” Is all Sou says after an uncomfortable pause. His eyes turn unreadable once again; hidden, guarded. “Sorry that happened, Keiji. I’ll do better in the future.”

“What?” He manages to whisper. 

How long have they been out here? How long have they been sitting here? Shit, forget those questions-- how long has Sou wanted to close the distance between them like Keiji has since the fucking day he sat down next to him and started this confusing tirade? It’s slowly coming to him. For an ex-detective, you’d think he would be smarter . Guess that’s why the ‘ex’ is so prevalent. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” A venomous voice snaps him out of his maladaptive inner narrative. 

He fumbles with his tongue before settling on, “Like what?” You know, like an intelligent person. 

Wrong question to ask, apparently, because Sou’s lips press together tightly, as if doing so will block the outpouring of feelings. Keiji knows the tactic well. He’s intimately familiar with it. 

“I misread your signals and made you uncomfortable. I may be a dick, but I’m not that much of a dick. So I’m sorry.” 

His trembling hand manages to shoot out and grab Sou’s upper arm. Still so thin. Not romantic at all. He should have gone for the wrist.

“Don’t know where you got that from. Shit. I’m… lousy at romance. And communication. And… just about everything. I know I am and I’m sorry for that.” His grip tightens. “Sara told me to just get it over and done with, like ripping off a bandaid. Joe told me to play you the playlist I made.”

Something in his walls breaks and his eyes shift. He begins to laugh. “You made me a playlist ?”

“Not a good one.” 

“You made me… a playlist?” More laughter. It titters off into higher pitches, mixing with strange gasp-like sobs as Sou slaps his knee. Apparently it’s the funniest fucking thing he’s heard all day. “You made me a playlist. You, Keiji Shinogi, made me a playlist?”

“Are you a broken record or something? It’s only got a few songs on it…” he shakes his head. “I don’t know. Fuck off. Stop laughing.” 

That makes him laugh harder. 

“You’re gonna wake the whole house up.” Sou slaps a hand over his mouth, giggles still filtering through, eyes crinkled in mirth. He huffs out in his own amusement. “Cute.”

“There you go again!” He gasps out. “Ha… cute. You really think so?”

“We’re not playing twenty questions again.” 

Sou leans in closer, pointing a finger at his chest. He thinks that maybe he can feel his rapid heartbeat thump against his ribs. “You’re dodging the question again. Just tell me. I believe Miss Sara said to… rip it off like a bandaid?” His finger rests on his chin. “Would you like to put your playlist on? Would that help? Maybe dance in the moonlight as you confess to me?”

He whips out his phone and opens Spotify before his brain can catch up. “Yeah, I’d love to.” 

Sou pales before him. “I… you’re serious.”

“You weren’t?” 

The giggles start up again as a song begins to play. Something slow, sweet, contemplative. He was gonna fuck around and put on the shittiest band he could think of just to get more of that laughter. He doesn’t think he needs it. He stands up, wipes his pants off, and offers a hand. No more laughter. Somewhere in the background a clock chimes , signalling that it has finally reached midnight. 

“This is stupid ,” he hisses, all bravado leaving him as their hands touch. It’s a shitty waltz that is all tangled limbs and zero grace. It gets them laughing again, especially at the forty-six second point when the song crescendos and his speakers start to cut out into static. It sounds horrible. Shitty fucking phone. 

Sou’s hands are colder and drier than he imagined, his fingers longer and thinner than he initially noticed. His waist is as small as he gauged from endless staring. It feels good to wrap an arm around and pull him close, so close that their noses are touching. Closer than before. Better than before. Sou hiccups, silencing his laughter as the song returns to a normal volume. 

Keiji’s always been good at tuning out the world around him. He’s good at tuning out others, not so good at tuning into them when it matters most. He counts the seconds in his head that Sou stares at his lips... Five…. Six…. Seven...

“You gonna kiss me or what?” Sou’s voice comes out weaker than he thinks the guy wanted it to; breathless, airy. 

“You want me to?” 

“Twenty questions?” Sou echoes earlier sentiments. 

“I think I’d prefer truth or dare.” 

Sou snorts. It’s then that he notices his hands are shaking, too. “We’re not children, Keiji.” 

“You’re right.” 

Sou waits. “So…?” 

“So?” He grins. “You gonna dare me to do anything?”

“You’re an insufferable bastard .” Sou breathes out, the tranquility shattering. He drags him down far too forcefully by the neck, and then suddenly they’re kissing, and suddenly Keiji doesn’t notice anything else in the world. 

It’s everything he could have ever wanted. The light grows dimmer as their forms block the window, silhouetted perfectly by the waning moon, a portrait just waiting to be painted, a poem just waiting to be written. The song fades out, speakers crackling as the phone tries to decide if it’s finally going to up and die right there or keep chugging. 

He wishes, idly, that it had died, because suddenly the room is filled with nothing but Joe’s contribution to the playlist-- Crazy Frog’s Axel F. 

Apparently their wheezing is so loud that it wakes four people up. Kind of weird to explain why the two of them are dying of laughter in each other’s arms, bruised lips, red cheeks, all while Crazy Frog plays through busted-ass speakers in the background. 

Kind of weird, but mostly hilarious. It takes them ten minutes and then they’re left alone again. This time he ensures that there is no Crazy Frog to bother them. 

--

Keiji delivers the flowers the next day, early morning, when the sun has just started to rise. It takes their secret knock and a poignant cough before Sou opens the door. A wonderful smile spreads onto his face as Keiji greets him. This time he doesn’t try and hide the adoration that floods his features. 

Breakfast comes and they’re both late. Uncharacteristic. 

“Do you think…” Asks Joe to Sara in a not-at-all-subtle whisper. He forms two mouths with his hands and forces them to kiss. She smacks at his shoulder. He smacks at hers. They commence a smacking fight, whisper yelling the entire time. The others can hear Joe say ‘crazy frog’; only a select few of them truly understand the implications. 

“If one of ‘em is dead, dibs out on carryin’ the corpse,” Q-taro says as he stabs at his bacon. He was not one of the select few.

Gin pounds his tiny little fists on the table. “You’re the only one who can do it, meow! That’s just unfair!”

“If either of them are dead I’m taking their rooms.” Everyone stares at Reko. She huffs. “What? I need a recording studio.” 

“I mean, that makes sense…” Nao looks over to Kanna suddenly, something in her expression piquing her curiosity, and asks, “what are you smiling about?” 

“Kanna is… happy for them.” She shares a small private smile with the others that stumbled upon them last night. Mishima keeps an air of professionalism. Gin appears none the wiser; he hides it well. Kai has not left the kitchen for fear of running into the duo and hearing Axis F reverberate in his head yet again. 

“Happy that they have died?” Alice shudders. “Your cruelty knows no bounds.” 

“Dude that is not what she meant. She’s, like, seven-- ” Reko is cut off as the men of the hour waltz into the room. 

“What did I hear about one of us being dead?” Comes Keiji’s voice from the doorway. He’s looking well-rested. Happy, even. Their eyes all fall simultaneously to the blooming red chrysanthemum in Sou’s left hand. Joe and Sara don’t recognize it, and they both idly wonder where the hell it came from and where those ugly wilting daffodils that Keiji bought went. 

More baffling, however, is what is in Sou’s right hand; Keiji’s left hand. 

“Oh, hey.” Joe blinks into a large smile as the room delves into chaos. “I was right. Hey, Keiji, was the Crazy Frog romantic or what ?” 

“I would kill you if it weren’t illegal,” is the only answer he provides. 

Joe nods to himself, incredibly satisfied. Sara claps him on the shoulder in a genuine display of pride. They’re bombarded with questions over the duration of breakfast, hanging off of each other’s shoulders and dodging them as if they’d been doing it their entire lives. 

They make a perfect team, they really do. They play perfectly by their non-existent script, keeping their audience on their toes, all the while they kick at each other’s shins underneath the table. Keiji’s not sure if it’s love, really-- that’s not his area of expertise. All he knows is that this is the first time he’s ever felt such pure unbridled joy. 

All he knows is he’ll do anything to keep it.