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The thing is, now that Gentaro and Dice know, the signs seem so obvious.
Well, there’s a reason they say hindsight is 20/20, Gentaro supposes. In the end, It’s less about being a good actor and more about hiding things in plain sight. With Ramuda’s over-the-top bubbly personality and cloyingly sweet charm, it’s easy to get lost in those peculiarities. Any odd behavior eventually gets chalked up as just another Ramuda Thing; something to briefly laugh at and then move on from.
And if someone did end up looking too deeply into those flattering, plastic smiles, Ramuda always made sure to demonstrate—had demonstrated to Gentaro personally, with an unnerving gaze and a voice stranger than his usual high-pitched nonsense—that underneath the sugar was something dangerous, something that shouldn’t be touched, something…
Something dark and twisted and inhumane.
Now, Gentaro watches as Ramuda fumbles around the kitchen early in the morning, dead on his feet while looking for his stash of instant coffee. Gentaro himself is drinking a cup from Ramuda’s actual coffee maker: a fancy, hot-pink french press that Ramuda had no idea how to use until Gentaro saved it from its dusty corner.
(He’s tried, of course, to show Ramuda the proper way to enjoy coffee, but for some reason Ramuda insists that the shitty powder he gets from the convenience store is somehow better.)
Maybe it’s because Ramuda is clearly still struggling to wake up and the way he keeps sleepily rubbing his eyes is, dare he say, cute. Maybe it’s because Gentaro saw Ramuda drooling in bed a mere ten minutes ago, spread like a starfish and nearly buried under Dice.
Or maybe it’s because, despite Gentaro’s efforts to keep himself at a distance, to build layers upon layers around his identity like the clothes he wears, to live up to his name of Phantom, a barely seen ghost that leaves behind no proof of existence... Fling Posse has managed to find a home in the cracks of his facade. They’ve seeped into his skin, reminded him of what it’s like to have people who care, who don’t mind that he might lie about far more than they realize—
—Ah. The point is, Ramuda doesn’t seem scary at all. Not anymore. Not like this.
Instead, he smiles as Ramuda finally finds what he’s been looking for... although, that quickly turns into a frown as Ramuda proceeds to pour three packets of instant coffee into a mug, along with a heaping spoonful of sugar, and orange juice.
They rarely wake up together, with work schedules (or the lack of one, for Dice) between the three of them far too erratic to coordinate anything. It strikes him, suddenly, that this is perhaps the first time he’s seen Ramuda eat his ‘breakfast’—If his concoction could even be considered that.
“Now, that doesn’t seem like a very balanced breakfast,” Gentaro chimes, feeling increasingly concerned as Ramuda actually drinks it. “Is this what you usually have in the morning?”
Ramuda doesn’t answer until he’s seated across from him at their kitchen table, sleepily scowling at him. “And what if it is? Is there a problem with that?”
(Gentaro stills. It’s not his first time hearing Ramuda’s real voice, but it still fills him with a tender sort of warmth. Not as deep as it is when he’s threatening someone, but it’s still octaves lower than his usually pitchy whines.
In the past few weeks of living together, Ramuda has slowly and steadily been forgoing his voice around them, either too tired to use it all times of the day, or no longer caring. Either way, both considerations make his heart flutter.)
“Well, I just think it’s important to have a proper meal to start your day,” Gentaro says, instead of any of his other thoughts. “Surely, all that sugar can’t be healthy.” Also, orange juice in coffee is… a unique combination, to say the least.
In response, Ramuda rolls his eyes and makes a big deal of chugging his concoction while holding up his middle finger. It’s sort of fascinating to watch—in the same way one can’t look away from a car crash. Morbidly delightful, in all the awful ways.
“Ehh, a proper meal is when you enjoy what you’re eating!” Ramuda says cheerily, finally coming more into his persona as the caffeine and sugar starts running through his veins. “Why should I bother with icky things like veggies? They’re no fun!”
Gentaro stirs at his own cup of coffee, letting out a loud sigh. “Well, it’s important to have a diet that consists of a variety of food groups, is it not?”
“What’s a food group?”
“Ramuda,” Gentaro sighs, using his ‘it’s-too-early-for-this’ voice, stressing each syllable with irritation. He looks up, about to make an obvious joke of a lie—only to falter once he’s met with a genuinely curious expression. “Oh.”
Briefly, Ramuda’s face goes blank. Quiet in the way he usually is whenever he realizes he’s done something distinctly non-human. “Nevermind,” he quickly amends, hiding his shaky hands with a wide, faux smile. “That was a lie! Who wouldn’t know what a food group is? Did I get’cha Gentaro? Your bad habits are rubbing off on me!”
“...Yes, of course,” Gentaro says politely. Ramuda gets touchy about this sort of thing, after all, and he knows not to pry. They’ll probably make jokes and laugh about it later, until Ramuda loosens up and forgets to feel ashamed.
But the reality of this cosmically comedic situation has darker implications that Gentaro doesn’t like. Ramuda’s love of sweets and complete disregard of a normal human diet has always been just another Ramuda Thing to think nothing of, an inevitable habit that can’t be fixed. But now, Gentaro wonders where Ramuda learned to blatantly disregard his own health like that. If that uncontrolled indulgence is really the result of his childish whims, or…
Gentaro stares into his coffee mug.
(More often than not, Ramuda will act like— like a man on his deathbed, Gentaro has realized. With a wild frenzy that borders the line between a zest for life, and a desperation to live before going out. A frantic fire that eats at itself in hopes that it can go out in a blaze of glory.
They haven’t been living together for long, but Gentaro’s found traces of it, sees it in the way Ramuda moves, the way he flits around their apartment, filled with products that still have their shiny, plastic packaging. So many things untouched, unwrapped, but taking up space regardless; as if he’s doing his best to build a home, but doesn’t really know how. He sees it in the way Ramuda clutches onto them when he thinks they’re deep in slumber with trembling hands, the way he goes quiet whenever Gentaro and Dice are looking away.
Ramuda lives like he’s afraid.)
It’s a disarming thought to have, and in an attempt to shake it off, Gentaro gets up and makes his way to the fridge.
“I’m making breakfast,” he announces, feeling Ramuda’s confused stare on his back. He lets out a sigh at the rather empty state of their fridge, taking mental note to go grocery shopping soon. Preferably alone, if he wants to avoid finding random snacks and sweets being snuck into their cart by both Dice and Ramuda.
“You don’t need to do that,” Ramuda whines.
“They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. And I’m sorry to say, my dear, but your, erm, drink is not the most nutritious meal.”
At that, Ramuda lets out an audible tch. “What are you, some sort of mom? You don’t need to— to try to teach me, or try and fix me, or whatever. I’ve always done this and it’s been fine for the past few—”
“Ramuda,” Gentaro interrupts, voice soft in a way he can't control. “Let me take care of you.”
That gets Ramuda to settle.
It’s quiet as Gentaro begins to cook, whisking together eggs and a few other ingredients he's managed to scrounge from their fridge. He’s decided on omelettes, and maybe even toast, only if Dice hasn’t gone completely through their bread supply yet.
Speaking of....
They both hear Dice before they see him. From their shared bedroom there’s an audible yawn, and Gentaro can clearly envision the way he must be stretching all cat-like over their bed, before heavy footsteps make their way towards the kitchen. Gentaro turns to see Dice walk in, his shirt lifted as he scratches at his stomach, hair matted to one side.
“Mmm, smells good,” Dice says predictably, giving Ramuda a kiss on the cheek and then going to Gentaro to hug him from the back. “What’s the occasion? Ya rarely cook this early in the morning.”
“Mm… well, I suppose I just felt like it,” Gentaro says nonchalantly, pretending that he doesn’t want to melt against the easy weight of Dice behind him. Judging by the snort Dice gives him in return, kissing him on the temples, he doesn’t think he does a very good job of it. “If you have the energy to bother me, please set the table so we can eat. I’ll be done soon.”
“Yes sir!” Dice mock-salutes, eager in the way he always is when it comes to food.
There’s an ease with which they all move around the spaces in the apartment— their apartment. Moving in with Ramuda (because, honestly, Dice stayed with both of them often enough that he was just considered a permanent resident in both places) has been both the greatest and worst decision of Gentaro’s life. Because now Gentaro has to deal with Dice’s loud yelling as he watches T.V. late into the night, and Ramuda leaving his random fabric scraps and discarded sketches all over the floors for him to trip on. He’s the only one who can somewhat cook out of the three of them, and they’re always begging him for food, always making a mess for him to clean up, always bothering him when he’s trying to write.
But also, Gentaro gets to hear Dice’s boisterous laughter everyday— a loud but charming noise that never fails to fill him with warmth. And he gets to see the parts of Ramuda he doesn’t have to hide anymore— the way he cutely fumbles with their dishwasher, or fights with the toaster. Imperfections that ironically make him seem more human, more real than the picture-perfect personality he tries to wear every day.
And on the days he feels far away, not really in his body as he drifts around their apartment aimlessly, Dice’s steady grip and Ramuda’s warm hands will tether him softly, gently, filling the aches of loneliness deep in his soul with their brightness.
Living with Dice and Ramuda might be a pain, but it’s also home, in every sense of the word.
The table is set quickly, and Ramuda only grumbles a little bit when Gentaro hands him his plate. Dice digs in as soon as he can, and by the time Gentaro himself sits at the kitchen table, Dice is already halfway done.
“I like this,” he says cheerily, mouth full of food.
“Manners, please,” Gentaro says with mild exasperation.
“Ehhhh, of course you like it.” Ramuda rolls his eyes. “You know, I bet we could give you month-old take out, and you’d still eat it and tell us it tastes good—”
“I meant havin’ breakfast together,” Dice interrupts hotly. “It’s… nice.”
For the second time that day, Ramuda seems to be at a loss for words. Gentaro fails to hide his smile behind a hand, and Ramuda gives him a scathing glare.
“And It’s good to see you eating something other than sugar too, Ramuda!” Dice continues, oblivious.
At that, Ramuda throws his hands into the air. “Why’s what I eat such a big deal, all of a sudden?”
“Because you’re important? And we care about you,” Dice says, so simply that Ramuda falters. “I mean, I guess I can’t say much cause I’m also sorta like you, but like, eating candy all the time like that can’t be healthy.”
“...Healthy,” Ramuda repeats. As if the word is foreign on his tongue. As if it’s something he’s never had to consider before, especially in regards to himself. “You’re telling me to be… healthy.”
“Well, I’m not saying you gotta go vegan and start eating whole-wheat bread all the time, or whatever,” Dice quickly amends. “Just— well, we’re gonna be with each other ‘til we die, right? And it’d be sorta shitty if you went out early. N-not that I think you’re gonna die soon! But, like our bodies aren’t as young or whatever or— um.”
“What Dice is trying to say is that we worry, whether you like it or not,” Gentaro chimes in, saving Dice from embarrassing himself any further. “And that if you don’t take care of yourself, we’ll notice. And we’ll bother you about it, until you do.”
Ramuda is staring down at his own plate, eyes hidden from both their gazes. When he speaks, his voice is so low, so hesitant, that Gentaro barely catches it.
“...What if I don’t know how?”
“Then we’ll help until you do,” Dice says brightly.
“And we’ll help even after that, too,” Gentaro adds. “Like I said earlier—let us take care of you, Ramuda.”
With that, Ramuda smiles at them, shining and bright and altogether so honest that Gentaro finds himself blinded. As if he’s staring into the sun. “I knew I picked the best people to be in my posse!”
And Gentaro has never done this before either; has never felt his heart go so wildly aflutter at the sight of another’s face, has never cared so deeply for someone else and somehow felt that same affection actually returned, has never been held so reverently in the morning and in the night and all the hours in between. Dice is always talking about miracles, and while he usually likes to berate the other’s baseless faith, Gentaro thinks that their shared space is proof of one. A miracle, that is.
Because in this 1LDK apartment, the three of them—and what an impossible story it seems, a liar and a gambler and a puppet all pretending to be something else—have somehow built something good. Something pure.
Something not unlike a star, their wishes and hopes and dreams all kept within these four walls, a revelation contained and experienced through these simple mornings, and the promise of more to come.
Something—if Gentaro dares to think, to dream— that tastes a little bit like love.