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It’s been quiet, lately.
Kaoru’s home has always been a perfect level of quiet: enough for him to focus, but not so much that he can easily get lost in his own thoughts.
But now he catches himself turning to tell Kojiro something, or to just look and see that he’s still there. And when he isn’t, Kaoru feels something start to sink inside of him. It’s like a flurry of small, cold raindrops, sliding down one after another, until they become a frigid storm.
He tries to talk himself out of it. It made sense that Kojiro was here more often when Kaoru was recuperating; it makes sense, now, that he’s not here, now that Kaoru’s well again.
They still text, call, meet up. Kaoru still frequents Sia la Luce. At the same time, they’ve both been busier: Kaoru with his book release, and Kojiro with the arrival of some hotshot food critic.
It makes the quiet moments all the more louder, when Kaoru comes home seeking rest and respite and suddenly it’s Kojiro he’s thinking of seeing, being here with him. Even after returning from Sia la Luce, he keeps turning over the nights when Kojiro would return home with him.
During Kaoru’s period of recovery, Kojiro slept over one night, so he could help Kaoru get ready for a few morning consultations he would be doing by video. Kaoru still remembers hearing the faint sound of Kojiro singing in the shower, muffled enough that it shouldn’t have woken him up. It had, anyway, but it had been so stupidly endearing he didn’t care. Kaoru had to wonder if Kojiro was happy to be here, that he felt safe in Kaoru’s space, the way Kaoru feels in Sia la Luce.
Yeah, Kojiro’s been around since they were kids, but sometimes he still has to wonder. It’s hard not to remember the split-open triumph on Kojiro’s face — they were ten, eleven maybe — when he had said, “We know all each other’s secrets, so we have to stay best friends forever!”
He had thought himself so clever, like he was trapping Kaoru with that deal. What secrets did Kojiro even have then? It should have been obvious that Kaoru would stay. No planet escapes the sun’s orbit; how could Kojiro ever think he’d leave?
They’re twenty-seven now, and the memory still brings a helpless smile to Kaoru’s face.
Forever, huh?
Kaoru takes pride in his work, finds solace in it. He reconciles the soft, soothing nature of the words he transcribes with the nature of his AI — sparks and endless curiosity, calculations and figures and results — and between these two things, he makes sense of the world.
But no calculations or phrases make sense of Kojiro.
I love you comes close, and it’s what Kaoru has found dancing at his tongue, his fingertips over the years.
(A fan sailing from his lips to Kojiro’s chest, an unspoken kiss — I love you. Putting a hand on his shoulder, pretending to shove him away just so he can hide his smile; the clink of their wine glasses together, echoing in the late night, a laughing challenge, biting words to mask concern — I love you, I love you, I love you.)
I’ve been saying I love you for years, you fool — so why haven’t you noticed?
There are their nights at Sia la Luce, when Kojiro humors him, wines and dines him, teases him about his penchant for Italian food but makes it perfectly anyway, taking away any sting of the complaints, taking away Kaoru’s breath. More than those countless nights at the restaurant must be the infinite times Kaoru finds himself catching Kojiro’s gaze, looking at the pink and red hues that can be gentle or blazing. Always, Kaoru melts. There’s the curve of his upper lip, the way his smile goes a little lopsided, and Kaoru could trace it with a brush forever and feel like he won’t get the line right, because nothing could evoke the same warmth that Kojiro’s smile does. Kojiro’s smile can go from cocky to sheepish to gentle; Kaoru has seen him practicing his stupid winks in the mirror when they were fourteen, and that smile was so pasted-on and awkward that Kaoru laughed until his sides hurt.
There’s the fact that Kaoru nearly knows Kojiro’s body as well as his own, has patched it up over the years, seen him go from clumsy, gangly limbs to S’s Six Pack Skater. To the one who swung him around effortlessly at graduation, to the one who carried him to the hospital — being close to Kojiro is like being close to a twin heartbeat, and whether it’s to fight or to embrace, it always feels a little better as long as they’re together.
There’s the soft green curls that Kaoru’s twisted his fingers into to pull Kojiro into a headlock, avoiding putting Kojiro to his chest because he doesn’t want to betray his heartbeat. Kaoru can’t help but remember the undercut he shaved for him, using shitty hair clippers and squinting too hard because Kojiro’s bathroom light was dim as all hell, and his one braincell was used on skateboarding and not replacing the bulb. Kaoru can admit to himself he missed it, when Kojiro grew it out: that had been a good excuse to run his hand over soft, shorn hair, and now he settles for looking at the nape of Kojiro’s neck whenever he ties his hair up at S, and he remembers and remembers and remembers. Kaoru took out his piercings and Kojiro grew out his hair, but they haven’t outgrown each other yet.
Kojiro is equal parts infuriatingly annoying and infuriatingly kind. He’s stupid and bold and crass, thoughtful and and hardworking and charming. He knows what buttons to push and what strings to pull, and he knows what wrinkles to smooth and what wounds to soothe. Kojiro has been willing to relearn Kaoru at every stage of their life, and it feels so much bigger than Kaoru just tumbling head over heels for Kojiro at each step. There’s no grace in it, but it’s easy, falling for Kojiro. Who wouldn’t? Who doesn’t?
Kaoru could go on and on. It paralyzes his tongue and caves in his chest if he sits with it; it’s easier to throw down his board and let the wind take him, coast by on adrenaline’s roar. He doesn’t know how to explain that he doesn’t love all these things because they’re objectively beautiful or desirable. Kojiro isn’t just parts, bits and pieces of their years together. Kaoru can’t look at one thing and go oh, it’s this one, right here, that makes me feel this way. It’s this that makes me love you. It’s this that makes me hate you.
It’s just — it’s Kojiro.
Somewhere, sometime, Kojiro became everything, and Kaoru hates to admit it. Despite Kojiro’s fairly straightforward nature, loving him feels like anything but that. No calculations, no phrases. Or rather, none that fit perfectly.
And at the same time, there’s still more that he doesn’t know. Kojiro promised forever; Kaoru wonders if it’s like how asymptotes stretch for infinity, yet there’s a line they can never cross.
There are the things he knows about Kojiro, and then there are the things that he doesn’t. What he knows is immeasurable and countless, in a way that it blends together with what he doesn’t — yes, Kojiro is kind, but what if that kindness has a limit they’ve yet to reach? Kojiro is the one who’s never left, but what if that changes?
Worse, Kaoru himself has already changed, and it feels dangerous.
He had waited on that beef with Adam for years. He doesn’t want to lose any more time: not when it was Kojiro’s laugh he had turned towards, then, in the rain, and a half-formed dream — memory? — came to him, lips at his forehead, the clink of a wine glass, arms lifting him up.
We’re not alone. Right, Kaoru?
No, they weren’t. Kojiro’s proved that since the day they met, when he invited him over as soon as Kaoru wilted at the idea of being separated from his new friend. They’ve been Kojiro-and-Kaoru ever since.
The end of the story with Adam was exhausting, disappointing, and yet — freeing. Kaoru won’t lie; it stung (more than just the bruises), but there’s closure now.
He wonders how much longer he can keep turning over his shoulder, hoping for Kojiro to be there, haunted by a dream of a memory, by days of endless care and warmth.
Hope is dangerous enough, even more so when it starts to feel like it’s warranted.
“I’m tired of taking chances, Carla,” Kaoru says, runs his hand over his face. “I’ve never had to take a chance on him, and I don’t want to start.”
Carla beeps attentively. He hasn’t programmed her to respond about Kojiro, but it’s enough to have her listen.
“But I think I need to,” Kaoru murmurs. He taps a finger against the table, trying to find a way to shake this feeling loose. Closes his eyes. “If someone’s worth it, it’s him.”
Kaoru stalls his usual visit to Sia la Luce.
The knowledge that he’s about to leap, about to free the words on his tongue, sits heavy and makes his steps slow. The trip from Sakurayashiki Calligraphy to Sia la Luce is a familiar one, but he’s desperate to pick out anything he can to calm himself: the bend of branches laden with flowers, the song of birds and crickets, the glow of lamplight.
His heart keeps pounding, louder and louder as his fingers finally close around Sia la Luce’s door handle.
When he finally steps in, Kojiro’s right where Kaoru knew he would be: putting food on the counter for him. When he sees Kaoru, his scowl sits playfully on his face. “You kept me waiting, four eyes.”
“Sorry,” Kaoru says, and Kojiro’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Did something come up? And sit down before your food gets cold, because I’m not reheating it for you.”
The amount of times that Kojiro has reheated food for him, due to Kaoru unexpectedly falling asleep, is countless.
Kaoru approaches, sits down tentatively, and wonders how to start. He’s already slipped up, stupidly saying sorry, and now Kojiro must know that something’s up. Kojiro’s definitely eyeing him curiously as he pours wine for the two of them, and Kaoru swallows.
How to start a story that spans for years, a story that just might end tonight?
Or: a story that could open up into a completely new chapter?
After a few silent moments, he says, “I’ve been having this dream.”
“Any of the usual suspects?” Kojiro asks. He pushes Kaoru’s plate a little closer. Carbonara, today. “Eat.”
“How can I eat and answer at the time?” Kaoru snarks, and Kojiro rolls his eyes.
“The great Sakurayashiki Kaoru can’t multitask?”
“I have manners.” Kaoru stabs into the carbonara a bit too viciously, bitterly touched that Kojiro’s made his favorite and yet he has no appetite. “And no. This dream is new.”
He stares down at his plate, spinning his fork and noodles into a useless whirlpool.
“You look like you want to talk about it.” Kojiro sips his wine loudly, conspicuously, a ploy to get Kaoru to look back up. “Get on with it.”
Kaoru purses his lips. “Don’t be so impatient. I’m getting there.”
“Yeah, so, you had this dream, and then…?” Kojiro prods.
Kaoru spins his fork again. “We were here, at Sia la Luce, and it was after I left the hospital. The conversation plays out like I remember, and then I fall asleep.”
“Okay,” Kojiro says, sips again, quietly this time.
“So I fell asleep, but in the dream, I can see what’s happening. Think of it as some type of out of body experience. You’re talking to me, and you,” Kaoru falters, watching Kojiro’s face stay impressively neutral.
Deep breaths. Now or never.
“You kissed me.” Kaoru pushes on, past the glass in his throat and the stinging in his eyes, the clench in his chest and gut and the sudden ringing in his ears. This was a bad, bad idea, but it’s too late. “And it feels more like a memory than a dream, even if it’s… I don’t know. It feels real. It keeps coming back to me.”
“It feels real,” Kojiro repeats. If Kaoru’s emotions being readily apparent on his face is a telling sign, Kojiro’s the opposite. Something about this is activating Kojiro’s defenses.
“Was it?” Kaoru grips his fork, continues mangling the pasta. His fingers go white; his voice steadies. “Don’t lie to me.”
Kojiro sets down his wine glass, and the sound of it is stunningly loud in the silence, nothing like the gentle toast that Kaoru dreamed of. “Yeah. It was.”
“Was it because I was hurt?” Kaoru worries his lip between his teeth. It’s been a while since they’ve been so tentative, so cautious around each other. “I’ve been hurt before, Kojiro.”
“I thought you were asleep,” Kojiro says slowly.
“That’s not a reason!” Kaoru’s temper flares, a spark already quick to blow, but more so when he’s feeling so on edge.
Kojiro doesn’t meet him there, doesn’t act as the flint to his fire tonight. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m answering what you asked. Yes, you were hurt, and you broke out of the fucking hospital to come see me, Kaoru. What am I supposed to think? Feel? Excuse me for being all over the place after seeing your face get smashed in, and you were damn near unconscious in the backseat, but all you kept saying was ‘sorry, Kojiro’, and then you broke out of said hospital, and fell asleep on my counter.”
“That’s not an answer,” Kaoru says shakily, tears starting to well up in his eyes. He presses his hands to his eyes, tries to breathe. “You’re saying a whole lot of fucking nothing, Kojiro.”
It’s easier to call it nothing when it sounds like — when it sounds like —
“Is there something that you want me to say, princess?” Kojiro tries to laugh, but his eyes are bright, too, and there’s a nervous rasp to his voice. “Because it sure as hell sounds like it. If you want me to apologize, just say it—”
“It sounds like you love me,” Kaoru whispers, voice cracking and low but Kojiro stops speaking anyway, face going slack. “And I want you to. I want you to love me the same way that I love you, even if I should know better by now. But I’m — I’m here, still hoping, and I can’t stop myself, not when you sound like that.”
Kojiro steps out — staggers, almost — from behind the counter, lips still parted in shock, gripping onto the edge of the counter like it’ll keep him from falling. He looks a little like a baby deer, and the thought is so stupid and absurd and unexpected that Kaoru cries a little harder, presses his hands closer to his face.
This is mortifying, but he’s a coward, and he doesn’t want to look the end in the eye.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Kaoru says. “I don’t want to be.”
Kojiro pulls his hands apart, and Kaoru’s watery gaze finds shining pink. “Look at me, Kaoru.”
“Let me down easy,” Kaoru says. “That’s all I ask.”
Kojiro lets go of his hands, settles them on Kaoru’s shoulders instead. As for Kaoru, he grapples for his fan, holds it tightly, ready to put distance between them, even if it’s small, breakable. Fragile.
Kojiro moves closer, and this, this is a new expression, but Kaoru can’t take it in, analyze it, because Kojiro’s kissing him, whispering Kaoru, Kaoru, and it’s like he’s never heard his own name before. Not like this.
His fan is still gripped between his fingers, white-knuckled but loosening. Kojiro draws back, but his hands stay, warm and callused and familiar. He’s brushing Kaoru’s hair back, looking, really looking at him, and Kaoru breaks open.
“Tell me,” Kaoru says. “Just this once.”
“You’re not wrong.” For someone so insufferably loud, Kojiro is so quiet now. Is Kaoru imagining it?
“Kaoru,” Kojiro says again, helpless, sighing against Kaoru’s lips. Kisses him slower and deeper, and Kaoru thinks oh, this is real. “Kaoru, there’s no way you’re wrong.”
“No way I’m wrong? That’s the first time you’ve said that to me,” Kaoru laughs weakly. He curls his fingers into the deep cut of Kojiro’s blue shirt, lets his knuckles brush against warm skin.
“So remember it.” Kojiro leans his head against Kaoru’s, wraps his arms around him. “You can be right, just this once, because I love you, the way you love me, so remember it. It’s not a dream.”
“I’ll remember,” Kaoru says. “I promise.”
“But if you need a reminder,” Kojiro says, grinning crookedly, “just ask.”
“Then perhaps my memory is suddenly failing me,” Kaoru says, and leans in.
Kaoru doesn’t realize how much time has passed until Carla begins to auto-play music, aiming to guide him to sleep. But he’s impossibly awake, situated in Kojiro’s lap as they recline in one of the booths. He is comfortable enough to fall asleep right here, but why would he when he can catch up on kisses?
“Hey,” Kojiro says, dream-soft, honey-slow. “Wanna dance?”
“This isn’t the right music,” Kaoru says.
“I’d dance with you to anything. I’ve always wanted to,” Kojiro says. “Change it if you want.”
“It’s fine,” Kaoru says, because the idea of picking out a song for a dance together is a little too much to handle. He likely won’t be able to focus on the music, anyway. “Let’s do it.”
Standing in the middle of the restaurant so closely is reminiscent of their Love Hug demonstration, but ah, now Kaoru can actually do what he wanted — put his arms around Kojiro properly.
Kojiro rests his hands at Kaoru’s hips and Kaoru winds his arms around Kojiro’s neck, and neither of them know how to dance, not really, but it doesn’t quite matter. Kaoru rests his head against Kojiro’s chest, counts heartbeats and quiet, content sighs. Swaying in place like this, he really might just fall asleep, if only because it truly, truly feels like a dream.
He can’t help but wonder how long ago they could’ve had this, and the question falls from his lips tentatively.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Kaoru asks. “We could’ve…”
“I mean, we were together,” Kojiro shrugs. “I was happy with it, and you seemed happy.”
“Idiot,” Kaoru says fondly. “So simple minded.”
“You think too much, I think just enough,” Kojiro teases, drops a kiss on the top of Kaoru’s head. “If anything, I’m surprised you didn’t say anything before. How did you not figure it out, genius?”
“You think too little, gorilla. You should’ve kissed me earlier,” Kaoru says primly. “Let me know sooner.”
“You always say my timing’s inefficient, so,” Kojiro flushes. “Call me consistent.”
“I suppose I can give you that,” Kaoru says. “But how was I supposed to figure it out, Kojiro? Do tell.”
Kojiro laughs in disbelief. “How did you miss all the signs? For how much we argue, you’ve had to realize how bad we are at it. You’re the smart one.”
“You’re smart,” Kaoru says generously. “Sometimes.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Kojiro chuckles. “So I’m hearing you missed all the signs.”
“Easy to miss when…” Kaoru trails off. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We got here eventually.”
“It matters,” Kojiro says. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it. You can ask for anything, Kaoru.”
“If you let me ask,” Kaoru whispers, “I’ll never stop.”
“I wouldn’t want you to.”
“I can’t promise what I’ll do. I don’t know,” Kaoru swallows. “How I’ll be.”
“Think I can’t handle it?” Kojiro raises his eyebrows. “C’mon, babe, you know me better than that. Feel free to do your worst.”
“Wait, how are you switching to nicknames already?” Kaoru groans, pushing his palm against Kojiro’s grin. “I’m trying to be serious here, idiot.”
“We’ve always used nicknames,” Kojiro points out. “I just had different ones for you in my head. Sue me, princess.”
“That’s a familiar one.” Kaoru bites his lip. Kojiro’s teasing voice, his light smile, and the comfort of his embrace takes some of the tension out of his shoulders. “What are the others?”
“You’re going to be mad,” Kojiro says. “But if you really want to know. Sweetheart. Pumpkin. Honey. Cher Bear. Babe, baby. You know, that kind of stuff.”
He actually looks embarrassed. It’s a good look on him. Kaoru would like to see it more often, and he traces the flush on Kojiro’s cheeks curiously.
“Part of that sounds like a grocery list,” Kaoru says, unable to fight his smile. “And, seriously, Kojiro? Cher Bear?”
“Hey, if I’m a gorilla, you have to be an animal too. Anyway, the point is, look,” Kojiro says, “We’re learning things about each other. Embarrassing things, and you still think I’m cool. See how easy that was?”
“I never said you’re cool. Never will.”
“You still love me, don’t you?” Kojiro’s lips quirk. “And you didn’t know I had these silly nicknames for you. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“Idiot,” Kaoru mumbles. “Yeah, maybe. But it’s —”
“Different?”
“It’s different,” Kaoru says. “Because you know when to quit and I don’t. And I don’t know if you’re going to decide one day that —”
“Kaoru. Why do you think that’s going to happen?”
“Because,” Kaoru says despairingly. “Because you knew that Adam was out of reach, and I didn’t, and then you had to take care of me because I — because I got hurt. What if you see something about me that I don’t, Kojiro? And you — you leave?”
It’s the weakest way to put it. Leaving isn’t even the start of it, but it’s the most Kaoru can say without feeling like he’s spewing shattered glass. Maybe now Kojiro will realize that Kaoru’s too much to handle after all, and the very thought brings tears to Kaoru’s eyes all over again.
“Kaoru,” Kojiro says, and hell, there’s pain in his eyes. Because of me, Kaoru thinks. Knows.
“Kaoru,” Kojiro says again. “What I see in you isn’t what I saw in Adam. And what I see in you isn’t going to make me leave. I want to stay , Kaoru. I want to fucking take care of you. I want you to know how much you deserved to be loved all the time, and that means all the time. When you’re happy, sad, mad, whatever. All the time.”
“I don’t know what you see in me,” Kaoru’s voice breaks. “And I hate not knowing.”
“We were what Adam needed, once,” Kojiro says, and he cups Kaoru’s face, wipes his eyes. “But then things changed, and he shut us out. And you can’t force your way into something like that. But the thing about us, sweetheart? It doesn’t matter how many times things have changed. You kept me in your life, and I kept you in mine. And I don’t see a life without you in it, where I don’t need you, where I don’t want you. It doesn’t matter if things get hard. They were hard, do you remember?”
Kaoru hiccups, furrows his brow, because to him, that had been the obvious choice: keeping Kojiro. It’s the other way around that’s confusing. Still, he scowls at Kojiro, struggling in the face of his gentle earnestness. “When are you not making things hard, idiot?”
“There’s my baby.” Kojiro beams softly. Kaoru knows his face must already be a splotchy red, but now he’s blushing all over again. “I know you know. There was the time after Adam, and the time we had to deal with graduation and figuring shit out. There was when you were doing your training, and I was doing mine. We were seven hours apart, and you’d fall asleep on the phone so we could talk. Had to get in your daily dose of insults to keep me humble, you said. Remember all that?”
“Clearly I was unsuccessful.” Kaoru clears his throat, gives a watery chuckle. “Since you’re talking so big.”
“Shut up and let me talk some more,” Kojiro says. He pauses to kiss Kaoru’s forehead, brush back his hair, and Kaoru leans into the touch. “You want to know what I see in you? I see my best friend, and the absolute love of my life. You’re brilliant, Kaoru, in everything you do. You throw yourself into things until they’re perfect, and you take me with you. You’re thoughtful and funny and sweet and sharp and you’re — you’re beautiful, you’re—”
Kojiro falters, swallows. Presses on. “I’m not as good with knowing all the sayings like you are, but there’s so much about you to love, Kaoru. Even if you hide it, even if you pretend it’s not there, those things are there. When you’re skating, or doing calligraphy, you’re so calm and confident and you have that look in your eyes. Or when you laugh and all the love songs make sense. They never made sense before you. You’re cute when you’re miserable and bossy and jealous, and I want to kiss you, no matter whatever look is on your face. I don’t know, Kaoru, I see you and I see what it’s like to be happy with someone forever.”
If Kaoru’s worries felt like a frigid storm before, they feel like a fading winter wind now. His face feels whipped pink, and he’s shaking, chasing warmth, and warmth is here, in Kojiro’s embrace.
He opens and closes his mouth, unsure of how to respond, and he can see himself reflected in Kojiro’s eyes.
I’m the one he loves?
“Too much?” Kojiro tightens and relaxes his grip on Kaoru, unsure what to do. “Kaoru?”
“I love you,” Kaoru gasps. “I love you.”
He didn’t think saying it would be enough before, but he’s kept it trapped for so long that speaking the words feels like letting go and holding on all at once. Like he’s plummeting from the top of a ramp, only to rise up and soar. And he didn’t have calculations and phrases on hand for this, but he can learn. He can figure it out, the way he always has.
“I love you too.” Kojiro’s worry melts away from his face, and he runs his knuckles from Kaoru’s cheek to his jaw tenderly. “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Cher. I didn’t know that it would mean so much to you.”
“I knew. Part of me knew, I think. I wouldn’t have told you otherwise.” Kaoru rubs at his eyes. “And I didn’t say it, either, so. Sorry.”
“I knew too,” Kojiro hums. “Worth the wait, I think. Like I said, we’ve been happy and we’ve been happy together, so I don’t think it’s been time wasted.”
“But I kept you waiting?”
“Okay, no, that’s not what I meant. Like sure, I was a total lovestruck teenager over you, but still. I had a hunch we would figure it out.” Kojiro shrugs. “No need to worry about it, Kaoru.”
“When we were teenagers? Kojiro, I was a mess!” Kaoru gapes.
“A hot mess, babe, don’t underestimate yourself.” Kojiro grins. “And I was a mess too.”
Kaoru’s face twitches. “And you had a hunch? ”
“Yup, found your wallet, found your heart,” Kojiro says. “You can’t knock my hunches now.”
“You really do talk far more shit than I’ve ever imagined,” Kaoru says, flustered. “You insufferable gorilla.”
“That’s not all my mouth’s good for.” Kojiro winks. “Wanna find out?”
“Give me a minute,” Kaoru says, presses his hand to Kojiro’s approaching mouth. “What if we didn’t figure it out?”
“I’m happy as long as you’re with me.” Kojiro shrugs. “I’m pretty simple, Kaoru.”
“Sounds way too noble.” Kaoru huffs, but he removes his hand, lets Kojiro pepper his face with kisses.
“Not really,” Kojiro finally says, once Kaoru’s face is properly flushed. “You know how I am. If things happen, they happen. If they don’t, they don’t. I’ll find a way to be okay no matter what.”
“So if I didn’t say anything…?” Kaoru tilts his head curiously, feels a wellspring of bittersweet fondness. “You would’ve never told me?”
Kojiro turns pink, and that shy boy that Kaoru first fell in love with suddenly reappears. “I mean… I’ve thought about telling you, but when it came to that, it would have to be at the right time, and I wanted it to be, um… really romantic. Like, we would take a trip or something, and…”
Kaoru’s heart jumps from his chest to his throat, tumbles out past his lips. “Wait, don’t tell me. Let’s do it.”
“Do — what?” Kojiro blinks, face turning even darker.
“Go on a trip. Let’s do what you planned instead of me just barging into Sia la Luce.” Kaoru grins. “I want to, ah, experience your ideal romantic confession fully.”
“Babe,” Kojiro says. “Really? You would just — sit back and let me plan a trip. Seriously?”
Kaoru hums, pleased with Kojiro’s wide-eyed, shy expression. “It seems like you’ve already planned it, you just need to invite me along. Tell me when to show up, and I’ll be there.”
“Okay,” Kojiro says, eyes wide. “Okay. Damn. It’s going to be the best trip of your life, baby, I promise.”
“We’ll see about that,” Kaoru teases, taps a finger against Kojiro’s lips. “Don’t let me down.”
“When have I ever, ” Kojiro says, all too innocent, before he hauls Kaoru up into his arms. “Would the princess prefer to be up, instead?”
“If up is your apartment,” Kaoru says, winds his arms around Kojiro’s neck. He leans in close, lets his words ghost against Kojiro’s warm skin. “Then perhaps.”
“It — it can be that. My apartment,” Kojiro says. “Um. Now?”
“We need to clear up,” Kaoru stifles a yawn, as exhaustion finally starts to sink in. “And then we sleep.”
I hope I wake up to you singing in the shower. I hope I wake up to your kisses. I hope I wake up and know you’re mine. I hope I wake up and know this isn’t a dream.
“You want to stay over?”
“Yes. If I can.” Kaoru hides his face in the crook of Kojiro’s neck. He finds his answer in a steady pulse, in a rumbling laugh, and lets himself smile.
“Always, Kaoru.”