Archive of Our Own

Nishiyama Koutaro, 29

Haru would like to think he is a reasonable and respectable man.

But then again, it's common human decency to not be an ass when your crush rejects you. Politely, in a Kambe Suzue manner. But that rejection only reinforced their friendship and solidified their common goal of making one Kambe Daisuke laugh (because when this rare phenomenon happened, Haru was bleeding all over the laboratory while Suzue was too surprised with what just transpired on the screen to register the sound of his laughter in her earring.)

So maybe that's why Haru has accepted Kamei's invitation to a mixer. He has to admit he's been out of the dating scene for too long.

Far too long.

Six years too long when he first entered the police force, a wide-eyed rookie determined to prove himself to his superiors of his capabilities. He had no time for romance then. He surely has time now.

And it is why Haru is currently sitting in a dessert parlor in Ginza, a beautiful glass of strawberry parfait in front of him and his date he exchanged numbers with during last week's mixer.

Sitting across him is Nishiyama Koutaro, a 29-year old man working as a stockbroker in the financial district. He is dressed sharply, in a form-fitting suit with his hair slicked back (perhaps this kind of look is common among capitalists, after all), whereas all Haru has done is to remove his jacket.

It's a nice date, Haru getting to enjoy the company of another man while satisfying his sweet tooth. Nishiyama is a good conversationalist. He tells him how the market performed that day. Haru doesn't really understand that much, but with the way Nishiyama talks about it, he can't help but be at least mildly curious.

"--we suspected that insider trading happened because their price flew much more than projected."

"We arrested the CEO of this pharmaceutical company last year because of fraud."

"Ah, I remember that!" Nishiyama chimes in. "The day after his arrest, we saw how the company's stocks went red." From there, they talk about Haru's work.

It's nice.

Until it isn't.

--

Haru lets out a huge yawn as he nears his apartment. It's almost 11 pm, his time with his date caught him unaware. It's a good thing tomorrow is his day-off, which means he can sleep past his alarm.

Dragging his feet up the metal stairs, Haru fetches for his keys in his pocket.

And almost screams when he sees Kambe Daisuke, in a black hoodie, slumped on the floor outside his apartment, a plastic bag hanging on his arm.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Daisuke looks up at the sound of Haru's voice. His brows are probably furrowed, but Haru can't really tell because of the messy fringe covering his forehead. "I got kicked out of my own house by Suzue," he says, standing from his spot when Haru unlocks the door open.

"She lives with you again already?"

"Ah, no." Daisuke lets himself in, removing his shoes by the genkan and making a beeline towards the low table in the bedroom, as if Haru's apartment is his own. "Her penthouse is currently in repair after she blew it up from her experiments. So now, she's using my house and has kicked me out because, according to her, I might get harmed."

"Ah." Haru has long come to an understanding that he should never question this bizarre family, their bizarre technology, and their disregard to the norm of society. He inspects the bag, apropos of nothing, and sees a few cans of beer and a box of what looks like karaage from the nearby Family Mart.

"I don't want to intrude empty-handed," Daisuke says, in lieu of an explanation. Haru lets the millionaire take his purchases out and set them on the table while he changes into a more comfortable loungewear.

"By the way," Daisuke starts as soon as Haru returns, sitting across him. "What's a respectable officer doing late at night?"

Haru snorts. "This respectable officer went on a date."

"Oh?" He can hear the amusement in Daisuke's voice as he pops open his beer, that bastard. "I didn't know you're capable of scoring a date."

That earns him a kick on the shin. Haru believes he's kicked him hard enough. But if Daisuke's hurt by it, he doesn't show. His smirk only widens.

"How did it go?"

"It was nice." He looks at the crisp breading of the karaage in front of him. "Until he started dissing Cry to the Sun."

There is a choking sound, followed by coughing. Haru looks up to see Daisuke turning his face away as he continues to cough.

The older man frowns and kicks him once more "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything," Daisuke replies in between coughs.

"But you're about to."

When the coughing fit dies down, Daisuke clears his throat. "You let your love for detective dramas get in the way of potential romance?"

"Listen, if he already started a debate on interests on the first date, wouldn't that be worrisome for future dates?" He stabs a piece of chicken with a toothpick, a tone of finality in his voice. "Anyway, it's time for my 'boring detective show'. Got any objection, Kambe?"

Nursing his drink in both palms, Daisuke shakes his head. "I want to have a warm place to stay for tonight."

Takeuchi Ryousuke, 31

It's not that Haru is desperate to find love.

Far from it.

It's that he wants to, in better terms, expand his horizons… as Kamei has said. And just because he's already 30 years old doesn't mean he can't go out for dates and meet new people. He’s not that old, dammit!

Settling down with someone hasn't crossed his mind, but he'd like that, too, in the far future, together with the person he likes the most.

And so, two weeks after his date with Nishiyama, Haru is with a different guy at a ramen joint.

Takeuchi Ryosuke is his name; 31 years old working in a butler cafe in Ikebukuro. Haru has been in one after he was asked (read: forced) by Saeki to join her, coupled with batting eyelashes and puppy eyes from Suzue.

He doesn't know when they managed to form a sort of friendship. But it's a dangerous one.

Anyway.

It was a nice experience; unlike the stiff treatment he gets in the Kambe mansion. In that particular butler cafe, Haru felt...served. He can’t really explain, but he does see the appeal and why Saeki was adamant he joins them.

Takeuchi has a nice baritone, Haru notes, as he greets him when they meet outside the agreed restaurant. He also pulls the chair for Haru to sit on. While the move isn't needed, it's nice. Perhaps it's become automatic for Takeuchi to be this gentlemanly, given that his day job entails being polite and providing high-class quality experience for his customers.

They chat amicably, the usual "how is your day?", "how did work go for you?", and "oh, I actually prefer tonkotsu over shoyu."

Haru tries not to salivate as a hot bowl of ramen is placed in front of him. Despite today being a day-off for him, he hasn't really had the time to eat lunch because 10-year old Satoshi-kun from the unit below him lost his cat, and they spent the whole afternoon trying to find her. So really, no one can blame his stomach for gurgling quite a bit loudly.

The first drop of broth that hit his taste buds almost makes him want to moan because of how flavorful it is. Instead, Haru opts to curl his toes to spare himself from the embarrassing reaction. He is still on a date and he wants to make a nice impression.

Takeuchi, however, has a different idea of how first dates should go.

"This tastes like fucking dish water!" He yells, throwing away his chopsticks. Haru winces at the clattering sound they make as they hit the floor. "And the noodles are as thick as concrete! The instant ramen I make tastes better than this bullshit!"

His loud voice has attracted the attention of the other patrons. Haru wants to hide himself from the shame, tell everyone he isn't with this man. But a brief look at the hurt expression from the chef tells Haru he won't hide.

Slamming his chopsticks on the table, he grabs Takeuchi by the collar, and makes his date face him. "For someone who works in the customer service industry, you sure know how to disrespect the cooks who do nothing but to work for a living," Haru growls. The fear that flashes in Takeuchi's eyes gives him a petty sense of accomplishment, almost making him laugh scornfully because his date is all bark and not bite after all. "If you can't respect their hard work, then go make your own noodles and get the hell out of here. Our date is fucking over."

As if on cue, Takeuchi leaves, but not without a scoff to hide his embarrassment. On his way out, he earns a few jeers from the other customers.

The chef thanks Haru profusely, but Haru waves him off, tells him it's common human decency, and continues to slurp his noodles.

“It’s really delicious, oji-san!”

The chef, who looks to be in his late 40’s, smiles proudly. “Thank you. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

Ah, a family special. It’s no wonder why.

--

As thanks for defending him, the chef gives Haru another bowl of tonkotsu ramen to go.

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist!”

Haru helps people because he wants to, not because he wants the tangible rewards he gets sometimes. But he can’t say no to grace, and their ramen is insanely delicious.

The nights are getting colder as fall turns to winter. Haru lets out a breath as he finally reaches his apartment, making a mental note to bring out his scarf the next time he goes out. Fishing his keys from his pocket, Haru inserts it into the keyhole and…

It doesn’t click.

In fact, his door is unlocked.

Haru is a hundred percent sure he locked it before leaving for his date, has even quadruple-checked just to be sure.

Cautiously, he opens his door. There are no weapons nearby Haru can use in the case he comes face to face with the intruder. But maybe the hot broth of his ramen will suffice, just that it will be a waste (he hopes he doesn’t come to the point where he has to throw food for combat.)

A pair of slippers are placed neatly on the genkan. Familiar looking slippers. When Haru surveys the bedroom just across the entrance, his eyes land on a familiar mop of black hair sitting on the tatami, his back leaning against the bed. The television is on, airing some talk show.

“Kambe Daisuke,” Haru says evenly, or as evenly as he can, closing the door behind him. At the sound of his voice, Daisuke looks at him nonchalantly. “Pray tell, why are you in my apartment?”

“My heater is broken, and I needed a bath,” comes his reply, as if trespassing on someone’s house is normal.

The thing is they are now neighbors, at least temporarily until Suzue’s penthouse is finished with its renovations. The very moment Daisuke learned that the apartment beside Haru’s is vacant, he contacted the landlord and paid him a hefty sum to secure the place.

A hefty sum worth five-years of rent and utilities combined.

Haru likes to believe he is a great host to Daisuke, given the numerous times the man has stayed in his apartment. He will never turn him away, of course not.

But that doesn’t mean Daisuke can just barge inside and use Haru’s bathroom just because he doesn’t want to bathe in cold water.

Haru vocalizes the sentiment as he steps out of his shoes and crosses to where Daisuke is. Of course, he is met with a shrug and an “I’ll fix it tomorrow” in a flat tone.

It can’t be helped. And it’s not like Daisuke is a stranger.

For a brief, fleeting moment, a thought comes across Haru’s mind.

They’re work partners, that’s indisputable. They’ve solved numerous cases together, flown across the globe together, for them not to be.

They’re… friends. They banter, a playful back and forth every chance they get. Haru is comfortable with Daisuke, enough to let him know about his date.

Enough to allow him to use his shower.

“How was work?”

Daisuke stares at the tatami. "I didn't go to work. I took a day off today."

Haru raises a brow, placing the takeout on the table as he sits across his guest. "Something happened?"

"It's my mother's birthday today."

Ah.

The atmosphere turns awkward, Haru not really knowing what to say in this kind of situation. Should he say his condolences? Should he greet her a happy birthday?  Or would that be insensitive?

He thinks of Cho-san. He thinks of Takei-san. The pain of losing them still hurts, still fresh. They were his father figures after all, the men Haru's looked up to.

But Daisuke? He's known grief and loneliness since he was but a child, too young and too innocent to be a witness of the harsh realities of life.

Do they hurt the same way? Haru isn't really sure.

"I brought sake as a token of gratitude for the hot water," the millionaire says all of a sudden, breaking Haru from his train of thought. "It's on the counter."

Haru snorts. "You don't have to do that, you know."

"You're right. I don't." The smirk Haru is familiar with returns. Surprisingly, he likes Daisuke like this, prefers the mischief that accompanies it even if said mischief is a jab on Haru's pride. "But I figured an old man such as you would appreciate a bottle of sake."

Haru clicks his tongue. "Just for that, I will take away your future hot water privilege." He hears a chuckle next. That's a nice sound. "Have you eaten?"

Daisuke shakes his head.

Haru beams and takes out the ramen and the cutleries it’s accompanied with from the plastic bag. It’s still steaming hot when he takes off the lid. “This will be the only time I’m going to share my heroic reward with you.” He then pushes the bowl to Daisuke, who inspects the contents and takes a curious sniff like the damned picky eater that he is.

He watches with baited breath as Daisuke scoops a bit of broth using the plastic spoon and gives it a taste.

There is a momentary pause.

“It’s delicious.”

“I know!” Haru beams proudly. “We have to go there sometime.” He excuses himself in the mean time to change to a more comfortable clothing. On his way to the bathroom, Haru's eyes happen to land on the bottle of sake on his kitchen counter.

And does a double take because holy fuck, that's the sake Cho-san was raving about! It's one of the most, if not the most expensive bottle of sake in existence.

Of course, Kambe Daisuke has one.

Snickering at the thought, Haru continues his short trek to the bathroom.

--

The rest of the night is spent with good-natured chuckling from Daisuke and grumbling from Haru as he recounts his failure of a date, pouring another glass of sake for them both. Haru figures he's not drunk enough for such tale.

"Of course, you would defend the chef."

"It's the right thing to do, Kambe, especially if the food is good."

"Point taken." Daisuke agrees. And what an agreement it is, if Haru is to judge the empty bowl devoid of even just a drop of broth.

There is a lull that follows. Haru flips the channel to one that is showing some foreign drama series. Daisuke nurses his cup on his palms, taking small sips every now and then.

On the screen, the female lead bursts into tears as the older woman who called herself her mother begs for her daughter's forgiveness for leaving her when she was still young.

The action is very miniscule. But Haru manages to notice how Daisuke's hold on his cup tighten.

He doesn't say anything.

Haru understands, anyway.

He may not understand what is going on inside the millionaire's head as they continue to watch the back-and-forth screaming and begging of the actresses. But he somehow understands why.

"Tell me about Sayuri-san."

Surprise etches on Daisuke's face as he blinks up at Haru. It soon fades into something else… something morose. He empties out the content of his cup, perhaps for liquid courage.

"She was my best friend," he says. "Being the Kambe heir, I was expected to attend classes taught by a private tutor. You can say I had a stereotypical rich boy childhood, as what you often tell me."

"Stereotypical obocchan."

Daisuke chuckles. "Every once in a while, my mother would play with me; hide and seek, tag, any and all games a normal child with a normal childhood would play. She wanted me to be one despite the expectations placed on my shoulders."

And then it happened, are the words left unsaid.

He lost the one who tried to give him a normal life despite everything. He lost the one he most loved and trusted.

"You miss her."

It's an obvious statement.

"Terribly."

An obvious answer.

Haru doesn't know if the red tinge across the bridge of Daisuke's nose is brought about the alcohol or if it's him trying to hold back his emotions.

He doesn't know if Daisuke yawning is because he is sleepy from inebriation or if it's an excuse to wipe away his tears.

Daisuke doesn't say anything more, and Haru won't pry.

The female lead ends up casting her mother away from her office. Once the door shut closed and she's alone, she lets out a loud scream, sweeping all the contents of her table in a dramatic manner.

If only real life can bring back mothers who once thought were gone.

Would Daisuke embrace Sayuri-san?

Would it erase years’ worth of loneliness and pain and heartache? Of mourning and grieving over a lost mother, a lost friend, and a lost childhood?

If Sayuri-san were here, how would life be different from what it is presently?

Would Haru meet Daisuke?

Would they be neighbors, sharing a drink while watching soap opera?

Haru tears his gaze away from the television when the show goes for a commercial break, only to see Daisuke's head bobbing up and down, his eyes closed.

"Hey." He taps Daisuke's shoulder once. When he doesn't budge, Haru shakes him. "You're sleeping already."

The millionaire opens his eyes blearily, mumbling "no, I'm not. I'm just closing my eyes." before he falls asleep completely, snoring softly.

With a sigh, Haru gathers Daisuke in his arms and deposits him on the bed, tucking the threadbare blanket to his chin. Daisuke doesn't even shift, too deep in his sleep to even be aware of what just happened.

This is hardly the first time Daisuke has slept over, hardly even the fifth time. But this, Haru notes, is the first time he has seen the man sleep more soundly after they finally closed the dark chapter of his past. There would be nights when Haru would be awakened in the middle of the night to the sound of Daisuke's groans and whimpers, his forehead creased as he shifted on the futon. There would be nights when he would stay awake long after Haru has gone to sleep.

There would be nights when Daisuke would crawl beside Haru wordlessly. These are the nights when Haru would scoot closer to the wall to give his… friend more space. Their shoulders would touch. If not, their thighs. Anything, as long as there's contact.

Daisuke wouldn't say anything

Haru wouldn't ask.

But he knows, anyway.

I don't want to be alone tonight.

I know.

But the Daisuke before him, his face is devoid of anything except for deep slumber. His mouth is slightly gaping, letting out soft, small snores.

He is in his peaceful state.

And Haru hopes, as he picks up the empty bowl and the cutleries it came with back to the plastic to dispose of tomorrow, Daisuke will always have more peaceful nights.

Maeda Junpei, 30

Haru doesn't know what came to him last Friday night when Kamei, by some miraculous divine intervention, invited the Modern Crimes department to a club. One minute, he was refusing Kamei's urging for him to dance. Another minute, Haru himself was the one pulling at Daisuke's arm to join him for a dance because he did not want to stay seated on the booth to babysit a sleepy millionaire.

Tequila really is magical to one's state of sobriety.

And now, here Haru is, three nights later, walking around the Christmas market together with the man who slipped his number written on a napkin in Haru's back pocket while they were dancing -- nay, grinding their bodies together.

Maeda Junpei is taking up his dissertation at Waseda University. That night, he and his friends happened to be in the same club to unwind before they go back to facing their laptops.

It was how he and Haru met. Daisuke excused himself to the bathroom.

(He never really made it. Saeki waved a hand at him from their booth, inviting him over so they could watch Teppei do some body shots on Kamei.

And the moment Daisuke sat down beside her, he fell asleep.

Haru should know. He ended up bursting into laughter at Saeki’s panicked expression when the millionaire’s head hit her shoulder.)

"You sure he won't mind?"

"Who won't mind what?"

"The guy who was hanging on to your arms?"

"The gu-- ah."

Junpei is attractive, Haru won't deny it. He has jet-black hair. His eyes are blue, yet dark enough to look like black from afar. He has a lean body frame ("I was into aikido, but had to stop for a while because of my dissertation.") and he stands a just a few inches smaller than Haru.

Almost like--

"Oh, grilled oysters!"

Haru feels his arm get tugged towards the direction of the said stall. Junpei stands in line, eyeing the shells hungrily. Haru has to admit, he's feeling his stomach growl from the delicious seafood smell.

"Do you know that oysters are an aphrodisiac?"

He feels his brow twitch.

Junpei is attractive.

He is as horny as he is attractive.

Haru is no blushing virgin. He has bedded men and women alike in the past. But the thing is, he is never one for a one night stand. Call him old-fashioned, but he prefers to know his partner more before he gets to know their body. And it is why he called Junpei after that night because he wanted to know him more first.

Because, well, sex is more satisfying if you know the person more than their physical attributes, right?

He should have known with the way Junpei kept feeling up his ass at the club. Don't get him wrong. Haru liked it. Liked the feeling of being lusted over.

But god does he want to shove the man away because in the 15 minutes they've spent walking around the market, Haru's never heard anything other than innuendos the whole time. In fact, his libido is nonexistent at this point. He’s already been called “hot stuff”, been subjected to an unwanted “I love your pants. But I’d like them more if they’re on the floor” pickup line that’s as stale as the discounted bread he both last weekend.

Heck, the only reason why Haru knows Junpei is getting his doctoral degree is because he said the moment they saw each other outside the train station "my place is a few blocks from Waseda, and my roommate will be in the library to finish his RRL" coupled with a lewd wink.

Haru wants dick, but not he does not want to be objectified. And he's not horny enough to pick a sleazy douchebag to bed.

Once Junpei gets his order of oysters, they move to some vacant spot. He offers Haru a shell, but Haru shakes his head. He is not in the mood for aphrodisiac. He’s not in the mood. Period.

Junpei shrugs. "More for me, then."

He is getting bored the more time passes.

He also supposes he shouldn't let tequila dictate his sex life.

"Hey," Haru starts.

"Hm?"

He doesn't want this anymore, doesn't want to date Junpei anymore, doesn't want to have sex with him.

"You see--"

"Isn't that the guy you were with at the club?" The man cuts in, pointing an empty shell in front of them.

Haru perks up, following Junpei's gaze to see Daisuke.

Standing in line at a goddamn takoyaki stall just beside where they're standing.

"Kambe?" His voice must have been loud enough because Daisuke tears his eyes away from the half-cooked balls, his brows shooting in surprise at the sight of his partner with...his partner. And then he frowns, a slight downturn of his brows that isn’t much noticeable.

"Help me, you bastard," Haru mouths as discreetly as he can, taking advantage of the moment Junpei's eyes aren't on him.

Daisuke nods minutely. Go on.

An idea pops.

An incredibly stupid idea. But one he hopes will work.

"Love," Haru tries to suppress the shiver he feels from saying that, rushing towards the millionaire to make this act convincing. "I-I can explain."

This is so embarrassing. He hasn't acted and put on fake tears filled with desperation ever since he became part of his high school's drama club. But every minute he spends with Junpei is a minute of lost sanity. He just hopes Daisuke gets his point across.

Haru almost sobs in relief when Daisuke reaches a hand to his arm. "I know what I did was wrong but…" he sniffs, and Haru's almost convinced it's real. "Please come back to me?" His voice has a tinge of longing in it, and Haru has to commend him for being convincing enough. Inside, he wants to laugh. He's never seen Daisuke like this.

Beside him, Junpei rages. "What's the meaning of this, Haru?" He eats the last of his oyster, never once letting his eyes leave him. "You… I thought he wouldn't mind?"

"That was a mistake."

In a flash, Junpei is already grabbing hold of the lapels of Daisuke's coat. But Daisuke doesn't move, merely watching the man with his signature nonchalance.

And perhaps it is instinctual for Haru to pull Junpei's arm back as far as he can, pulling him away from Daisuke. "Get your filthy hands away from him or I will arrest you for assault and for disrupting peace in public." He growls, ignoring Junpei’s pained cries. “Go pick someone else who would want your dick because I don’t want that near me.”

“Okay! Okay! Just let go of me!” The other man finally surrenders, and Haru relinquishes his hold. But as he’s walking away from the pair, Haru hears Junpei spit out “you’re not a hot piece of meat, anyway.”

Haru takes a deep breath.

One.

Two.

Three.

Breathe out.

--

"I'm sorry about that."

"Don't mind it."

Haru purses his lips. He can't not mind it, not after dragging Daisuke into his own problem.

They're sitting in one of the steps that lead to a temple, away from the stalls and from the crowd. Daisuke has bought Haru his own tray of takoyaki, ignoring the terrified glance the vendor kept giving after the drama that unfolded.

"In fact," Daisuke starts. "I should be thanking you for being my knight in shining armor." His fake swoon elicits a chuckle from Haru. "And it's his fault for thinking with his penis, so he had that coming."

"I probably look pathetic for going on dates, only for them to fail in the end."

"How so?"

"Because they fail?"

Daisuke hums. "Isn't that the point of going on dates? You go for one, see if you're compatible with the person or not."

"I went on a date with Junpei because I wanted to know him before I bed him."

"And you found out you didn't like him after all." He presses a ball to his lips. Reckoning it still hot to eat, he places it back down on the tray. "I don't see why that is pathetic. At least you got out of it before anything even started."

Before he takes you to bed. Haru suppresses a shiver at the thought, a what-could-have idea crossing his mind before chasing that away. He doesn’t want to think about it.

"You're chatty and full of wisdom today."

Daisuke shrugs.

The air has truly turned cold, enough for Haru to take out his winter gear out of his closet. Small puffs of white are emitted in every exhale he takes before it dissolves into the night sky.

"Do you think I'm desperate?" He sighs, almost wistfully.

"As someone who's been alone for 19 years, I say everyone craves for companionship every once in a while." Daisuke doesn't provide any more explanation to that, taking a bite, instead, of his takoyaki when he deems it cool enough to eat.

Haru glances at the millionaire through his peripherals. Sitting here in silence, the chatters of the crowd becoming white noise, he feels something click.

What it is, he doesn't know.

Or perhaps he does. He just refuses to acknowledge it because he's afraid.

Three bad dates in. He's not about to risk another one.

Despite him wanting to.

Because he enjoys this -- this easy companionship with Daisuke. Eating with him, drinking liquor while he rants about his date. Daisuke doesn't judge. He just listens.

Haru doesn't want to ruin that.

And, maybe, Daisuke doesn't see him that way at all. Maybe he's just being a friend to Haru, fulfilling what a friend does.

Heaving another sigh, Haru pops a ball into his mouth--

--and almost screams.

Daisuke erupts into laughter at the sight of Haru burning his tongue, trying in vain to blow air to cool the takoyaki down, his eyes watering from the pain.

Haru hasn't gone on another date a month after the Junpei incident. Kamei tries to invite him to another mixer, but he refuses this time.

And, anyway, the whole MPD was thrust into a case involving the Prime Minister and a certain international human trafficking. Haru's never really had time for dates, choosing instead to go home directly after extended office hours, collapsing on his bed, work clothes and all. Sometimes, he and Daisuke will swing by the convenience store to buy discounted bento boxes for dinner. Sometimes, Daisuke would order food (escargot flown directly from France last Thursday night. Xiao Long Bao from his favorite restaurant in China last Saturday.) In any other normal circumstances, Haru would berate him for contributing further to global warming by spending money on international food deliveries. But he's too tired to care.

He's never had snails before, but the escargot was delicious.

It's come to a point where Haru no longer knows if the bed he's crashing on is his or Daisuke's.

The arrest of one of the Diet members for being the mastermind behind the organization has provided relief to everyone. It's now up to the First Division to handle the countless press conferences and interviews regarding the case, as well as tying as many loose ends as they can. But as far as the Modern Crimes are concerned, they are finished.

But it doesn't mean that they are now free from typing out reports.

Haru yawns for what is probably the 10th time in the past two minutes, staring blankly at the blinking cursor. The Americano Daisuke handed him this morning (afternoon? He's no longer sure what time it is) has gone cold, ignored in favor of trying (and failing) to have words come to his mind.

Speaking of.

Across his desk, Daisuke is not faring any better. He is just as sleep deprived as Haru is. And if Haru doesn't know better, he would think that the millionaire is asleep, his eyes shut behind those dark sunglasses.

But then again, his hands are not moving on air. Maybe he's sleeping after all. However, the clicking noises of the keyboard when he peers above the partition of their desks is enough for Haru to know that, no, Daisuke is not asleep. It’s just quite unusual, considering that the millionaire almost never uses the office computer.

"Oi, Kambe." Haru groans. He gets a grunt in reply. "How does Famichiki sound for dinner?"

Another grunt that translates to "I'm okay with that" in Kambe speak, or at least that's what Haru interprets it as.

Dinner plans settled, Haru goes back to his paperwork, wrinkling his nose at the sight of the lone paragraph in his word document. The blinking cursor seems to be mocking him for his inexistent productivity.

Ping!

His HEUSC mail lights up with a notification from Daisuke.

Must be Kambe's report. With that, Haru opens the mail as he finally reaches for his cold americano.

It's a good thing he hasn't drunk the coffee yet, or else he'd risk spitting on his computer.

Because that is not a report about the case.

Reasons Why I Like Kato Haru

• Cry To The Sun is corny but I'm actually enjoying it. As of writing, I am already at episode 31 out of 110.
• I want to go to that ramen joint with him and thank the chef who gave him the free tonkotsu ramen. It was delicious.
• He is nosy, but he doesn't force me to talk. Maybe when the weather is nice and things have settled, I will take him to Kaa-san.
• His apartment is homey. Who would have thought that a threadbare blanket would bring more warmth than my Egyptian cotton?
• I simply just want to be with him. I'm at my happiest when we eat dinner together -- whether it be his home-cooked meals or takeouts.
• He makes me want to try cooking.
• He makes me want to try.
• My life is a little better when I'm with him. I cannot fathom how it is possible for someone who is not blood-related to make me feel as if the missing pieces in my life are getting glued back together.

The list goes on, but Haru doesn't know if he can finish reading through it without combusting.

Did Daisuke really make that?

But, as he takes a peek on the man in front of him, Daisuke seems unfazed, still unmoving from his seat.

Maybe it's an error?

But?????

But????????

The sender is [email protected], the same work email Daisuke uses. And Haru doubts HEUSC is even capable of making errors. The most error it has done was not even an error but because Daisuke wasn't given access to certain information stored in the AI.

In other words, HEUSC is infallible.

In other words, this email is intentional. HEUSC just followed what was programmed for it to do.

In other words…

"Kambe," Haru calls him again. This time, Daisuke looks up.

Everybody craves for companionship every once in a while.

Haru enjoys Daisuke's presence, he won't deny that.

But he's afraid of this not working out between them. He doesn't want to lose their friendship.

But he likes me.

He wants to try because of me.

And with all first dates, it's always a matter of trying.

Right?

The inspector takes a breath. His heart races.

Maybe I should try. Because of him.

"Do you want to go on a date tomorrow?"

Kambe Daisuke, 27

Tomorrow finds Haru behind a pushcart, following Daisuke while Daisuke, in a surprising turn of events, does the grocery.

"Are you sure you can do the groceries?"

"Yes, I am sure," Daisuke replies with conviction, his eyes holding the same fire. They've been standing in front of the condiments' shelf for what feels like eons because Daisuke's debating whether he should choose the "one with the red cap or the green one?"

"Go for the one with the red."

"But the green one has less sodium." Nevertheless, Daisuke grabs for the one with the red cap before beckoning for Haru to follow him to the meat section.

It's kind of surreal how this feels almost like an ordinary day between them, despite their inverse roles in grocery shopping.

Despite this being their first date.

Haru doesn't feel any trepidations at all, maybe because he actually knows the person this time around. Or that instead of going on a restaurant, Daisuke has offered to cook for them.

Okay, so maybe Haru does feel some nerves because it's Kambe Daisuke Cooking Dinner. But that's a different story altogether and has nothing to do with them being on a goddamn date (!!!)

In the end, it's Haru who chose what beef cuts would be best used in curry mainly because he doesn't trust Daisuke enough to know his way on fresh meat.

(Maybe someday.)

(This is just the first date, after all.)

--

The curry… can be better. The carrots are a bit hard to bite onto. The meat is a bit overdone. But it's not inedible. With more practice, Daisuke can make a perfect bowl.

"This is my second time cooking curry ever since you asked me out," he admits.

Like Haru said, he just needs practice.

The thought of Daisuke cooking curry and how this echoes to the first time Haru cooked for him hasn't gone unnoticed.

In the past month, Daisuke's apartment has started to look more lived in instead of it being temporary shelter. At first, it only consisted of a twin-sized bed. But because of their weird cohabitation, Daisuke now owns a small table (for when they would have their sleep-deprived dinners after work), a spare futon (for when Haru would crash after dinner, too tired to walk back to his own apartment), and a personal refrigerator (for their leftovers). 

Suzue must have come over one night, informing Daisuke that renovations of her penthouse was already finished. But Haru isn't sure if that actually happened or if it was a fever dream or a hazy memory.

He enjoys having Daisuke as a neighbor, anyway.

And he wouldn't have thought that the smell of boiling curry would have this warm homey smell.

Even if Daisuke almost burned the roux.

Haru ends up asking for a second serving, anyway.

"So," Haru starts over a spoonful of rice. "You like me."

Daisuke raises an eyebrow. "What gave you that impression, Inspector?"

"Let's see." He hums, tapping his fingers on the table. "You agreed on a date with me. You have a list on reasons why you like me--"

"You saw that?"

"You emailed it to me."

"I did?"

"Yes, through HEUSC."

"I…" Daisuke breathes. "I used the office server, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." Haru nods. "Are you at your happiest today since we're...um, since we're eating dinner together?"

The other man doesn't reply, his eyes fixed on his curry. But the light tinge of red dusting the tips of his ears is enough indication.

Haru hides a smile over another spoonful of curry.

He is in his happiest, too, whenever he shares food with Daisuke.

But he won't type that in his HEUSC email.

--

After dinner, he offers to wash the dishes, a task Daisuke is all too willing to give up. Although the bowls are plastic, the millionaire has quite a Herculean strength and they both don't trust him not to break them.

"I have a question," Daisuke says, leaning his back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed on his chest. Haru regards him with a nod after wiping the last bowl dry. "Why did Asano let Watanabe get away after discovering that the Watanabe Corporation is a fake company?"

Haru pauses.

That's not the question he's expecting at all.

So, he's not kidding when he said he's watching Cry To the Sun, huh?

"Do you want spoilers?"

Daisuke nods.

Haru smiles. "It's because Asano believes Watanabe used his money to nab criminals. In his case, it's to help Asano arrest the corrupt CEOs" He lifts his thumb to smoothen the crease that is surely forming on Daisuke's forehead. "Just like a certain rich boy I know will do."

Daisuke sees him out after Haru finishes, their pinkies shyly linked as they stand outside Haru's apartment.

"How was it for a first date?" Daisuke asks coyly, a tiny smirk gracing his lips.

"Next time, I'm cooking the curry," Haru replies. It takes him a second too late to realize the implication of his statement.

The grip on his pinky tightens.

He rolls his eyes, his cheeks pinking. "Shut up."

The millionaire chuckles lowly. "I walked you home," he adds, matter-of-factly. "Don't I get a good night kiss?"

This time, Haru's face turns to red at the bold declaration.

"I don't kiss on first dates, I'm afraid."

"If we are going to be technical about dates, this wouldn't even be the first," Daisuke huffs. "Because by your definition, dates include food and getting to know the person you are with." He then touches his earring to activate his AI butler. "HEUSC, tell me how many times Inspector Kato and I went to eat dinner together and spent said time getting to know each other."

"56 times, Sir, including tonight."

When he relays the number, Daisuke gives him an all-knowing glare as if to say "I'm right. You can't deny it." and Haru wants to punch him as much as he wants to laugh.

"It's the semantics, Kambe."

The millionaire sighs. This time, Haru can't help the fond chuckle he lets out.

It's already late, the chill of the December night nipping at their noses. They still need to report to work tomorrow. Still, Haru can't bring himself to want to go inside his own apartment.

And Daisuke, like this with his hair down, wearing a thick designer sweater, looks irresistible. His stormy blue eyes gleam in the light of the hallway, as if expecting for Haru to break.

Haru hates how he says one thing and then wants to break the very thing because of this bastard.

Stick with your principles, Kato.

With a determined sigh, Haru turns the knob of his door--

--and is stopped by a hand tugging at his sleeve.

"You don't kiss on first dates, but I do."

And tugs him forward until soft, chapped lips press against his. Instinctively, Haru reaches his free hand to rest on Daisuke's cheek, tilting his head to press in deeper.

It's not the fireworks he's expecting. Rather, their kiss makes him feel the lazy current of ocean waves crashing on the shore. Calm and overwhelming at the same time.

It’s warm as the golden daybreak kissing the sea.

It’s warm, and Haru hopes this warmth tides him over until the endlessly freezing night turns to day.

Day. When he can see Daisuke again come morning.

The kiss ends just as soon as it starts. Haru watches as blue eyes open, finding his gold ones.

"That's cheating."

"You like it."

"I do." And just for good measure, the taller man brushes Daisuke's bangs away from his forehead and presses a kiss on the newly uncovered skin.

He can't help it.

He can't also help the laugh he lets out when Daisuke pushes his face away, his lips pursing into a slight pout.

"Good night," The millionaire says with a huff, most likely embarrassed from the action.

Or maybe because of the reminder that he's a head smaller than Haru.

Either way, Daisuke pulls away from Haru and goes back inside his own apartment, closing the door with a slam.

And if Haru's laughter goes a tad bit louder from the petulant display, that's between him and the neighbors who has probably heard his laugh.

He enters inside his apartment, letting out a relieved breath as warmth starts to fill his freezing body.

And whose fault is it that you're shivering?

Removing his slippers and leaving it by the genkan, Haru heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth. His body still hasn't recovered from the all-nighters, and he wants to get some decent sleep and not rely on caffeine (again) tomorrow morning.

That done, Haru jumps on his bed, grabbing his thin blanket and pulling it up his chin. But just as he is settling down, Haru's phone that's sat on the low table lights up with a notification.

Kambe [22:03]

I heard you went on a date again.

Kato Haru [22:03]

I do, actually.

Kambe [22:04]

Mind if I come over and tell me about your first date woes? I'll bring beer.

Haru bursts into more laughter.

This is what he wants, an easy back-and-forth banter with his date that sounds silly and meaningless to others, but one that makes his cheeks hurt from the smiles and the laughs. He wants moments that make his heart flutter.

And he's so stupid for even casting doubts on this relationship. Because Daisuke wants this to work just as much as Haru does. But he doesn't want to get too optimistic.

It's just the first date, after all.

But god does Haru hope it won't end in one.

Kato Haru [22:05]

I'll bring out the futon.  

As an afterthought, he adds before he loses his mind completely.

For the record, I think I like this guy.