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The fifth time my eyes snap open this morning, it's to the sound of Ouma Kokichi throwing up in my toilet.
…Or at least, I sure hope it's my toilet. He's probably not gonna shoot for my sink or bathtub or something just to make it harder on me, but he was really far gone last night, so maybe he-
Nope, no, okay, it's the toilet. Momota 1, universe 0. Perfect. I pick myself up (ignoring the cramp in my neck from falling asleep in the chair) and trot over to Ouma in the bathroom.
It only hits me once I'm there that I've kinda got no clue what to do now.
I don't mean that like oh no, I've never done this before, I've done this before, but not with… well, not with Ouma. For fuck's sake, last night was the first time I've seen him in five years! Would he be okay with me massaging his shoulders? Holding his hair? It's not like I can ask while he's busy, uh, y'know.
It's when one lilac eye falls on me through his hair and my heart does some kinda stutter (the, the normal kind, that's normal) that I decide to take action anyways, gently scooping his hair up and around his head with both hands and holding it back with one. His hair, it's rough, surprisingly so, like he hasn't been taking care of it. It's… weird, and puts another knot in my chest, where the first half dozen from last night still haven't faded. It's not like I expect perfect hair care out of him or nothin', it's just…
In those dreams where I carry him to the press, where I drop it down on him and, anyways, his hair always feels… soft, in that way you shouldn't think about a guy's hair while you're killing him but you still do. It was a bit greasy, which it isn't now either, and more than a little sweaty, which… it is.
…His skin was just as pale and drawn, then, and his breathing wasn't so far from the panting gasps between upchucks, so I figure it's time to not be thinking about that, and instead be thinking about what else I can do to help. Geez, Momota, you're better than this.
It's just… hard, not to think about it, when Ouma felt dead to me for years and then out of nowhere one night he's not and it's like five years of growing and changing and getting away from it suddenly reversed course.
I take my free hand and start running along his back, delicate at first so he can get used to it, then firm enough to actually mean somethin'. From what I remember of Ouma after the sim, he was always hesitant with touching, but he didn't mind so much after he got used to it. Hopefully that stayed the same, if nothing else.
He's grown some. A little taller, I think. And his muscles, or his back muscles at least, feel more… defined. Definitely more than after sim, but… more than during it, too, I think.
God, Kaito, this sounds really gay. Anything else, think about anything else. C'mon, man, why are you so all over the place this morning? Snap out of it.
…For not the first time, staring at him, I wonder what he's been doing. He hasn't been in town long, I'm sure of that much. I don't hear everything, but it's a small enough town that I like to think I would've spotted him if he was around, or someone would've said something, y'know?
But maybe that's just me thinking what I want to. Tch.
It just doesn't make any sense. I walk into a bar and the first thing I see is him chatting up the barkeep with one of his ridiculous stories like it's nothing, like he does this all the time. He was drunk already, drunk enough that I'm not even sure he remembers coming home with me. And even if he did, it wasn't exactly a want thing. People were starting to talk and he was in no shape to get himself home, or… wherever he's stayin', so I just kinda did it.
At least he didn't seem to mind while he was drunk, chatting me up all the way home about things he said he did, each harder to believe than the last, until he fell asleep and I had to carry him in. I laid him down on my couch and stayed to keep an eye on him… for his safety an' all, but…
Gggh. Kaito. Doesn't do anybody good to dwell on that, just stay in the here and now, and-
Ouma… stopped throwing up at some point, staring at me with some mix of tiredness and amusement. "Welcome back, space case," he says, grinning, and why did I want this guy around, again?
…I can't even pretend that's true. Especially not when he still sounds so exhausted, the kinda tiredness even he can't hide. (Sure he would if he could, though.)
"It's early," I scoff, turning my head away a little. "You done?"
Ouma pulls his head just a touch as an answer, and I let his hair go without a word. He brushes past me for the sink (his skin's sweaty, too), turning on the faucet for water.
…I should get him some in a cup, and pull the blinds shut. Maybe find some headache meds. There's no way he's not still feelin' all that.
…Mmm. Maybe…
A couple trips around and I've brought him water, medicine, plus a spare hoodie and sweatpants. It's pretty obvious he's out of it just from how confused he looks when I bring them to him.
"Take a shower," I suggest, my voice a little gentler than I mean, "you'll feel better."
Even tired as he is, Ouma's grin still looks like trouble as ever. "Momota-chan familiar with this song and dance? Does he also prefer how alcohol tastes the second time around?"
Ew, dude. "No," I roll my eyes, "but bein' friends with Miu leaves you ready for a lot."
That seems to hit him harder than I'd meant - his face falls to nothing - there are words already on my tongue before he cuts me off by taking the clothes. "Out of here, then," he says, finger to his lips, "unless you'd like to watch me undress, mmm?"
My whole face is on fire when I spin around to leave the bathroom, and I can still feel it in my ears even after I turn the TV on for white noise before I start cooking breakfast.
Man. I can't believe he'd still say things like that to me, like he's actually…
…
Like he's actually what, Kaito? You gonna sit here and tell me how Ouma feels about everything, now? You gonna tell me whether he does or doesn't feel that stupid energy from every stupid little thing either of us does? And it's so stupid, too, because it's not like he even wanted to see me, he just… ran into me out of nowhere after five years of wherever he's been, whatever he's doing that makes him happy.
…If it really does make him happy, and he hasn't just spent five years denying himself everything he ever wanted.
That wouldn't surprise me either, not really, but it's… harder, harder to think about, because it would mean five years Ouma spent doing everything but what made him happy, and that, that just…
Some days that would piss me off, but today I'm just… tired. It's been a long five years.
…
Fuck! Kaito, the eggs!! Okay, okay okay, they're fine, it's all good it's fine. I can just… make scrambled. I meant to do scrambled the whole time. Perfect.
"Momota-chan," Ouma's voice rings out from the living room, more composed now, "what the fuck are you watching?"
I glance over at him, past the dividing wall for the rooms. " What? " I say, though I'm more knowing about it than I mighta been when I was younger.
"Is this some kind of game show? It looks like it's from the 1800s."
"They didn't even have television in the 1800s!" I shoot back, but there's no bite to it. "Most of those shows are from the 60s and 70s." Mmm. Rice is about cooked, and eggs will be done soon. That's good.
"Why are they white?" Ouma asks, in possibly the worst way to ask why I'm watching old American TV.
It's just, well, looking up old Japanese game shows, even when you try to block it out, you always get…
"I like it," I huff, self-confident, "ancient game shows are the best thing America's done for us."
Ouma doesn't respond, so I take the opportunity to plate everything and bring the food in, dropping both plates on the coffee table.
…Ouma looks better after a shower, a little more in his skin. Seems like he found one of my hair ties for his hair, it's… longer than I remember. Obviously. Don't mind seeing him in one of my outfits, either, even if it is way too big on him.
He pouts at the eggs in front of him. " Momota-chaaaaaaan, " he says, in a voice that only means trouble, "you can't expect me to eat this without ketchup, soy sauce, and hot sauce!"
" And hot sauce?" My nose wrinkles up. That sounds… terrible for a hangover.
He does one of those fancy little claps, stiff upper lipping me. "Chop chop, Momota! Your god asks nothing less of you."
"I'm atheist," I mutter, before turning around to get them for him anyways.
"I know you're a theist!" Ouma snaps back, sounding too proud of himself. "Anybody who worships is, y'know?"
I'm not dignifying that with a response.
When I come back, Ouma's transfixed, watching the game show. It's Press Your Luck, and somebody just pressed a little too hard and lost all their money. They do a little animation of some red guy dropping into a bucket of feathers and spilling it just before a bunch of feathers fall on the person playing.
"Figures you'd like this one," I say, shaking my head as I set the bottles down. "That's the Whammy. He shows up whenever somebody loses their money."
"Not gonna lie," Ouma says, plucking the ketchup and shaking it, "I kinda aspire to that."
I let out a dramatic sigh before sitting down next to him. "I know you do."
I really shouldn't be so fond when I say that. It's just… hard. It feels like we stepped back together and started dancing right where we left off, with the same rhythm and motion.
But that… I can't do that. The rhythm's not the same. And I'm not the same guy I was back in that stupid facility, the one Ouma left without even a word of goodbye.
So I eat quietly. I get the feelin' that Ouma gets how I'm feeling, because his own expression fades away, too, and then it's just us, sitting there watching people try and land on that trip to Maui.
I have so many questions, but I just can't find the words, and after all the nights I've spent dreaming about this, all the nights I've lied awake thinking about it, that's what pisses me off the most.
It doesn't surprise me that Ouma breaks the silence. But what does surprise me is what he says.
"Kaito."
That one word is enough to put butterflies in my chest, especially how he says it. When he says my name, it's almost never casual, it's either drawn out like a child would or, like now, it's quiet, emotional. Close. Close enough to cut right through me.
"I… didn't know if I'd come back here."
Kokichi, he's never been here before, so I assume he means here, like, with me, and I don't know how to respond to that. I'm great at feeling things, a little too good actually, but that doesn't mean I can always just say what I want to. It feels like I'm gonna, and then I try to, and it,
"Are you going to stay?" A stranger asks in my voice, and I can't stand to look at him, at Kokichi, I just, I can feel his eyes burning me through, and I can't meet them, not now.
I feel it when he looks away, too.
"I don't know that, either," he admits, quieter, and if nothing else, the honesty is refreshing.
I put my plate down, stare at my hands, try to respond, try to say something, anything.
"I shouldn't have brought you back like this," I say, "you weren't in any state to agree to it."
"Don't say that," Kokichi responds, faster than I expect. "I wanted to see you. I just…" he shakes his head, "five years."
"Five years," I echo. "So what even brings you out here?" I bring my own water glass up to my lips. It's just that… this town is small enough you usually don't come here for no reason. So it's a bit weird to find Kokichi here, that's all.
Kokichi gives me a look, brow furrowed, tilting his head. "Oh, I'm going on a bar crawl for every city in Japan, y'know! This was the next one on my list, that's all."
Oh.
His gaze sharpens. "No, don't believe that, asshole. I came here to see you. "
I spit water all over my coffee table. " Huh!? "
"Is that really so much of a stretch to believe, Kai-chan?" Kokichi frowns, crossing his arms. Fuck, my face is heating up. "I thought that was obvious. Who took your spine in the divorce?"
" Nobody did," I snap, defensively, "but… how did you even know where I was? "
"Well, you're not the only one who can talk to Iruma-chan," Kokichi points out. "If she's been acting all cagey lately, it's 'cuz I asked her not to say anything."
Well, that explains a lot. But… "That started a week ago, Ouma."
Kokichi takes a drink of his own water before speaking. "And?"
…Man, never mind the fact that I've been thinking about him on and off for years, the fact that he's been thinking about seeing me for a week is too much to wrap my head around. What's up with me?
I shake my head, clearing those thoughts out. "If you want to do something, you should just do it, you know," I say, instead, "nobody's gonna know what you want otherwise."
Kokichi laughs at that, louder than I'm expecting him to, loud enough that he groans a little at the end, massaging his temple. "Bold of you to assume that I know what I want, let alone anybody else."
…Mmm.
"You wanted to see me, didn't you?" I say, quieter. "Well, I'm here. Now what?"
My chest aches, but I try and bury the feeling down. It's not gonna matter, it won't change anything. It never will. What we had is gone, now. It's obvious what we had back during recovery didn't matter to Ouma, and I sorta doubt he's even thinking about-
"I'm sorry."
…Huh?
I look to him, but it's hard to see his expression through his hair. He's staring down at the floor.
"I should've said something, I shouldn't have run off, I could've done better, I don't know, there are so many things I want to apologize for I don't even know where to start. I couldn't handle it, then, the idea of staying anywhere with anyone, and now, now I…" His voice shakes and then stops.
Fuck, Kaito you dumbass.
I don't even register I'm moving until my arms are around him, pulling him in closer to me. "Kokichi," I say, my own voice a little thick, and I want to say it's okay or I forgive you or don't worry about it, but I don't think those are the things to say, especially not when I'm still hurting.
"Thank you," I say, instead, "for saying that, and thank you for coming back."
His own hands wrap around me, and I can hear him crying, quiet as he tries to be, but I don't say anything. Don't need to. I just rub his back again and stay there, best as I can.
And hey. If he's already crying, it's not so bad when my own eyes mist up a little, too. That's how it works.
"I missed this," Kokichi says, squeezing me a little, "and I…" he sucks in a breath, "I missed you, Kaito."
It's hard for Kokichi to say things like that, I know. The fact that he did makes me think I might not have been the only one lying awake at night thinking about it.
I reach a hand up to run through his hair. It's still pretty damp, but it feels better now than it did earlier. It's a good sign, I think. These are a lot of good signs.
"I missed you too, Kokichi."
Maybe I'll get my hopes up after all.