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“What’s that?” Reki’s question was light, curious, and without checking to see what he was pointing at on Kojiro’s person, Kojiro knew what the teen was asking about.
His fingertips brushed the triangle charm dangling from the cord around his neck, thumb running over the grain on its underside.
“Kaoru.” Kojiro came up from behind the long-haired man who was leaning over his desktop and likely doing permanent damage to his spine in the process. “Are you going to sleep at any point?”
Sharp golden eyes snapped to him, but Kaoru clearly didn’t have the will to truly glare at Kojiro, which just proved his exhaustion because he always had energy to be annoyed with Kojiro. His blue light glasses slipped down his nose and he reached up to adjust them. “I’m almost done.”
“That,” Kojiro replied, emphasis on his first word, “is what you told me two and a half hours ago.” He placed a covered plate recently nuked next to Kaoru’s keyboard, purposefully knocking the mouse off of its pad. “At least eat.”
Surprise flashed in Kaoru’s eyes. “I didn’t realize…” he trailed off, running a hand over his face.
Kojiro sighed. “I know. That’s why I’m still here.” The room was aglow, but only from the dual monitors and the specially designed keyboard Kaoru did his work on. The sun had long gone away, the moonlight insufficient on such a cloudy evening to do much more than cast shadows.
One might take a look at Kaoru’s apartment and PC setup and assume he had all of the money in the world, but Kojiro knew the truth. The truth being that Kaoru built his machine from scraps, trading parts he’d scavenged or bought for dirt cheap and fixed up for slightly better parts and continuing the cycle until he got something he could work with. His PC was years in the making, and Kojiro knew this too because he’d been helping to scavenge those broken parts since the two of them were fifteen.
Now high school graduates edging on their nineteenth year, Kaoru had a usable setup that he was devoting his life to. Now Kojiro’s job was no longer scavenger, and he’d promoted himself to quality of life checker.
As was the job of a childhood best friend.
The apartment, granted, was given to Kaoru by his family at no cost besides monthly utilities. But the gesture was a goodbye, a “there is an apartment we own in a building we own, go live in it, we’ve set you up for life, you have nothing to defame us for, now don’t ever speak to us again” the day he returned home with his diploma, a wilting flower pinned to his uniform blazer lapel.
There had been no college in Kaoru’s future; that would have been too much. Not after his parents caught him with a boy in his bedroom one night at seventeen.
Kojiro had never had any delusions of a normal college education for himself. Food had been his passion since he was young, and he’d planned to start work directly after high school and save up for culinary school. Plus, the more he read articles by and studied other chefs, he knew the best way to get a food education was to travel. Travel was expensive, even if it was for more than just a hobby.
“You’re still here because my place is quieter than yours,” Kaoru replied in a surprisingly snarky tone considering his droopy eyes.
Like Kojiro said, Kaoru always had energy to be annoyed with him.
“I am here for your company only,” Kojiro lied. His words were truthful, but he did have an ulterior motive (more than one, if he was honest with himself).
Kojiro currently shared a two-bedroom apartment with two other post-high school graduates, one in college, one not. Koijro’s bedroom wasn’t an actual bedroom. He’d pulled the short straw, so he got the windowless storage room that could barely fit a futon. The door closed and latched, and he paid less in monthly rent, but that was its only benefit. With thin walls, and three very different sleep schedules living under one roof, Kojiro was amazed he ever got any sleep.
He enjoyed loitering at Kaoru’s for as long as he could get away with. The apartment wasn’t any bigger than his, but it was newer, with an air-con unit that worked in each major room, and a kitchen that he’d claimed as exclusively his the first time he entered the building.
Kaoru speared a slice of chicken onto a fork. Kojiro watched apprehensively, as he always did when observing someone try a dish he was new to preparing. He had found an enjoyment and interest in Italian dishes recently, so he’d attempted a simple, but hopefully tasty, aglio e olio with baked chicken. As the fork’s tines reappeared from between Kaoru’s pink lips, tongue chasing a drip of the oil as it disappeared from reach, he waited for his critique.
Kaoru took a second forkful, twisting the fettuccine noodles around the utensil, but before the fork made it to his mouth, he paused. He arched a light pink eyebrow at Kojiro. “What?”
“Is it good?”
Kaoru scowled and viciously inhaled the forkful. Cheeks bulging slightly, he replied, “‘m too tired t’ taste.”
Kojiro grinned. That meant Kaoru loved it.
Kojiro nodded his head at the computer. “Are you actually close to finishing, or…?”
Being the absolute genius he was (and never liked Kojiro to forget it), Kaoru had found a way to integrate his skill with coding into not only his career, but also his hobby.
Taught as a child and through high school calligraphy, Kaoru knew he could make money off of this talent of his, even without a college education. But without any contacts in the field, he had to stand out somehow to gain clientele. With a combination of video performance calligraphy that he posted online to a growing audience of followers, as well as selling pieces on commission and some simple, easily sellable designs meant to draw in tourists at a local shop, Sakurayashiki Kaoru was steadily becoming a known name in the Okinawa calligraphy scene.
But one night five months ago, he’d woken Kojiro up with an idea that was putting him on the path of innovator.
“I think I made artificial intelligence calligraphy.”
“Huh?” Kojiro had rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, checked the time on his alarm clock, and groaned when he saw it was near three in the morning. He’d have to be awake by four thirty to open the bakery he was assisting for a few months, but he knew he was awake for good as soon as he heard Kaoru speak.
“Artificial Intelligence. I took this code I had from an abandoned school project and was messing with it—”
“Have you slept?” Kojiro interrupted to ask.
“Not the point, but… no.” Kojiro knew the pause was Kaoru either wincing or yawning. “It doesn’t matter. It got me thinking about how I could use it to build a program so that all those stupid commissions I don’t want to do can be done for me if I just had the computer memorize my handwriting and do it in a fraction of the time. And it works .”
Kojiro sat up and pushed the blanket off of his legs. He tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he stood. “It does?”
“It will. I think so. Could you—”
Kojiro was already slipping on his jeans. “On my way.”
It took several rounds of trial and error, but Kaoru’s big brain made it work. There had been simpler font-making programs and sites available before that point, but this was highly specific and made just for Kaoru’s hand. The coding behind it was so complicated, and it all made Kojiro’s vision swim when he tried to decipher it. He’d suggested that Kaoru try to submit his tech for an award, maybe get a grant or two.
“It’s not good enough yet,” Kaoru always said. “But when it is, you won’t have to suggest it, it will already be done and won.”
Cocky, but Kojiro had full faith in his best friend.
It had been a month since he stopped messing with the AI Calligraphy code, content with its current state, but Kaoru had been bitten by the artificial intelligence bug.
“If I can simplify this, why not simplify everything?”
The thing he did best after calligraphy? Skateboarding.
“I won’t know until I can try it out,” Kaoru finally said. He was halfway through the plate now. “I needed to give it a map to memorize, so I plotted out the S course—” at Kojiro’s noise of upset, Kaoru corrected himself, “the new one, not the old one. And I’ll have to actually attach it to a board to see if the GPS and guidance systems can keep up with the speed of skating.”
Two days after Ainosuke left for America, they made the decision, because it was their executive decision alone to make now, to never use that dangerous S track again.
“The path into the factory,” Kaoru declared, and Kojiro nodded. “That one is safe. This is not.”
They boarded up the entrance with discarded pallets, Kojiro playing lookout further up the road as Kaoru nailed them into place. Together, they spray painted the entire area with random characters and silly cartoons and then tied off and draped discarded police tape around the slats. They’d skated in plenty of abandoned buildings over the years and knew where to find some.
Kojiro stepped back when they’d finished to admire their work. He’d huffed out a breath and ran his forearm over his forehead to wipe away the sweat cooling under the night air. “Think that’s as good as we can do.”
Kaoru had nodded in agreement, and Kojiro had pretended not to see the hurt that had become a permanent feature of his best friend’s expression.
That part of the track hadn’t been skated on ever since. Skateboarding picked up in popularity the year they graduated from high school, and some of the people they used to skate with brought the new skaters to Crazy Rock to find a safe place to compete. It was also a safe haven for adult skateboarders, because the sport was seen more negatively by society. It was a “shameful hobby” that many had to hide once they aged out of school. Kojiro had been glad to provide a place to gather together at, if not to bet each other on who was better, then at least to bask in everyone’s shared interests. Now the S community was about thirty large, and increasing every month.
“How are you going to attach it to the board?” Kojiro asked. “Or are you going to build one?”
“I’ll modify one of my old decks, just in case it doesn’t work.” Reaching into a desk drawer, Kaoru leaned down and retrieved a rectangular sensor bar-looking device. It was nearly the size of his hand. “This will be Bluetooth connected to my tablet. I’ll cut the deck, right in the front, and replace it with this.”
“Cutting can wait until tomorrow.” Kaoru had visions of bleeding, or missing, fingers. “I open tomorrow, so I can’t stay up much later. I’m giving you ten more minutes. I want to see an empty plate” — though it was nearly there already— “and a powered-down computer by the time I finish washing the dishes.”
“You’re such a mother,” Kaoru sniped, but shoved another forkful into his mouth, freehand clacking over the keyboard, eyes locked back on the left screen. “And you can just stay here tonight.”
Kojiro froze in the doorway, back to his friend, so he couldn't see his expression. “Are you sure?” Kojiro wasn’t sure why he asked. It wasn’t a rare occurrence between them. There was a perfectly good futon in the living room that even someone at his height could comfortably lay on. They’d been sleeping over at each other’s houses since they were in elementary.
But Kojiro hadn’t been back to his apartment except to change clothes for four days. He just kept finding excuses to bother Kaoru the day after, and Kaoru didn’t shove him out the door at the end of the night.
It was becoming easier and easier to just… not leave. And the realization was a bit terrifying.
He really should go home.
“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure.”
A hand settled on his shoulder, and Kojiro just barely stopped himself from flinching at the touch. Cold porcelain pressed against his limp hand, and instinct had him taking hold of the plate handed to him before he realized what was happening.
Looking over his shoulder, Kaoru was sleepily smirking at him. “You do the dishes when you stay.”
Motherfucker.
“Ungrateful, lazy ass…” Kojiro grumbled as he turned away and stalked into the kitchen.
“At least my biceps aren’t bigger than my brain,” Kaoru sang after him. Kojiro bristled.
So he’d been putting on muscle. There was nothing wrong with staying fit. He made and ate a lot of food in his line of work, so to combat it he’d started working out and found he enjoyed doing weight training. He liked his muscular definition and found his reflection in the mirror aligning with how he felt.
Turning on his heel, Kojiro marched back into the office and said, in the most casual voice he could, “Oh, I think you missed some pasta.”
Kaoru blinked up at him sleepily and then glanced down at his desk, his lap, and the floor below him. “What? I did not.”
Kojiro reached out and snagged Kaoru’s wrist, wiggling his arm about. “Oh wait, I found the noodle right here.”
Kaoru snatched back his arm in a sudden burst of adrenaline, sleepy eyes narrowing into a glare that was much more effective, like Kojiro’s teasing had woken him up.
“Gorilla,” Kaoru hissed, rubbing his wrist, working at his tendons with a thumb.
Feeling much more settled for some reason, like their bickering recentered him, Kojiro exited the room with a skip in his step and didn’t even mind that, yes, he was doing Kaoru’s dishes for him.
Despite his annoyance with Kojiro, within ten minutes Kaoru did close the door to his office for the night and regarded Kojiro as he unfolded a blanket over the couch. Kojiro had already stripped down to just his boxers and folded his clothes, piled neatly on the floor. He fluffed up the pillow and arched a brow at the pink-haired man.
“Did you want the couch?” he teased.
Kaoru’s face went pink with rage. “No. Sleep well.” He turned on his heel and marched into the bathroom, door rattling as it closed with a bang behind him. Kojiro just chuckled.
Staying silent, Kojiro kept awake long enough to ensure Kaoru hadn’t drowned in the bath and had indeed made it at least safely into his bedroom, if not his bed. Then his exhaustion hit and he embraced it without protest.
His alarm going off at seven wasn’t a wonderful experience, but by the time he exited the bathroom, there was a pot of fresh coffee and an empty mug sitting on the counter waiting for him.
Kojiro could see from the crack beneath the office door that the light was on. When he concentrated, he could hear the clack of keys.
After finishing off one cup of coffee, he prepared a second the way Kaoru liked it and knocked softly at the office door. The clacking stopped.
“Come in.”
Replacing the empty mug on the desk with the fresh one, Kojiro said, “I’m off.”
Kaoru looked well rested, despite his less than eight hours, but Kojiro couldn’t say Kaoru ever didn’t look good.
“When do you finish today?” Kaoru asked.
Kojiro imagined his schedule. “Nine-thirty to four.” A long shift, but he was finding he enjoyed his current place of work. It was the long commute into the center of the city that was the primary con.
“Meet me at S at five— no, seven.” Kaoru glanced away from his screen to assess Kojiro. “That should give you a chance to inflate your arms some more before meeting me."
Kojiro snorted a laugh. He could read Kaoru like a book. Kaoru knew exactly how much Kojiro detested the post-work commute and had factored that into their plans.
“How thoughtful. Seven it is.”
When Kojiro arrived at S, only a few minutes late, he conducted the usual precautions to check for police activity. This area had been abandoned by the city and considered inhabitable, but that didn’t mean it was off of the patrol route. They’d gotten pretty used to knowing when patrols would be, but they were always careful and cautious. If Crazy Rock got discovered and shut down, it would be a big loss for the adult skateboarding community.
“Finally,” Kaoru said with a tsk when Kojiro found him. Kojiro didn’t respond, too surprised to see an all-too-familiar board in Kaoru’s hands.
It had been a couple of years since the familiar deck splashed with blues along the base had been in the pink-haired man’s hands. Kaoru had retired the board right before graduation, saying it had seen its final skate, and he’d been looking to get a new deck anyway, and that it was just about falling apart, and a handful of other excuses that all told Kojiro the board reminded Kaoru too much of Ainosuke, and that was the real reason.
He hadn’t realized until just now, seeing the board again, how upset he’d really been when Kaoru tossed it out. Because yes, it was filled with memories of skating with ADAM as JOE and Cherry Blossom, or the fledgling versions of their S personas. But it was also the board that Kojiro had gotten with Kaoru at the brand new skate shop in town. It had been a big deal when DOPE SKETCH had opened its doors, and every skateboarder on the island had wanted to support it. The two teenagers obsessed with skateboarding were of course part of the pack.
They’d gotten new boards together that day. Kojiro had, naturally, also retired that board, but only after the deck cracked along the screws. He’d been very upset to let it go. He donated it back to DOPE SKETCH and they said they’d make sure it got put to good use.
After that, he’d started riding modified longboards and hadn’t looked back since.
Though Kojiro had assumed, he was wrong; Kaoru hadn’t tossed his away. New trucks and wheels had been outfitted to the board, of course, but the deck was still the same.
Well, nearly the same.
On the nose of the board, just above the curve of the wood, there was a familiar-sized rectangle cut out of the deck. On the ground beneath Kaoru’s feet, Kojiro could see the remnants of that chunk.
When he looked for it, he saw the handsaw leaning against the rock wall nearby, a toolkit open next to it.
“You couldn’t wait for my inflated arms to help out on the physical bits?” Kojiro asked as he sidled up to Kaoru. His true concern that came through in his voice was no one spotting his friend while he used a sharp object out in the middle of nowhere. He couldn’t stop looking at the board, though, and the shards of it he could be crunching under his feet unknowingly.
“I don’t have all night,” Kaoru replied, a small rubber hammer in hand as he wedged a black plastic buffer into the exposed wood notch. Once that was firmly in place, the black Bluetooth sensor he’d shown Kojiro the night before snapped neatly into place.
Kaoru looked pleased with himself, and he had a right to be. Not everyone could design an AI program compatible with skateboarding. Kojiro doubted anyone had ever thought to do so before.
Kojiro wolf whistled, and Kaoru glared at him. Ah, there was that bright gaze. He’d been missing it.
Kaoru reached over, pulled his tablet from his backpack, and smacked it none too gently into Kojiro’s torso. He quickly raised a hand to press it against him, to be sure it didn’t fall and break when Kaoru let go, which he did immediately. “Jesus, Kaoru.”
“I need you to track me. The program should analyze where I’m heading and tell me then which direction to turn and what speed to go at. I’ll be listening through this headpiece,” Kaoru held up an earbud that had a small microphone attached to it that he easily clipped to his ear. He’d taken out his piercings, Kojiro noticed, but didn’t comment on. “The sensor bar,” he indicated to it on the nose of the skateboard, “will communicate to the program,” he tapped the screen in Kojiro’s hands, “which should communicate back to me.” He tapped the ear piece, and it flashed a bright purple light.
“Okay,” Kojiro droned. He was following along so far.
Kaoru leaned in close and turned the tablet on. Arms pressed together, the two looked down at the screen as it came to life, Kojiro pointing as he explained. “This half is the map I created for the program. Hopefully, my indicator,” a red pulsing dot at one end of the map, “will move at the same rate that I do. If it does, then the program is in sync with the board. The other half here,” an identical swirling road image with a blue pulsing dot in the same spot mirrored on the other half of the screen, “is connected to my phone’s GPS.” He patted his pants pocket. “That way, we can really see if the program is following me at the same speed.”
“Understood,” Kojiro assured him. “But might I suggest something?”
Kaoru huffed, leaning out of Kojiro’s space. And despite the warm evening, Kojiro wished he’d come back closer. “What is your suggestion?”
“Do you have a name for this thing? You keep saying ‘the program’ and it’s going to get confusing once you start to differentiate the artificial intelligence from the mechanism itself.”
Just because Kojiro didn’t know how to do all of what Kaoru could do didn’t mean he didn’t listen and at least half understand when his best friend spoke about his passion projects.
Kaoru pursed his lips which meant Kojiro was right but he didn’t want to admit it. “For now, the program is only in this tablet, Bluetooth connected to the board’s sensor. So as of yet, it is still singular.”
“Got it.” Mostly.
“Usually you’re the one telling me to slow down,” Kaoru joked with a smirk. “What, want me to mod your board too?”
Kojiro recoiled. “No, thank you. I like manual controls.”
“It’s not like I’m planning on making a motorized board that moves for me,” Kaoru replied. “That would be far too easy.”
Kojiro couldn’t help the laugh. Kaoru’s smirk widening at the sound only increased Kojiro’s amusement.
“You’ve certainly never liked easy,” Kojiro commented, voice softer than he meant it to be.
Kaoru met his gaze, and his expression softened as well.
“Ready to try?” Kojiro asked, wiggling the tablet?
Stepping out towards the path, Kaoru set down the board at the line that the skaters at S had begun designating as the starting line often enough to have spray painted the rock underfoot in a jagged white line to mark it.
After turning on the sensor, he stepped onto the board and glanced back at Kojiro. “Count me in.”
Feeling a bit silly, them being the only two around and initiating a race between a man and his super brain and the super-brain program he’d created, Kojiro just nodded and kept his eyes on the screen.
Checking to be sure both GPS systems were starting from the same spot, Kojiro counted down from three. When he shouted, “Go!” Kaoru shot off like he was actually racing, and Kojiro exclaimed a cheer, caught up in the sudden burst of action.
Kaoru was not going easy on his creation.
Both maps progressed at the same rate from what Kojiro could tell, but he knew Kaoru would have saved a recording of the screen and would probably spend the evening into the morning going over the footage and analyzing the mistakes and fixing them.
Not that Kojiro marked any mistakes, but Kaoru always found one thing to improve in everything he did. Most of the time, it was what garnered his best successes. But sometimes, like when they were in school and doing a group project and Kaoru wanted to review the presentation just one more time, it became a problem.
As best friend and quality of life checker, Kojiro would only allow Kaoru to go so far this evening, especially after the late night last night.
Ugh, he was a bit of a mom, wasn’t he?
(Did that mean he planned to stay over another night?)
Kojiro made himself focus on the screen. The blue dot, if he was reading it correctly, seemed to actually be lagging. Figures, Kaoru would create a more accurate Global Positioning System.
Though he could no longer see Kaoru from where he stood, Kojiro couldn’t help but step forward and glance down the track.
Something crunched under his boots, and when he lifted his foot to check that it wasn’t some expensive electronic gadget Kaoru had brought and left on the ground without a warning, he saw again the discarded sections of Kaoru’s board.
One eye on the screen, Kojiro crouched and reached for the discarded pressed plywood pieces. Broken into smaller cuts, because Kaoru must have cut in sections to make it easier with the small hand saw, he picked one of them up and stood.
He rolled the vaguely triangular shaped piece of skateboard around in his palm. It flipped over, and the other side covered in well-used grip tape stared back. Running his thumb over the dulled grain, he felt a sense of peace fall over him.
Imagining dropping the piece of Kaoru’s board back onto the rock only to be swept up into nature or carried off by an animal or bird made Kojiro feel a pang of dread.
He shoved the sliver into his pocket instead. A second later, his phone rang.
"Well?” Kaoru asked? He panted lightly, clearly needing to catch a breath after going as hard as he did.
“You had great time,” Kojiro assured him.
“You idiot. I mean the program.”
“Of course it worked,” Kojiro replied.
He could hear Kaoru’s soft huffs of breath as he assumedly made his way back up the track, hopefully on the straight direct side path parallel to the winding road he’d just skated down.
“Your GPS kept up with you better than your phone’s did.”
“How do you know the program wasn’t just anticipating my movements and jumping ahead?”
“I suppose that could be true,” Kojiro conceded. “But I know, unlike the program, exactly how you skate. And that little red dot hung to the right bank the entire time, just like you always do.”
For a minute, the only response he got was the soft huffs of walking exertion.
Before he could stop himself or think too hard about asking, Kojiro blurted, “How did it feel skating on that board again?”
A moment passed before Kaoru hummed in thought. Kojiro watched the screen and followed his dots as he got closer. “It feels small," Kaoru finally said.
Kojiro barked out a laugh. “It’s only been a few years, it’s not like you’ve gotten taller.”
He could hear Kaoru’s eyeroll through his breathing. “Fine. I mean I feel too old for it. It’s part of my past, not my present.”
“Feels pretty present,” Kojiro pointed out. “You picked out that board to use. Why?”
“I had it lying around, the deck wasn’t broken, and I knew I wouldn’t be devastated if it broke in this process.”
Kaoru’s voice came through doubly as he approached closer, and his voice carried over the rocks. His response was clipped and harsh. Which was how Kojiro knew he was lying.
Kaoru would never talk about a skateboard like it was expendable. No matter the instrument, no matter the part, no matter how badly it had been treated in the past, and no matter how small a part it played in his plans, Kaoru nurtured it, fixed it, or savored it.
He’d kept the board for a reason. It may have too many bad memories attached to it, but it had a lot of good too.
“You should be nicer to your board,” Kojiro said and then hung up the call as Kaoru came fully into view, board tucked up under one arm. “After all, this is your first skateboarding AI prototype.”
Kaoru came to a stop in front of Kojiro and placed the board on the ground between them. He held out a hand. “Let me see.” Kojiro handed over the tablet without fuss.
Kaoru’s eyes flew over the screen. His left foot pressed against the center of the board and he very slowly rolled it back and forth, probably absentmindedly, as he analyzed the data he collected.
“Needs some work,” Kaoru finally said.
“It’s amazing,” Kojiro translated aloud.
Individually, they each drove their bikes back to Kaoru’s apartment after packing everything up, and Kojiro assured that Kaoru got actual rest that evening so that he could do good work the next day at a street performance. Another night on the couch, but Kojiro didn’t question it this time.
Sleep evaded him as he rolled the piece of deck he’d unearthed from his pant’s pocket around between his fingers like a triangular poker chip. Kojiro had always liked the grit of used grip tape, but once he felt it, he knew the board’s tape needed to be replaced. The fresh stuff bit too harshly to be comforting.
This chunk was perfectly sanded down by repeated foot slides. Cherry Blossom’s shoes. Kaoru’s shoes. Even his own shoes, once or twice, as himself and JOE.
No one else had ever stepped on that board but them two. Not even him; he never had the pleasure.
Thumb pressed fully against the black, his eyes closed, and Kojiro drifted easily to sleep.
He woke again to the smell of coffee and a pressed plywood triangle indenting his palm in thanks to his tight grip. He woke up that way many times over the next few years. After a week, Kojiro strung the piece onto a leather cord and wore it around his neck, tucked under his collar whenever possible, or slipped into his pocket when hiding it wasn’t.
Kaoru, as predicted, did it all. Kojiro, surprising himself, did his thing too.
He attended culinary school classes over the course of three years. Between classes, he traveled to cities all around the world to try out their food and learn to cook it himself. Italy took hold of his heart, as he predicted.
Though he traveled, he never traveled alone. Whenever he booked a trip, he always got a second ticket. Kaoru was always up for an adventure, complaining about being stuck in Okinawa often enough that Kojiro didn’t even need to ask after the fourth time.
And when Kaoru did overseas trips for conferences he presented his research at or award ceremonies celebrating his accomplishments, Kojiro tagged along. Traveling was never fun alone, at least that was what Kaoru insisted.
On the nights they were apart, Kojiro invited the soothing grit of his necklace and the thought of the person it reminded him of to send him to sleep, the echo of coffee perfuming the air.
Grit, smoothed over time, which only increased its value, to the right person.
(A smarter man would’ve recognized the relationship metaphor. Kaoru had.)
Kojiro, after a long moment immersed in his memories, turned not to address Reki, but Kaoru.
“It’s a piece of my heart.”
Under his mask, Kaoru’s nose scrunched up. “What are you talking about, you—” His insult cut out when his eyes fell onto what Kojiro was touching. Kaoru’s breath hitched. He met Kojiro’s eyes. “You thief,” he whispered.
Kojiro smirked. “That was the plan.”