Archive of Our Own

On a shinkansen bound for a wedding in Kyoto, Sakurayashiki Kaoru wonders if he’s seeing things.

As people continue to board the train, Kaoru catches sight of evergreen locks and all-too-broad shoulders covered by a tacky yellow and white striped top. He immediately averts his gaze once the pieces click together, suddenly taking far more interest in the view of the station platform afforded to him by his window seat. Carla’s voice interrupts his music with a monotonous warning of a rising heart rate, the bracelet around his wrist glowing a vivid violet.

He should’ve seen this coming. 

It’s only natural that Hiromi would invite the two of them, so why did he completely rule this possibility out? That only makes him wonder what brings Kojiro to Tokyo as well, when the flight to Osaka was far shorter. The train begins to exit the station and Kaoru forgives himself for looking away from the window, eyes immediately landing on a tuft of green hair three rows ahead to his right. When an irksome feeling begins to take shape in his stomach, he immediately looks away, slowly sinking into his seat.

Having to take an earlier flight to Tokyo for a client, Kaoru didn’t expect to see any familiar faces from Okinawa on his way to Kyoto. Not when the wedding is happening tomorrow, so he’s already late according to his own standards.

Yet against almost-all odds, three rows ahead of his right, Nanjo Kojiro is helping an older woman in front of him place her suitcase onto the luggage rack with a charming smile. 

How is it even possible that they’re sitting this close together when there are sixteen carriages? Kaoru frowns into his palm as the city rolls by them, willing his thoughts to focus on the music flowing through his earbuds. 

As the peak of their winter approaches, snow is beginning to build up and Kaoru can practically feel the impending chill in his bones. It’s been a while since he’s spent the winter season somewhere actually cold; Okinawa’s comforting warmth has spoiled him, ruined his tolerance to the cold that he remedies with a careful layering of heattech apparel. The shinkansen is estimated to arrive at Kyoto when night falls and Kaoru’s already dreading the harsh bite of the evening air.

Slightly muffled by his music, a laugh that tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with a painfully familiar warmth draws his attention away from Tokyo slipping past them. He can’t help it at this point, the way he shoots another brief glance at Kojiro’s back. The tan skin of his neck takes on a gradual red tint as he attempts to stifle his laughter at whatever he’s watching on his phone, his initial outburst cutting through the white noise in their carriage.

If the distance between them had been shortened by a single row of seats, Kaoru would be able to catch a proper glimpse of Kojiro’s face, the very face he would caress with featherlight touches, the very face that he now pushes away with a scowl and words laced with spite.

It’s been a while since he’s seen Kojiro properly smile at him.

Kaoru’s mouth twists into a slight frown when he looks away yet again, unsettled by the feeling that the two-hour trip will drag on for much longer than needed.

He turns up the volume of the next song.

—

The chorus of Thank you, my twilight approaches and the walls of Kojiro’s bedroom, all but covered in various posters, practically vibrate with the drums and electric guitar, threatening to take down the magazines on his shelves with every passing beat.

Kaoru shifts in his place on the carpeted floor, inching away from the shelf on the wall behind him when Kojiro returns with a needle in one hand and a small silver ring in the other. The last thing he wants is a stack of magazines falling on him when Kojiro’s pushing a needle through his lip.

“So just to double check, you’re absolutely sure you want this?” Kojiro asks, sitting in front of Kaoru. He sets the ring down on a flimsy piece of tissue paper beside a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Would you rather have me pierce my own lip then?” Kaoru asks back with a pointed look.

Kojiro huffs. “No way, you’d definitely fuck it up.”

Kaoru rolls his eyes, leaning back on his palms. He’s lost track of how often Kojiro’s been questioning his decision to get a lip ring, as if he’s the one who’s gonna have to deal with a fresh piercing. At most, he’ll have to put up with Kaoru complaining about the healing process, though it’s become almost muscle memory at this point with the amount of piercings he’s collected as of late.

“Let’s just get it over with,” he says, straightening his back only to lean forward, arms resting over his legs.

Kojiro looks like he’s about to pipe up again, but he sighs instead. Rather than mimic Kaoru’s position, Kojiro opts to kneel in front of him. Their close proximity catches Kaoru off guard, suddenly hyper-aware of both his own breathing and Kojiro’s. He tilts his head back slightly, lips parting when Kojiro positions the needle over the faint dot Kaoru had drawn on with a pen. Not once does he avert his gaze from Kojiro, whose thumb gently grazes over Kaoru’s lip when the needle pierces through soft flesh.

Kaoru flinches.

Kojiro grins.

It’s as simple as that.

“You good?” Kojiro breathes out, hand still cupping Kaoru’s chin.

He nods and Kojiro quickly slides the silver ring in with practiced ease.

There’s a faint taste of iron on his tongue when he relaxes, which doesn’t last long because Kojiro promptly places his hand on Kaoru’s shoulder, leaning in to gently dab around the piercing with a clean tissue. 

Kaoru’s pulse screams in his ears and it’s not because of the blaring music or the fresh piercing.

“There you go, now pay up,” Kojiro smirks and Kaoru shoves him away with a glare, cheeks burning.

“You’re already getting a week of free lunch. Don’t push it, asshole,” he says, reaching for the handheld mirror to see if there’s any damage to be dealt with.

As usual, Kojiro’s done nothing wrong and judging from his smile, he knows it as well.

“It’s a little off-mark but it’ll do.”

As usual, Kaoru doesn’t dish out compliments, free or otherwise.

It doesn’t wipe that smug smile off Kojiro’s face though. If anything, he looks even more smug when he calls Kaoru a liar, catching the balled up tissue thrown at him. 

“Gotta say, I’ve outdone myself here. It looks good on you,” he mentions offhandedly while binning the needle and bloodied tissue.

What did he just say?

Despite the warmth that rises to his cheeks, Kaoru lets out a noncommittal hum and continues to look at the silver ring with the mirror. Yamanaka Sawao’s hoarse vocals fill the brief moment of silence and Kaoru ends up humming along until he’s interrupted.

“Narcissist.”

Kaoru looks away from the mirror and sticks his leg out to kick a grinning Kojiro in the ankle.

“Surprised you know such a big word.”

He misses, but Kojiro stumbles into his desk avoiding his fate, knocking over a stack of old test papers. Kaoru snickers regardless of the lingering pain as Kojiro haphazardly gathers the fallen sheets, his annoyed muttering drowned out by the music. He shoves them into a drawer this time, then turns to look at Kaoru with a harmless scowl.

Kaoru doesn’t miss the way Kojiro’s stare drops to the ring around his bottom lip for a split second, nor does he miss the tips of Kojiro’s ears turning red against his forest green hair.

Interesting.

“Are you gonna stay for dinner?” Kojiro finally asks, leaning against his desk.

Kaoru looks up at him from the floor and says, “Only if you’re not gonna cook something spicy. The piercing won’t like it.”

“The piercing, huh.” Kojiro dares to smirk at him. “You sure you don’t just have the spice tolerance of a toddler?”

Pursing his lips, Kaoru twists to grab a pillow off Kojiro’s bed and throws it at him. It hits him square in the face.

—

The sun has long finished setting when Kaoru eats the last of his vegetable tempura and washes it down with some hot genmaicha. It’s more out of principle that he hardly leaves a crumb behind. Dinner had been average at best, but that’s his own fault for buying a bento box before he got to the station, where he waited for another hour—the downside of his constant need to be early to places.

He slides the empty box back into the paper bag it came with, then sets it down on the empty seat beside him.

It’s tempting to take his laptop out and dive into the monotonous world of unread emails for the sake of having something to do with his hands. However, his thoughts are currently occupied by the green-haired man three rows ahead of him, even if he’s stopped stealing glances. The last thing he wants is to get caught staring. Kojiro would never let him live it down.

Frankly, it’s embarrassing and Kaoru spends as much time berating himself as he does wondering what Kojiro is up to and what brought him to Tokyo, lingering on this indirect almost-meeting as much as he tries to brush it off as a coincidence. They aren’t particularly great at communicating with one another; they haven’t been for a year now. Kaoru still has Kojiro’s number blocked and it’s probably mutual, so realistically, there’s no way either of them would have known.

If this is a sign from the universe, it’s an awfully shitty one.

So terrible that Kaoru has a bone to pick with the higher being who set this in motion.

It’s unlike Kaoru to fixate on things like this. Maybe it’s simply morbid curiosity, to his own detriment. He rationalises it with the fact that he’s unbearably restless from the caffeine in his tea and a two-hour train ride is far from helpful, choosing to ignore the twisting and turning of his stomach every time his thoughts return to Kojiro. That too can be rationalised by something else—the bento he had for dinner to be specific.

Of course, there’s no point in lying to himself. He isn’t quite deluded or caffeinated enough to believe otherwise. There’s no point in acknowledging the truth either. Not yet, at least.

He takes another sip of his tea in a futile attempt to calm the drumming in his chest.

Perhaps it would’ve been for the best if he requested a change of seats to a different carriage.

When Kaoru thinks of what could’ve spurred this strange mood he’s in, he can’t bring himself to delete the pillows’ song from his playlist. Objectively, it’s a good song, even if it took him a few listens to truly appreciate it. Subjectively, there are various memories attached to it, all of which lead back to Kojiro. 

Carla stops him from increasing the volume any further.

Since the sun has set, there’s not much for Kaoru to look at as the train nears Kyoto. It’s all a blur of white, yellow, and red against black, everything rolling by far too quickly. Before he knows it, they’ve come to a stop at the station. Only then does he register that it’s snowing outside.

Kaoru sits up straighter now, cringing when his spine lets out a series of cracks, no doubt from attempting to make himself smaller and unnoticeable for most of the ride. 

It’s hard not to notice Kojiro when he stands up from his seat and walks down the aisle with his duffel bag in hand. When he redirects his attention back to the window, Kaoru annoyingly finds himself waiting for a stare to land on him, to feel the burn of a familiar gaze on the back of his head, searching for a reason to turn and face him.

Kojiro walks on without a falter to his step.

Kaoru lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding in, with a name still lodged in his throat.

—

Ainosuke’s departure lifts a heavy weight off Kaoru’s shoulders, allowing air to rush back into his lungs.

Admittedly, it left a strange hole in Kaoru’s heart, one he isn’t entirely sure he understands, but that is quickly cemented over by a reminder of the mess he left behind. Seeing the damage done with his own two eyes did its job in shattering the image Kaoru had of him, the image that he used to admire if not revere. It’s also made him realise that perhaps it’s a good thing that they won’t ever reach Ainosuke’s level when his talent comes with a hefty dose of obsession and moral depravity.

That doesn’t mean Kaoru wouldn’t take the opportunity to beat Ainosuke if it ever presents itself.

Things fall back into place the spring they graduate from high school. Kojiro helps, of course. When he isn’t working at his part-time job in one of the restaurants in their town, he’s skating with Kaoru, oftentimes around the abandoned gas station overlooking the glittering sea. The gas station had been their usual haunt that even Ainosuke couldn’t truly take away from them. Kaoru doesn’t believe he would have any reason to, but Kojiro has mentioned far too many times that he can get somewhat naive when it comes to their friend, for a lack of a better word.

Something else changes that spring.

His friendly rivalry with Kojiro intensifies, fuelled by a newfound passion ignited between the two of them. Whether Ainosuke’s departure is the catalyst behind it or if this was something brewing underneath the surface before they even met him, Kaoru isn’t sure. He places his bets on the latter though, the time Kojiro pierced his lip a frequently revisited memory, playing it over and over again until it loses any meaning—only it doesn’t.

It’s an accumulation of a number of things, really. Kojiro’s comment after he pierced Kaoru’s lip, getting their motorbikes together, the lingering touches that last a moment too long for it to be coincidental, the stolen glances at each other at the back of their classroom, the weight of Kojiro’s stare when Kaoru would gravitate towards Ainosuke. 

Kaoru adds something new to that list today when Kojiro pulls him close to his chest, narrowly saving him from eating shit after fucking up the timing of this one trick. His board, which continues rolling away until it hits a gas pump, is quickly forgotten.

Once again, Kaoru is painfully aware of how close they are, how Kojiro’s palm on the small of his back doesn’t feel out of place at all, how his own hand is holding onto Kojiro’s arm. He’d gone through another growth spurt over the winter break and the way he has to lower his gaze makes Kaoru feel incredibly small right now. It would be so easy to close the distance between them. He hopes the glow of the sunset behind them helps to conceal the sudden blush on his cheeks.

Yeah, something has definitely changed here.

“Geez, I told you to hold out a little longer before kicking,” Kojiro says and time carries on.

He lets go just in time for Kaoru to lightly shove him away, lips curled into an empty scowl.

“You didn’t even land it right either, so why would I take advice from you?” he huffs, striding over to the gas pumps before Kojiro can reply. Kaoru sits on his board and is only afforded a short moment of peace until Kojiro pushes the end of the board with his foot, causing him to almost fall sideways with the sudden momentum, an embarrassing yelp leaving his lips immediately.

Kojiro is laughing his ass off when Kaoru sputters, “You bastard!”

If his blush wasn’t obvious then, it certainly is now. This time, Kaoru hides it by fixing his hair while Kojiro searches for something in his bag by where their motorbikes are parked, all while making fun of Kaoru’s yelp. So Kaoru simmers in embarrassment among other things while combing through his hair with his fingers.

Then Kojiro is back, standing by Kaoru’s left side to lean over him. Kaoru almost hits his head on the gas pump from leaning back.

He glances up and sees the glint of a set of keys in Kojiro’s hand, followed by the unbearable screech of metal against metal, sending goosebumps along Kaoru’s arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kaoru asks, refusing to let his words waver.

“Just leaving my mark before I head off to Paris.”

Well, that definitely was not what he was expecting to hear.

Judging from the way his hand stills, Kojiro didn’t expect to say it either.

Kaoru wonders if there’s an unspoken apology in the way Kojiro glances down at him with a certain softness in his brown eyes. But maybe he’s just projecting.

“Kawatani sensei pulled some strings and landed me an apprenticeship of sorts with his friend over there,” Kojiro says, brushing off chips of old paint before they can land on Kaoru. He speaks of Paris as if it’s simply the next town over.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Kaoru.”

Shit.

Kaoru averts his gaze, hand coming up to lightly tug on his lip ring, a new habit he’s developed for moments like this. Moments that threaten to break his composure.

“Paris, huh,” he says instead of really airing out what’s on his mind. “How long will you be gone for?”

“Two years, at least. Probably longer,” Kojiro mutters, pocketing his keys before he sits next to Kaoru on the floor, back pressed against the vandalised gas pump. “Not sure if I’ll be able to visit home in that time, with money and all that.”

He almost sounds regretful and Kaoru can’t stand it, nor can he entertain the idea of Kojiro dropping the opportunity simply because Kaoru would miss him.

So Kaoru bites his tongue and looks at Kojiro with a faint smile dancing across his lips. “Guess you’ll have to drop your address when I come visit then,” he says.

“Shit, seriously?” Kojiro’s eyes widen and he tilts his head back to let out a relieved laugh.

“Only if you agree to be in charge of my food,” Kaoru adds with a smirk.

Kojiro snorts. “I knew there’d be a catch, you cheapskate.”

“Excuse me, I’m literally offering to fly across the world for you,” Kaoru says, narrowing his eyes at him to make up for the slip of the tongue at the end. His cheeks are burning again but he can’t bring himself to look away.

Kojiro only grins in response, a sight that makes Kaoru want to take a picture of for safekeeping, and he sounds all too pleased when he says, “Huh, I guess you are.”

—

Somehow, Kojiro beats Kaoru to the hotel.

Truthfully, it makes sense given Kaoru had lingered in the train a while longer to avoid any chance of running into Kojiro at the station. Yet, the second coincidence of the night leaves him feeling more unnerved than earlier. Around his wrist, Carla briefly glows a bright purple.

This boutique hotel isn’t the one Hiromi suggested, nor has it been mentioned by anyone else in the few occasions they talked about the wedding. Kaoru had picked this hotel for those very reasons. At least he could still have time for himself, uninterrupted in temporary solitude.

He wonders if this is some karmic retribution for something he’s done, either in this life or the one before.

Kojiro hasn’t noticed him yet and he plans on keeping it that way, walking to the furthest check-in counter away from Kojiro with his silver Rimowa in tow. If merely thinking about Kojiro is scrambling his brain, Kaoru doesn’t want to learn how he’d react to Kojiro actually talking to him. It’s incredibly childish when he thinks about it, as if it’s a schoolgirl crush keeping them apart rather than the final nail Kaoru had hammered into the coffin of their relationship.

How do you even come back from that?

The young woman at the counter greets Kaoru with a practiced smile, nodding along as he recites his booking details. Her smile tightens around the corners before evolving into an apologetic one, brows furrowed in concern.

“I’m sorry, Sakurayashiki-sama, but there’s been an issue with your booking.”

Of course, there is.

“There must’ve been an error in the system as the room you’ve booked is still occupied and we do not have any available rooms until tomorrow,” she says with a smile that looks more like a grimace.

“I see,” Kaoru says in lieu of a proper reply as he figures out where to go from here. He can’t help the sigh that slips past his lips, his patience wearing thin. There ought to be a suitable hotel nearby somewhere and there’s always the one Hiromi suggested, but that would mean sacrificing his plans. The young woman essentially suggests the same thing, listing a number of partner hotels and tacking on another apology along with the offer for a hired driver to take him to whichever hotel he prefers.

“He can stay with me.”

Kaoru nearly cramps a neck muscle with how fast he turns to look at his right. Kojiro has his hands in his pockets with a charming smile—far from the earnest one Kaoru hasn’t seen in a while—on his face, duffel bag around his shoulder, and it annoys Kaoru far more than it should that he’s still wearing some tacky short-sleeved shirt in the middle of winter. It annoys him even more that it’s a look he somehow pulls off every time.

He wonders if that’s translated in his expression.

“Nothing we haven’t done before right, Kaoru?” Kojiro says and it takes all of Kaoru’s willpower to maintain his composure.

The young woman’s curious stare doesn’t go unnoticed either, so Kaoru simply narrows his eyes at Kojiro, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his stomach and the warmth in his face. 

“What makes you think I’d want to stay with you?”

Honestly, he doesn’t really mean to sneer, for the words to come out as harsh as they did. It’s instinctual but their jabs typically don’t intend to cut this deep. Maybe it’s the amalgamation of all too volatile feelings beginning to rear its head, pent up by the radio silence between them, largely from Kaoru’s end. Maybe it’s simply his last line of defense against Kojiro’s perceptive nature.

From his peripheral vision, the young woman’s eyes widen and she quickly busies herself with the computer. Nonetheless, it doesn’t deter Kojiro, who only rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t say no,” he points out smugly. “I’ve got a room with double beds anyway.”

Kaoru’s face twists. It’s as much of a terrible idea as it is a convenient one, his thoughts quick to come up with reasons rationalising it. Would there really be any harm in sharing a room for one night? 

He turns to the young woman and asks, “Will there be a room available from tomorrow to Friday?”

She looks at the two of them, then back down at her computer and nods much to Kaoru’s relief, telling him that they’ll have the keycard delivered to Kojiro’s room tomorrow. He accepts another apology, then walks towards the elevators with his Rimowa without another word, Kojiro following suit.

“So, are you stalkin’ me or something? I saw you on the shinkansen as well,” Kojiro teases as they step into the elevator.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kaoru says with a glare. “I was in Tokyo for business.”

Ideally, knowing that Kojiro’s noticed him before this should be somewhat reassuring, but now he’s questioning why Kojiro hasn’t bothered to approach him until now.

“Right, right. And the hotel?” Kojiro continues, looking down at Kaoru with a smirk.

Kaoru wants to kick him in the shin.

“Not everything revolves around you,” he scoffs. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re even allowed into such an establishment.”

“Says the one who doesn’t even have a room,” Kojiro says, stepping out of the elevator when the doors finally part. Kaoru follows, half a step behind him.

“That was out of my control!”

He waits with a frown as Kojiro searches for the keycard in his pockets. The question of why Kojiro offered to let Kaoru stay in his room lies on the tip of his tongue, but he saves it for another time. It’s hardly the appropriate time and he has a nagging feeling that he wouldn’t like the answer anyway.

When Kojiro gets the door open, Kaoru takes five steps into the room before he freezes. To his left, Kojiro groans.

There’s only one bed.

“You imbecile, I swear to god—that’s a double bed, not double beds.”

—

He nearly knocks over a pair of wine glasses when a dull pain in his arm stirs him from his sleep, a sore reminder of everything that’s happened tonight. Carla tells him that it’s nearing midnight, so he’d only dozed off for a good ten minutes or so. Meanwhile, Kojiro is nowhere to be seen; Kaoru assumes he’s busying himself in the kitchen, either cooking something up or painstakingly wiping the surfaces down. Kaoru seizes the opportunity to down the wine from both glasses.

A part of Kaoru saw this coming, though he hadn’t been expecting to get literally smacked in the face with reality in the form of a skateboard. Another part, small but oddly optimistic if not childishly naive, held hope for the opposite, that Ainosuke would repent and make the effort to absolve himself of well, everything he’s done. He should’ve long accepted that their old friend is long gone—if he was even their friend in the first place.

At least that would’ve saved him a trip to the hospital.

The sling his arm is in makes it difficult to rest his head back on the counter, cheek pressed against the varnished wood as he stares at the blossoming plant at the end of the bar. It sits, tall and thriving, in an intricately painted terracotta pot he’d gotten for Kojiro when Sia La Luce first opened, among a variety of other grand opening gifts. There are traces of Kojiro in his own shop, smaller and subtler so as not to clash with the aesthetic Kaoru maintains. The windchimes, fragile yet resilient little things hanging by the entrance, are his favourite.

It has everything to do with how Kojiro almost always ends up forgetting to duck, so his visits never really catch Kaoru off guard. Sometimes, Kaoru will pretend they do just to indulge him.

As bruised as his face and ego are, Kaoru finds that the pain reduces immensely around Kojiro. He’d helped soothe the heartache all those years ago and it carries on until now that brokenhearted wouldn’t be the appropriate word to describe Kaoru’s current state. If anything, his frustrations lie more in the fact that he had to postpone and reschedule all his commissions to next month.

He doesn’t have the capacity for heartache from anyone else when his heart is solely Kojiro’s. It’s the least he can do, with Kojiro, ever so selfless, being so generous with his comfort and reassurances. Kojiro, an unwavering pillar of support Kaoru can always lean on. Kojiro, who is so incredibly giving whilst all Kaoru seems to do is take.

A new dilemma takes root then.

How unfair.

“You’re doing it again,” Kojiro says, snapping Kaoru out of his reverie when he enters his line of sight. He’s no longer wearing the chef’s jacket and there’s a combination of both amusement and worry in his eyes.

Kaoru’s hand stills. It’s been a while since he’s fallen into the old habit of toying around with his lip ring, only now he absentmindedly tugs at the spot where it used to be now that it’s closed. He lets it fall back to his side, closing his eyes when Kojiro gently brushes through his hair, now sitting on the stool beside him.

The urge to fiddle with the phantom piercing disappears like it was never there.

“You’re like a cat,” Kojiro mutters when Kaoru leans into his touch.

Kaoru doesn’t bother opening his eyes when he mumbles, “Am not.”

“I meant it as a compliment, dumbass,” Kojiro brushes a stray lock of hair out of his face, then resumes slowly running his fingers through Kaoru’s hair.

“I don’t even like cats.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t act like one. Cute, sometimes murderous, needy.” 

Kaoru’s eyes open then, the end of that sentence already ringing in his ears. He knows Kojiro doesn’t mean it that way, not when he’s looking at Kaoru like that . Yet, for the first time in a long time, that tenderness and devotion in his smile feels almost overwhelming. It’s frightening and Kaoru wonders if he’s dug himself into a hole he can’t get out of.

He forces out a sigh and trains his eyes on Kojiro, desperate for a change of topic. His chin quivers slightly, easily subdued by the clench in his jaw. 

“We’re not alone right, Kojiro?” 

Kojiro’s hand doesn’t still, but Kaoru spots the tips of his ears turning red, peeking out from wavy green locks. In a month, he’ll be asking Kaoru to help trim his hair in his bathroom that’s far too small for two grown men.

He laughs softly and Kaoru can’t help the way his lips curl into a fond smile. 

“You heard that?” 

Of course, he had. Kaoru’s practically wired to pick up on those tender moments reserved for him. It makes up for the shortcomings of him being a light sleeper, easily awoken by the slightest disturbance—Kojiro is an exception to that. Even if those moments are in great abundance, he can’t afford to miss any of them. 

“Obviously. It was your loud voice that woke me up,” Kaoru says, stifling a yawn.

Kojiro smiles like he knows Kaoru’s lying and Kaoru’s heart flutters at the sight.

“We’re far from alone, Kaoru.”

“Good. Because I can’t stand the thought of being alone anymore,” Kaoru admits in a mumble as he slowly closes his eyes. 

Kojiro presses a light kiss on his temple, “Don’t worry, I won’t let that happen.”

—

Kaoru’s lost track of how many times he’s tossed and turned in the last half hour. It feels like sleep has been evading him for much longer than that and perhaps the genmaicha he drank earlier is at fault here, but he refuses to leave his side of the bed. Primarily because he’s certain Kojiro will hog the entire bed should he choose to slip out and try to read himself to sleep on the armchair by the window.

But also because the last thing he wants is to show up to Hiromi’s wedding with dark circles and a sleep deprivation-induced migraine, let alone a cramp in his neck from sleeping on an armchair.

So he has no choice but to persevere and wait for sleep to come to him.

Kaoru turns again, landing on his back with a sigh, and glares at the ceiling. Kojiro is sound asleep on his right, face dangerously close to his own, seemingly unbothered by Kaoru’s restlessness and the distance he’s been trying to maintain. The pillow Kaoru had placed between them found its way to the floor not even five minutes after Kojiro dozed off. He’s convinced Kojiro chose that side to spite him, knowing that if he falls asleep at all, then he falls asleep much easier on the right side of the bed.

The temptation to get up and leave, to take up the offer to find another hotel, still persists in the back of his mind. It’s a mildly inconvenient solution to his problem, but a solution nonetheless. They never reached a compromise in their subsequent argument upon finding out Kojiro doesn’t know what a double bed means. Rather, the decision to share the bed is rooted in obstinance and ego.

At least, that’s what Kaoru convinces himself when he mulls over it.

Ideally, the familiarity of the position he’s in should make it easier as it once did. Things are different though. Because they’re under the same duvet, Kaoru shrinks himself as much as possible to avoid any type of contact with Kojiro, head resting on the edge of his pillow while tension runs through his limbs to stay as still as possible when he isn’t turning over. 

Kojiro doesn’t make it any easier for him as a clingy sleeper. Every time Kaoru feels an accidental brush against his back or his arm, any semblance of drowsiness quickly dissipates as he inches away, closer to the edge of the bed.

This time, he turns over to his right.

“Oh my god, will you stop fucking moving?” Kojiro’s sleep-laden voice cuts through the white noise of the room. 

The hairs on the back of Kaoru’s neck rise. 

His glasses are folded neatly atop the bedside table and so, the background behind Kojiro is a blurred mess of silhouettes against the pale glow of the moon’s rays filtering in from a gap in the curtains, leaving Kojiro in perfect focus in front of him. His hair is tousled all over the place and there are crease marks on his cheek from the pillowcase and still, it’s an awfully endearing sight. Then there it is, the deep ache in his chest.

“If you didn’t take the right side, this wouldn’t be a problem,” Kaoru starts off strong, accusatory, but the slightest tremble in the end says it all. Screw this.

He’s about to sit up when a firm arm curls around his waist, holding him down before he can leave. The sound of protest quickly dies in his throat when Kojiro draws him close against his chest until their noses are almost touching. And somehow, despite the distance forged within a year, Kojiro’s touch, even just the slightest, relieves that ache bit by bit.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Kojiro mutters, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

Kaoru refuses to meet his stare, focusing on the green curls pressed against the white pillow.

It’s upsetting, the way his heart responds to Kojiro, hammering against its ivory cage at the comfort his touch brings. And Kaoru’s heart is selfish in its search for the solace only Kojiro can offer. That much has always been undeniable.

He doesn’t know how long they remain that way, uncharacteristically quiet and sombre. It feels like hours have gone by, but it could be a mere handful of minutes for all Kaoru knows. Like this, Kojiro’s steady breathing can easily lull him to sleep and it almost does until Kojiro breaks the ice with a whisper that feels impossibly sad.

“Why did you leave, Kaoru?”

He isn’t sure if he was meant to hear that, but he forces out an answer nonetheless.

“It was for the best,” Kaoru mumbles weakly, words lacking any conviction whatsoever. Rather, regret and shame trickle into his tone instead. Even after a year, he still doesn’t have an answer for Kojiro. So, what does that say about him?

Kojiro’s low chuckle is a bitter, disbelieving one. 

“You didn’t have to completely shut me out,” he says. “You blocked my number, didn’t you?”

Silently, Kaoru wades in that regret and shame, enough to answer Kojiro’s question.

“Y’know, when you said you wanted a break, I didn’t think you’d be gone for an entire year. I think I would’ve rather had you break up with me,” Kojiro idly continues. “Did it help? The year away.” 

From me goes unsaid here, but Kaoru hears it loud and clear and it stings. Because that isn’t the case at all, never has been and never will be. Not when, even now, Kojiro is still concerned for him, turning down the opportunity to air out his frustrations to ask how Kaoru has been doing despite what he’s put him through.

Hesitantly, Kaoru lifts his gaze to meet Kojiro’s, guilt latching onto his words when he mumbles, “No, it didn’t.”

The only thing the year has taught him is that it wasn’t being alone that he had been afraid of, but loneliness instead, an immensely suffocating one. That there’s a difference between the two, between personal space and having no one, and he found himself wishing he didn’t have to learn about it firsthand. It’s taught him that the latter manifests in sleepless nights and an agonising kind of yearning that follows him throughout the day.

He tells Kojiro as much, everything spilling out from the seams in muttered fragments. Not nearly as articulate because even if his mind is wide awake, his body begs to differ. Kojiro listens, palliative to his turmoil, thoughtful and selfless as ever, so much so that Kaoru still thinks he’s undeserving of it and he tells Kojiro this as well.

Kojiro’s brows furrow, then he laughs, holding Kaoru close after gently guiding his hand away from his lips. He takes the opportunity to tentatively interlace their fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” he says when he’s done. It doesn’t sound like he’s apologising for laughing.

“What are you sorry for?” Kaoru mutters, mouth twisting into a frown. “I should be the one apologising here. I was the one who left.”

“I guess so,” Kojiro acquiesces. “But you were the one who said you couldn’t stand the thought of being alone.”

“I dug my own grave for that.”

“I would’ve helped you out. Like I said I would.”

Kaoru sighs, “You already do enough of that, Kojiro. More than enough.”

Kojiro quirks a brow at him, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Is there anything wrong with that?” he asks as if though it's a simple question.

Admittedly, it catches Kaoru off guard and he mulls over it for a moment, quietly rolling the question around in his head. He’s had over a year to meditate on this but only now does the answer, finally vocalised, seem to hit harder because it occurs to him then that maybe it is that simple and he’s had it all wrong from the start.

“I, well, no—there’s nothing wrong with you. I just feel like I have nothing to offer in return,” he finally admits. “It’s not your fault I’m more selfish than you are selfless.”

He almost looks away, not wanting to see Kojiro’s reaction but Kojiro’s faint smile is as tender as it is sympathetic and so, Kaoru can’t bring himself to, not when it’s been a year since he’s seen it.

“You need to stop underestimating yourself, Kaoru.”

—

For once, Kaoru can’t quite pinpoint where things started to go wrong, when everything started to balance dangerously off an edge. One wrong step and he’ll have thrown them past the point of no return. On the surface, everything is fine, as if there isn’t something dismal and daunting bubbling underneath. They continue as usual, doting on each other and bickering as they always did. And because he keeps it all under the surface, there’s nothing off with Kojiro. 

Of course, there isn’t; Kaoru does a fine job at shouldering the weight of it all on his own.

When he arrives at the abandoned gas station, the autumn sunset is at its peak, the horizon bright and alive with brushstrokes of red, amber and pink. The sleeves of his yukata float in the light sea breeze as he approaches the railings overlooking the waves crashing into the rocks in slow successions.

Perhaps it’s with age that he lingers on the past, which makes him feel as if he’s nearing eighty instead of his late twenties. Or maybe it’s to do with the dilemma that rooted itself into his chest a little less than a year ago, now fully blossomed into a certain heaviness that shows no signs of wilting. The future used to be something Kaoru could envision clearly, but these days it feels as if an infinite pot of black ink has been spilled—is still spilling—over it.

His thumb lightly grazes over the mark Kojiro left all those years ago, a scratchy etching of something he can’t quite interpret. He never really spared it much thought that day to check it out, far too distracted by conversations of visits to Paris, of the future. So, Kaoru takes a closer look, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, and the world stops spinning.

Among a plethora of bright scribbles and faded stickers is an umbrella etched into old metal, with Nanjo Kojiro poorly etched under the left side and Sakurayashiki Kaoru under the right.

On any other day, he would laugh at how terrible Kojiro’s handwriting is, maybe even take a picture of it to send to him as well. If this were the future he had envisioned, the symbol, the hidden confession, would age beautifully. And it has—until now.

Because on any other day, it would fill his heart with an immense warmth, but today, a burning pain that finds its way there instead.

There’s the familiar roar of a motorbike approaching and his hand falls back to his side. Kojiro greets him with a curious smile when Kaoru turns around to lean against the gas pump, the etched umbrella burning into his back. He’s quick to snap his jaws around any nagging thoughts that arise.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Kojiro says, hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Did your phone die or something?”

“I had Carla silence any incoming calls for a while,” he replies, glancing down at the purple bracelet around his wrist. “Did something happen?”

Kojiro snorts, juxtaposed by the softness of it.

“Sue me for missing my boyfriend.”

“We literally saw each other this morning, idiot,” Kaoru retorts with a smile, unable to help himself.

“How cold of you,” Kojiro teases, the collar of his top fluttering as the breeze grows while the sunset slowly dims down. Kaoru reaches out to fold it back down, smoothing it out at the creases.

“What are you doing out here anyway?”

His smile falters and he withdraws.

“Just needed to clear my head, that’s all,” he mutters. “It’s been a… long day.”

There’s a tinge of curiosity, if not concern, in Kojiro’s stare, and Kaoru allows him to wrap his arms around his frame, relishing the relief that comes with the hug.

“Shitty client?” Kojiro asks, to which Kaoru shakes his head.

If only it were that.

A nagging thought evades the defense Kaoru’s set up at the worst possible time and it sends a chill down his spine, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as it sits on his tongue, waiting.

“C’mon, I’ll cook your favourite for dinner and I won’t make you pay this—”

“Kojiro.”

His name doesn’t sound right when said with a sombre flatness and Kaoru can feel the way Kojiro tenses up for a split second. He takes the silence as an indication to carry on, as much as he doesn’t want to but if he doesn’t get it out now, surely it’d just fester into something far worse.

“I think I need to take a break.”

It’s only after he says it out loud does he reconsider his wording. He’s never been one to beat around the bush, never one to pull his punches, but he wonders if it would’ve softened the blow if he did for once.

Kojiro’s arms loosen around him ever so slightly and he can hear Kojiro’s attempt to conceal his shock when he says, “From work?”

Nausea enters at the thought of setting things in stone with a confirmation, coiling around his insides. Kaoru bites his lip, forcing himself to lean away from Kojiro’s touch.

“From us.”

The final nail in the coffin.

“Oh.”

A beat, then Kojiro’s arms fall back to his sides and Kaoru takes a step back, unable to look him in the eye—or undeserving?

“Just a break,” he murmurs. “I… I need to sort some things out.”

“Okay.”

Kaoru’s brows furrow, “What?”

“It’s just a break right? I’ll wait for you.” 

I’ll wait for you.

Kojiro’s somehow smiling when he says that but it doesn’t look right. It’s as if a veil conceals his expression, the way Kaoru is unable to determine the emotions in his tight smile when Kaoru’s so used to him wearing his heart on his sleeve. It’s all too much; he thinks he’d rather have Kojiro frown at him.

Kaoru nods wordlessly, keeping his eyes elsewhere, anywhere but his face. 

“I have to go. I’ve got a commission to work on.”

It’s a half lie at best. Said commission isn’t due for a while, none of them are, but he can’t stay any longer. Not like this. Vulnerable. Aching. Ashamed. He leaves without another word, without any apology, and Kojiro lets him, gaze heavy on his back as he drives away.

Kaoru’s five minutes away from Sia La Luce when he realises he’s taken the wrong direction, driven by a habit that hasn’t had the time to adapt just yet.

It takes him four hours to fall asleep in an apartment that hasn’t been lived in for months, kept awake by the thought that he took the wrong step in the gas station and has now lost the one person who made it feel like home.

—

Kaoru wakes up with a mouthful of green hair and finds that Kojiro must’ve shifted down the bed at one point in the night so that his head now rests under Kaoru’s chin. He’s still asleep, clinging onto Kaoru’s torso, his steady, soft breaths against Kaoru’s neck almost ticklish. The ache in his chest from last night subsides, overtaken by a certain fondness reserved for Kojiro. He spends an extra five minutes in bed, then two minutes to carefully pry himself away from Kojiro without waking him, before he heads to the bathroom.

The shower helps clear the fog for the most part as he spends most of it replaying their conversation from last night, how easy Kojiro made it seem to fix what he thought was far past the point of no return. He’s had it all wrong, that much he understands now. 

But is it really that easy to mend?

It almost seems too good to be true.

Kojiro’s awake and rubbing the sleep from his eyes when Kaoru, clad in a white bathrobe, steps out of the bathroom. They both pause, staring at each other from across the room until Kojiro yawns, stretching his arms over his head.

“G’morning,” he smiles. 

Kaoru mumbles a greeting in reply, walking towards his suitcase. He moves methodically, carefully draping the various silks and layers of his kimono and haori onto the armchair. Behind him, he hears Kojiro get up and open the wardrobe where his suit is, punctuated by the click of the bathroom lock. There’s still two hours until the ceremony starts, two hours to prepare himself for both the wedding and what to do with Kojiro. 

Realistically, it’d be better to sort things out now, unless he wants to be thinking of his ex—for a lack of a better word—during someone else’s wedding. Hardly seems like the respectful thing to do.

There’s still an inkling of doubt that weasels its way into his thoughts. Irks him enough that the underrobe slips through his fingers twice before he can get it on. With every layer he adds on, he meditates on what Kojiro had said last night in attempt to unravel what they really mean, or if Kaoru is simply overcomplicating things by picking apart his words and placing his bets on the wrong ones.

You need to stop underestimating yourself, Kaoru.

Does that translate to him deserving something better? Nanjo Kojiro is far beyond something better anyway, yet he makes it seem that way. That Kaoru is deserving of him.

He stares himself down in the mirror as he begins to wrap the obi around his waist, then makes eye contact with Kojiro, who steps out of the bathroom in most of his suit, towelling his damp hair. Kaoru frowns at him through the mirror, “You’re gonna get your shirt wet.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kojiro waves him off, sitting at the edge of the bed. “That’s what the towel is for, duh.”

Kaoru rolls his eyes, undoing the knot to start over when it looks wonky.

“There’s a hair dryer underneath the sink,” he says. 

“That’d only make my hair go all over the place,” Kojiro sighs as if stating the obvious. “Not everyone has straight hair like you do, four-eyes.”

“That’s on you for forgetting your product then.”

His cheeks grow warm, hopefully concealed by his hair curtaining his face as he looks down to unravel the knot he just tied again. It’s awfully easy to fall back into their routine now that the weight is beginning to lighten, nonchalance seeping into his tone as if the past year never happened. 

“Need help with that?” Kojiro smirks, but it lacks its usual edge in favour for something softer. Hopeful, maybe if Kaoru deludes himself into thinking as much.

“Stop distracting me,” he hisses back, groaning when the sash slips from his grasp entirely.

Kojiro beats him to it, picking up the obi and clicking his tongue.

“Should’ve worn a suit to save yourself the trouble,” he teases.

Before Kaoru can say anything, Kojiro’s wrapping the obi around his waist for him, the way Kaoru taught him a while back, meticulous as he is with his cooking. Kaoru can only watch quietly.

“Say, Kaoru,” Kojiro starts, carefully smoothing out the creases in the sash. “How’d you feel about being my plus one?”

As silly as the question is, Kaoru wonders if Kojiro can hear his breath hitch in his throat, heart drumming in his chest, unrelenting in its yearning above all else.

After adding the final touches to the obi, Kojiro meets his gaze, a crooked smile on his lips, a hint of doubt lingering in his eyes. He lets his hands remain there, on either side of Kaoru’s waist, waiting. Just as he said he would.

“You’re so embarrassing,” Kaoru blurts out instead, looking away with his cheeks a burning red.

It’s more of a ‘yes’ than anything.

He’s unable to look away for long though, not when Kojiro pulls him closer, grinning when Kaoru meets his gaze. 

“Good, ‘cos I really missed you,” Kojiro admits, lifting a hand to caress his cheek. 

“I missed you too, Kojiro.”

With that, the weight in Kaoru’s chest lifts, making room for what was once lost.