Work Text:
1
"Are you going to help me or what?"
"In my defense," Daisuke starts with his eyebrow raised. "You were the one who volunteered to help when I said I could handle it."
Haru grumbles in reply as he kicks the final large box inside with all his might. That done, he slumps on the ground and lets out an exhausted breath.
Today is the day Daisuke finally moves out of the Kambe mansion and into a much smaller space (perhaps a bit smaller than his former bedroom and wardrobe combined) next to Haru's apartment. This is a much needed move for him as the mansion only serves to remind him of ugly memories and angry people, whether these people are the ones filled with greed or one filled with vitriol.
In this small space, ironically enough, Daisuke feels much freer to be himself -- as Daisuke (or Dai-kun , as what the landlady referred to him when Haru introduced him to her). He doesn't have to worry about being a Kambe anymore.
Because now, he has something new to worry about.
Specifically, the 10 boxes inside his apartment, making the already small space even more cramped.
"God, Kambe!" Haru rolls his shoulders to emphasize how tired he is from lifting boxes voluntarily. "What even are inside these?"
Instead of answering, Daisuke fishes his house keys from his pocket and uses it to rip the packaging tape securing the box Haru is leaning on to reveal that the box is full of--
“Plates,” the older man comments dryly.
“Should I not have brought them with me?”
“It’s not that. It’s just…” Haru trails off, taking one ceramic out after another until there is a good pile of plates as high as his waist while kneeling down. “You don’t need a hundred plates.”
Daisuke raises a brow. “What if I invite guests over?”
“Will you invite a hundred guests to your house?”
Well, he has a point. And it’s not as if Daisuke would ever consider throwing a party. Ever.
He lets Haru return the plates back inside the box, leaving around 10 (and two separated from the stack), murmuring something like “can I have them?”
They go through each box, examining each and every content -- what Daisuke needs and what needs to go (further sorting by what Haru asked for if he could have it and what can be shipped to England.) Soon enough, the sun has finally set when they finally finish going through with the final box.
There are still a lot of things Daisuke needs to do to make this space actually habitable, and that includes having a mattress to fit the bed frame provided to him.
Because no matter how hard he tries, a California king cannot fit a single.
Haru stands beside him, staring at the mattress on the floor with his hands on his waist. "Did you really check the apartment before you moved in?"
Daisuke did not.
But the inspector does not need to know that.
"Well…" Haru checks the time on his phone. "It's almost 7 pm. Do you want to go grab dinner?"
As if on cue, Daisuke's stomach growls embarrassingly loud, reminding him that they haven't had lunch. Daisuke frowns when Haru chuckles beside him.
“Shut up,” Daisuke grumbles.
Haru smirks, deciding not to tease the millionaire any further. "You'll like Jiro-san's kitsune udon ."
"Isn't the weather too hot for that?"
"There's no such thing as hot weather when it comes to Jiro-san's udon." Haru says with a tone of finality in his voice. He lifts the box that now contains the items he got from Daisuke, and steps out of Daisuke's apartment. "Consider this as me welcoming you to the neighborhood. You can't not live here without knowing the genius of Jiro-san."
The following day when Daisuke wakes up, he is greeted with a potted cactus outside his door, together with a plastic bag filled with what seems to be curry buns still hot hanging on his doorknob.
Sticking on the bag is a note written in a small yellow post-it, a familiar messy handwriting that says "had to report to work today. Can't accompany you to help around. Hope you like these buns from Chihiro-san's bakeshop - Haru."
Just how well acquainted is the inspector with his neighbors for him to know what food they offer?
But then again, it's not like Daisuke's had any neighbors since he was born, so it's not really in his place to complain.
Next, Daisuke lifts the plant. Another note.
"You might want to decorate your house with a plant. A tiny cactus for the plates and the loungewear you gave me - Haru
this plant's begging to be named Winston"
And it's at that moment Daisuke knows he's fucked.
2
One of the things Daisuke has to let go of is his car.
Well, it does not necessarily mean he let go of it. He still owns the car, just that it's parked at Suzue's home since the apartment complex has limited parking space. He can still use it whenever he wants. However, Daisuke decides to forgo having to call Suzue to drive his car (he knows she would gladly drive it every morning. But Daisuke doesn't want to bother her. He's not a heathen.)
With the lack of private transportation, he is left with no other choice but to use public transportation.
"Welcome to the daily life of common people," Haru says with a chuckle. Daisuke frowns at him... or at least tries to because his face is pressed against Haru's shoulder. Try as he might, Daisuke can't move an inch away from the older man -- being mushed against him by the heavy mass of commuters pushing themselves inside the train. And so in lieu of a reply, he just grunts.
It's a good thing Daisuke's suit has a built-in heating and cooling system, or else he would not likely survive the morning rush -- what with the train filled to the brim, bodies pushing against him… and pushing him closer to Haru's chest. He doesn't even have to put an effort in balancing himself, for god's sake.
"How can you survive this?"
"You get used to it."
Daisuke, in fact, does not want to get used to it.
He does not want to get used to having his body mushed against Haru's. Or having Haru's hands placed on Daisuke's hips to steady him from the onslaught of passengers coming in and getting out.
Or feeling Haru's heart beating in his chest, a loud thump thump thump that is in sync with Daisuke’s.
Because if Daisuke's become used to it, what will then happen once Haru's gone to the States to train at the FBI Academy for five months? What if Daisuke becomes deprived of the touch he's grown to be addicted to because he let himself be despite the warning signs?
Will the feeling die a quiet death?
Will he experience withdrawals and crave for more?
Daisuke closes his eyes and rests his head on Haru’s shoulder in hopes of blocking any more thoughts from coming into his mind.
He feels a slight pressure on top of his head, but doesn’t pay it any mind.
--
The week-long leave granted to Daisuke was all for nothing in the end. With all the moving and the unboxing, and now after dealing with the morning crowd, he doesn't feel like he's able to relax at all.
After finally alighting the train, Daisuke can't help but to fish for the handkerchief that's always in his pocket but rarely finds a reason to use until now. However fortunate they are that the station isn’t that far away from the MPD, there is still the burgeoning heat of the summer sun awaiting them outside. Even Daisuke’s built-in cooling system cannot withstand that.
Beside him, Haru has his jacket draped on his arm, making futile attempts in wiping his sweat on his forehead using his hand.
"That's unsanitary." Daisuke wrinkles his nose at the sight of sweat trickling down Haru's temples. With a click of his tongue, Daisuke hands over his handkerchief to the inspector. "Take this."
Haru stammers, "I don't need that--"
"Just take it," Daisuke insists, grabbing Haru's wrist (the one he used to wipe his sweat) and pushes the piece of cloth to his open palm. "You need it more than I do."
And it's true, he muses, because the inspector’s sweating more than Daisuke.
"You really don't have to," Haru grumbles. Nevertheless, he wipes his palm first with the handkerchief before doing the same to his forehead, then down to his nape. Daisuke averts his eyes, kicking himself mentally for being flustered at the sight of the older man's nape.
This isn't a Victorian romance novel, Kambe. Get a grip.
He keeps his eyes glued to the front, moreso that they reach the crosswalk. But just as the signal turns to green, Haru turns to a different direction.
"You can go ahead," he says. "I'll just buy coffee."
Daisuke isn't given a chance to respond because the light turns green just as Haru speeds off towards the konbini. With a shrug, he crosses the street.
3
It isn't until 30 minutes later when Haru walks in at the MCPTF, announcing his arrival and only to receive unenthusiastic good mornings from their colleagues. Daisuke removes his sunglasses when he notices Haru approaching his desk.
"Here," the older man grunts, placing a cup of iced coffee in front of him. Without another word, Haru walks to his own desk and… keeps his head down, refusing to meet even Kamei's inquisitive gaze.
Huh.
Daisuke looks at the coffee inside the plastic cup -- a dark slosh slowly being mixed with the milk on top of it. He swirls the cup until the color turns to a lighter shade of brown. Once satisfied, Daisuke takes a curious sip.
It's… a lot sweeter than how he usually prefers his coffee. But even then, the robust kick of caffeine is still present for a convenience store-bought coffee. Soon enough, he finds himself drinking more of it.
"Oi, Haru-san," Kamei whines. Daisuke glances at them from the partition to see Kamei shaking the older man's shoulder. "You never bought me coffee, not even once! I thought we had something special!"
"Shut up, Kamei!"
Daisuke chuckles silently at the exchange, hiding the tiny smile he has as he drinks.
Something special, huh?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
No, no. He shakes his head, trying in vain to chase those thoughts away. This iced coffee is probably Katou wanting to thank Daisuke for something as trivial as a handkerchief. Or perhaps it’s just another “welcome to the commoner world” reward because Daisuke rode the morning rush train to work for the first time, just like how the kitsune udon is his “welcome to the commoner neighborhood” celebratory dinner.
Nothing else.
Nothing else.
4
Nothing feels better than a hot bath after a tedious stakeout. Although Daisuke no longer has the luxury of soaking in his own rose quartz bathtub back in the mansion, he supposes a ceramic tub will have to suffice.
A bath is a bath, and as long as he gets to have a good soak, then that’s good enough for him.
Daisuke heaves a contented sigh as he lowers himself in the tub, feeling his muscles relax and loosen the moment his body hits the water.
As with all stakeouts, this one was tiring. Daisuke no longer had his basement laboratory to do his usual surveillance, and so he had to resort to Haru’s traditional methods, one that included sitting on the passenger seat for hours with numerous cans of coffee littering the floor.
That and countless wrappers of greasy burgers and cartons of fries.
Daisuke vowed never to step foot on a McDonald’s ever again.
“Kambe,” Haru starts over a mouthful of burger. Daisuke wrinkles his nose in distaste. “I can leave the Academy over the weekends after three weeks of training.”
“Where will you go, then?”
“Visit me during those times.”
Instead of answering, the millionaire throws his wrapper on Haru. Haru yelps indignantly and tosses the wrapper back. “You have the resources to go to America as much as you please.” He huffs. “But I’m not saying you should go, unless it’s in your own volition.”
Daisuke surmises it's taken him an hour before he finally gets out and towels himself dry, his fingers having been pruned from being soaked for too long. It's taken him another half hour to finish his skincare routine -- normally, it would take him far longer than that. But tonight, Daisuke can't seem to follow through his 10-step routine, too tired from work and too relaxed from the bath that he just wants to crawl into his futon and sleep.
Okay, so maybe, his gurgling stomach thinks, Daisuke will grab dinner from the izakaya Haru brought him during his first night in the neighborhood. He can’t bring himself to consume any more fast food without feeling nauseous.
Mind made up, Daisuke pulls out the smallest legal tender he has in his wallet (a ten thousand yen bill) and leaves his apartment.
The lights on Haru's apartment are out, the inspector probably (most likely) passing out the moment he saw his bed and not even bothering to take a shower after a long day. Daisuke takes pity on Haru as he descends down the metal stairs, making a mental note to buy him dinner in the event that he does wake up.
“Katou isn’t with you?” Old man Jiro asks the moment Daisuke steps inside the izakaya. It’s just the two of them tonight, surprisingly, considering that the few times Daisuke has visited the restaurant at around the same hour, the place is always filled with patrons who have just gotten off from work and are in need of late night light dinner and an ear to listen to their gripes.
“It’s just me tonight,” Daisuke replies as he takes the stool beside the wall. Just as he's settling down, Jiro's already preparing the broth and opening a packet of aburaage. Apropos of nothing, Daisuke watches the older man make his magic in the kitchen.
“I don’t know you, but I surely know Katou.” After handing the steaming bowl in front of Daisuke, Jiro places his forearms against the counter and leans in closer. With a gruff voice, he adds, “and I know the face of a troubled man when I see one.”
Daisuke touches his face unconsciously at that. Jiro bursts into a hearty laughter, as if happy he was proven right (he is).
“Tell me what’s troubling you,” he says, the teasing lines in the corner of his mouth softens into something… sagely. “I may or may not have an answer to your woes.”
“No offense, Jiro-san, but my woes are none of your concern,” Daisuke replies sternly. Jiro may be a trusted uncle in the neighborhood and Haru may like his cooking, but he still is a stranger to Daisuke. He is here to eat dinner, go back to his apartment, and sleep, not to dump his traumas and worries to Jiro.
At the back of his mind, however, Daisuke can hear a nagging voice that sounds a lot like the inspector, reprimanding him for being rude.
In his defense to the voice in his head, Daisuke did start his sentence with a “no offense”. It’s no longer his fault if Jiro has his feelings hurt.
And, anyway, the old man doesn’t seem to be affected by it. “That’s what Katou said when he first came into this restaurant,” he says. “He wasn’t swayed on his second nor on his fifth bowl of udon. I won’t force you if you don’t want to. But let me tell you this: it’s better to have your problems heard than keep them bottled in.”
Oh, how Daisuke wishes that is an easy feat to do.
What is the problem, exactly?
Perhaps he needs to start answering that.
His problem lies within the fact that Haru will be leaving a week from now. The stakeout is his last mission before he has to fly from Japan. And it troubles Daisuke because…
Because Haru has become a steady presence in his life ever since their fateful first encounter in Ginza. He is an ordinary police officer, yet a force to be reckoned with. A bright light Daisuke found himself enchanted with, and he cannot stop himself from flying towards him just like a moth to a flame.
But with his impending leave comes the inevitable hurt if Daisuke becomes too close.
And why is that?
Because he likes Haru.
And with this realization comes the mess. Nothing good has ever come out in loving someone.
Daisuke loved his parents. But love wasn’t enough to save them.
And if he free falls into love, how is he sure that Haru will even be there at the bottom to catch him?
Does he even want to catch Daisuke?
So, he tries to save himself by standing on the precipice, slowly moving away until he’s back to the ground.
Across the counter, Jiro hums. “The first step is always scary because you don’t know what lies ahead of you,” he says. “But whatever you choose, whether you take a step forward or back, I hope you will never regret your decision.”
Daisuke stares at the tofu skin laying on the warm broth, hoping that it can answer the confusion surrounding his mind.
5
Tomorrow, Daisuke thinks dreadfully, Haru will be at the airport.
Nay , he will be at the airport 13 hours from now.
The Modern Crimes department was in a despondent mood for a good chunk of the day because much as they liked to complain about Haru’s strict work ethic, his presence would still be sorely missed -- a fact emphasized by Kamei numerous times with actual tears streaming down his eyes. If Daisuke were a lesser man, he would probably be crying as well because he got the sentiment.
A sentiment all too familiar to him because it’s one he’s been brooding over ever since it was first announced that Haru would be training at the FBI Academy.
But he isn’t a lesser man, so he didn’t cry.
As a last hurrah, Saeki suggested a yakiniku party. Soon enough, the gloomy cloud surrounding their office disappeared because, of course, free food and booze.
It’s already 11 in the evening by the time they all parted ways. Haru waves goodbye at Chief Kiyomizu as he gets in the taxi cab. Once the tail lights of the cab are gone, Haru calls out to Daisuke, who is leaning against the wall of the restaurant, his arms crossed over his chest as he tries his best to stand upright instead of giving in to the sweet temptation of falling asleep.
“Oi, Kambe, let’s go home.”
Daisuke nods and pushes himself off, lifting a hand to his mouth to cover the yawn he lets out. He hears Haru chuckle beside him.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” the older man replies with a cheeky tone in his voice. “You’re such a sleepy drunk.”
“‘M not,” Daisuke grumbles. But the sway in his steps as they start to walk betrays him. Haru reaches an arm and places it over Daisuke’s shoulders to steady him. “Hands off,” he complains, yet finds himself melting in the warmth of Haru’s body, leaning his weight completely on the inspector’s side.
The sudden force almost makes Haru lose his balance, so he nudges Daisuke’s shoulder. “Bastard! Use your feet to walk!”
It’s a mere 15-minute walk from the restaurant back home -- 10 minutes if they walk at their usual pace. But for tonight, it's taking them longer.
Because Daisuke wants to stretch these final hours he has with Haru. Stubborn as he may be, he can no longer push away the thought of possibly (most probably) missing him.
Because he wants to prolong this moment and grasp on to this memory of Haru’s arm around his shoulder as he guides the millionaire home, even if it may hurt him in the end because Daisuke will just miss him and his arms and his warmth.
Daisuke wants to freeze time. He wants to stay like this even for just a moment. He wants Haru's arms around him. Anything. Anything, he'll take it.
It will hurt you.
I don’t care.
Go back.
No.
All of a sudden, fat drops start to fall, hitting the top of Daisuke's head first. He looks up futilely on the night sky, only to have another raindrop fall on his eyelids.
Haru takes longer strides as he steers them both towards the nearest awning just as the rain starts to pour more heavily. Daisuke removes himself from Haru's body to lean against the wall of this shop instead, only for the inspector to pull him closer.
"Oi, what are y--"
"Just for tonight," Haru says in a hushed voice, so quiet his words can easily be drowned by the harsh pitter patter of the rain.
But Daisuke, in their close proximity, hears it loud and clear anyway.
Just for tonight.
Let me be close to you.
.
.
Just for tonight.
Let me be held by you.
.
.
And so he inches in a little bit closer, resting his head on the older man's shoulder as they wait for the rain to stop.
+1
Time may not have frozen, but Daisuke is, to say the least, freezing.
It is the irony of summer in Japan -- what’s supposed to be a season of sweltering heat is actually one that is wet from torrential rains, or at least that’s what happens during the latter part of summer as it changes to autumn.
Being underneath the rain is enough to sober up his slightly inebriated mind, the haze being washed away because all he can feel, aside from the uncomfortable tackiness that is his suit clinging to his skin, is Haru’s hand on his wrist.
He doesn’t know what came into the inspector’s mind for him to think it’s such a good idea to step foot out of the shelter and into the rain. It’s not like they are in a hurry to get back home even if the time is almost close to midnight. Daisuke was already content standing beside Haru, pressing his weight against the man while Haru’s arm was wound around him.
But it seemed like Haru wasn’t content just standing and waiting for the rain to stop because after a few minutes, he pulled Daisuke away from his body and threw him a smirk that only spelt trouble.
And what great trouble it is.
“Katou,” Daisuke yells, trying to speak over the sound of the rain pouring heavily against the pavement. His voice isn’t loud enough, and so he stops walking. The resistance certainly grabs Haru’s attention, turning around to regard Daisuke with a raised brow.
So perhaps the drunken haze hasn’t subsided yet. But even if it did, drunk Daisuke would not laugh out of the blue at the sight of Haru’s taupe hair, a usual fluff, losing its usual volume, his bangs plastered on his forehead.
Perhaps it’s not a drunken haze.
No, it’s not a perhaps. It’s a definitely.
And for once, Daisuke finds himself finally admitting defeat because this is him being carefree with his emotions, with his laughter that gets drowned by the rain.
He is laughing because Haru reminds him of a wet puppy having its bath.
He is laughing because it’s definitely Haru.
It’s definitely love.
It doesn’t make sense. But then again, does love have to? He just knows he is feeling this… all of these because of Haru.
Haru, whose perplexed gaze turns soft at the sight of Daisuke smiling freely, and whose eyes reflect the glow of the street lamps, reflect the warmth of the sunrise after a whole night of continuous cold downpour.
Haru, whose free hand lifts his bangs away from his face, slicking it back. Whose hand that’s holding Daisuke’s snakes lower to intertwine their fingers.
Haru, who has been waiting for Daisuke at the foot of the mountain, never caring if Daisuke jumped from the summit or if he walked back down.
It doesn’t make sense. But then again, the heart knows what the mind can’t comprehend.
This moment is a definitely ; their hearts sharing a hushed conversation and understanding all the same. It’s illogical. It makes sense.
The perfect sense.
He’s tired of thinking and rationalizing and fearing .
Love will not save him from the inevitable hurt. But this love, what they have, is different from the one Daisuke knew. Because this one? Saved him.
Maybe
Definitely.
Who knows?
Daisuke wants to be selfish. He wants Haru’s time. He wants Haru’s warmth, his love, his everything. He doesn’t know when the next time will be, when they are in their own bubble gazing at each other’s eyes. He doesn’t know if the next time they see each other again, Daisuke will still want Haru.
(He definitely will.)
And so before this night ends, before tomorrow comes and Haru leaves Japan, Daisuke will take. He will take everything Haru can give.
Haru squeezes their hands, his mouth stretched out for a grin as his shoulders shake in a laughter Daisuke doesn’t hear.
Nor do the words Haru utters.
And yet, Daisuke echoes the very same words back to the older man.
“Don’t let go of my hand, Daisuke.”
“Don’t let go of me, Haru.”