Chapter Text
“Paris,” Kojiro says, on a Friday night. It’s a little after two a.m. and they have only been back at his apartment for ten minutes, adrenaline still coursing through their veins and layers of sweat fresh on their skin from spending a few hours at Crazy Rock. “Paris?” Kaoru parrots, brow arched, a look of surprise settling on his features as he regards him.
“Paris,” Kojiro confirms and Kaoru is half-tempted to ask him if he possibly hit his head a little too hard. “We should go again. For our anniversary. Summer break’s coming up, whaddaya say?” Kojiro continues. There’s a glow in his eyes; that wild look that is so typically Kojiro and often promises nothing but trouble. (And fun).
Kaoru’s mind is racing, going eighty miles per hour. It seems awfully spontaneous, lacking any kind of prior planning beforehand, and yet—
“Paris.”
✩✩
They’re on a plane roughly four weeks later. A two-hour flight to Tokyo, followed by a twelve hour flight to Paris. They’ve made this trip before, but it feels different now; they’re different now. Older, somewhat wiser, and well, in a relationship.
“There’s a bunch of stuff I want to see this time around. We’re not wasting any time,” Kaoru mumbles, head resting against Kojiro’s shoulder. He’s rewarded with a quiet hum. One that usually means: ‘whatever you want, Kaoru’. It means that his Kojiro is occupied with other things. Case in point: some D-list movie he’s watching and thoroughly enjoying. Kaoru stopped paying attention fifteen minutes into the film, deciding that the plot was overdone and that the characters were one-dimensional. To much dismay of Kojiro, of course, who had said: ‘you just don’t get it’ before dissolving into a fit of laughter over some horrible joke. Kaoru had raised a brow and wordlessly pulled out a book.
They arrive at the hotel a few hours later; a swanky looking place that puts the hotel they were staying at a few years ago to shame. Kojiro whistles as they enter their suite, eyes roaming over the furniture as he tosses his bag onto an empty chair. “All right, I’ll admit. This is nice. How’d you find this place?” he asks, moving towards the window to observe their view of the city.
Kaoru rolls his shoulders, a hand coming up to rub at his neck as he lowers himself onto the bed. The burgundy sheets feel soft beneath his palms and he moves his palm back and forth as if to assess the material. “A client,” he answers, gaze lifting to look at Kojiro who had stepped onto the balcony. “They recommended it. Said they stayed here whenever they visited Paris with their wife. So I had Carla compare it to a few other hotels in the area, based on the costs, location, view of the city and their facilities.”
“Of course,” Kojiro muses. “And this one came out victorious?”
“It was the best choice, yes.” Kaoru retorts. “Complaining?”
“I wouldn’t dare. Then again I’d be happy with any place with air conditioning, a decent bed and a clean bathroom.”
“You’re so predictable. You’d be satisfied with a shack as long as it has cable.”
“And you’re a snob. They have a certain charm; we should try it. Maybe on our next trip.”
“Let’s get through this one first, shall we?”
Kojiro remains silent at that. He merely leans against the balcony door, arms crossed and a knowing smirk resting on his lips. A moment passes as he regards Kaoru, with that annoying little smirk, before he unravels one arm and extends his hand. “C’mon, princess.”
Kaoru pushes himself upright, abandons the soft, burgundy sheets and replaces them with rough, calloused hands and strong arms. They wrap around his frame, steering him towards the balcony railing, and he leans into the embrace as he observes the scenery before him. Paris is unlike anything you see in the movies, but from where they’re standing, it almost looks like something you would see in the theaters. “This is your third time here, isn’t it?” he asks. Behind him, Kojiro hums. He leans forward until his chin rests atop Kaoru’s shoulder. “Spent a semester here during culinary school. Great food. The people are funny, too. Once you get to know ‘em. Kinda like you.”
“Don’t push it.”
“Can’t make any promises,” Kojiro answers, nudging the back of Kaoru’s jaw with his nose. “So, what did you have planned? I know you have a whole itinerary, no doubt compiled by Carla. Your one true love.”
“Jealousy is unbecoming, Kojiro. And you’ll like the list too,” Kaoru points out, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile as an involuntary chuckle escapes him.
“What? Clearly she means more to you than I do. You can admit it. I’m just your side-piece,” Kojiro says; a theatrical sigh following his words. It tickles Kaoru’s skin and his smile widens. He turns his head into Kojiro’s before raising a hand to push his fingers through dark green curls. They feel soft beneath his fingertips and they smell like his favorite conditioner. “It’s a shame this is how you had to find out,” he muses.
“In the city of love, too. How will I ever survive this?” Kojiro laments.
“I can think of a few things to help get your mind off it.”
“Kaoru, you dog. Have you no shame?”
Kaoru turns in the embrace, facing him with a copy of the knowing smirk Kojiro had aimed at him mere minutes before. Index finger and thumb capture Kojiro’s chin, causing surprise to flash through honey-colored eyes. It lasts only a second before it transforms into something different. “Never,” he murmurs, leaning up to press their lips together.
The familiar scent of Kojiro’s aftershave greets him and Kaoru remembers loathing the smell of it in the past. Now, he can’t get enough of it. Kojiro pulls him in, guides him back into their room and Kaoru has half a mind to shut the door before he’s being pulled onto the bed. Back onto soft, burgundy sheets. They felt amazing beneath his palm, and when layers of clothing are being shed, they feel even more amazing against the skin of his back.
✩✩
His head rests atop Kojiro’s chest an hour later, whose fingers idly run through long, pink, strands. “Do we have some cuddle time left or are we already on a schedule?” he asks.
“I may have factored in some cuddle time,” Kaoru answers with a yawn as he slowly closes his eyes. “An hour or so.”
“Ah yes, planned cuddle time. The pinnacle of romance.”
“I might even let you kiss me.”
“How generous.”
Kaoru snorts; a quiet, amused sound, as he slides his arm across Kojiro’s waist. He stifles a second yawn against him, shifting slightly before sliding a leg across his hip. “Oh you’re definitely gonna sleep,” he hears Kojiro say, voice laden with fatigue. Kaoru makes a noncommittal noise. “Just a few minutes…” he mumbles.
A few minutes turns into three hours and he awakens to the sound of Kojiro padding through the suite. The spot beside him is still warm and Kaoru groans as he stretches his arms above his head. He scrubs a hand over his face before squinting, noticing the towel wrapped around Kojiro’s hips as he rummages through his bag. “Hey, sleeping beauty.”
Kaoru lets out a soft grunt, voice still rough when he mumbles a quiet ‘hey’ in return. He wrinkles his nose, digs the heel of his hand into his eye while pushing himself upright with his other hand. “You took a shower?”
“Mm-hm. Amazing shower. Tub’s huge too, way bigger than yours or mine.”
The suggestive tone is accompanied by a subtle raise of his brows. Kaoru raises a single brow in response. “We’re not having sex in the bath tub. Someone will probably slip and break their neck and I’d rather go home in one piece and not in a coffin.”
“What’s life without a little risk, Kaoru? We’ve done more dangerous things.”
Technically speaking he’s right, but Kaoru doesn’t care about technicalities.
“No.”
“Lame.”
Amusement passes over Kaoru’s features as he pushes himself off the bed and disappears into the bathroom. He’d seen images of said bathroom when he had been looking at various hotels, but he has to admit that it looks much better, much more impressive, in person. It’s all black marble with white and golden accents and he briefly ponders about renovating his own bathroom. The shower is spacious and Kojiro may have been right when he mentioned the size of the bathtub. He allows his gaze to linger on the tub; a finger running along its edge while an amused huff escapes him.
As if on cue, Kojiro’s voice cuts through the air: “Consider it, Kaoru!”
“Fuck off.”
One quick shower and roughly fifteen minutes later, Kaoru rummages through his suitcase while Kojiro has taken it upon himself to turn on the TV. He’s idly switching channels, complaining about the lack of non-French channels and Kaoru snorts in amusement as he pulls out a pair of black jeans and a fitted, white shirt. “I doubt we’ll have time to watch TV,” he mumbles, pulling the shirt over his head.
“No yukatas?”
“I brought two, but I supposed this was more efficient for a longer trip.”
Once he closes the button of his jeans and reaches for a comb, Kojiro whistles and Kaoru is half tempted to throw the comb at him. Instead, he rolls his eyes; pulling the comb through his hair until every knot has been untangled. “Don’t be annoying.”
“What?” Kojiro grins, “It’s a compliment. You look good. Can’t I appreciate the way you look?”
“Somehow it feels less like a compliment and more like an insult coming from you.”
“You wound me, Kaoru. Anyway, I’m rating this outfit a seven out of ten. Very stylish. Lacks color, though.”
“This is coming from the man who unironically wears clashing colors and floral shirts?”
“They have a certain charm.”
“I have yet to be charmed then.”
Kojiro shoots him a glare, which Kaoru counters with a half-grin before rummaging through his bag once more until he retrieves a number of earrings. The black studs he usually wears, are removed and replaced by silver rings. They’re similar to the earrings he’d worn as a teenager and he briefly fiddles with the jewelry; an old habit he never quite managed to shed. His regular glasses are abandoned, having been replaced with contacts and a pair of sunglasses – which he pushes to the top of his head. “What time is it?” he asks Kojiro, slipping his arms through the sleeves of a gray coat. “It’s still pretty bright outside.”
“Eight. What do you wanna do for dinner?” Kojiro asks, turning off the TV and reaching for his own jacket. “Not sure yet,” Kaoru mumbles. “I was thinking… we could just walk around and explore a little; maybe try to find that bar we went to years ago.”
At that, Kojiro hums. “You think they’re still in business?”
“Dunno. Couldn’t hurt to check, right?”
“Feeling sentimental?” Kojiro teases.
“Genuine curiosity.”
“Mm-hm. I’ll see if I can find the name and address, let’s go.”
✩✩
As it turns out, finding a bar one visited roughly ten years prior is quite the challenge. However, the casual stroll through Paris’ various neighborhoods provides enough entertainment. The lively atmosphere brings a sense of familiarity, despite it being a decade since Kaoru’s last visit.
His fingers brush against the back of Kojiro’s hand as they walk before he slides their palms together. Kojiro’s fingers slip between his own, warm and comforting. His other hand is curled around his phone; a thumb brushing back and forth over the screen as he continues to search for the aforementioned bar.
After a few failed Google searches, Kojiro opts for a different strategy: questioning the locals. Kaoru half-expects his French to be rusty, but he easily strikes up a conversation with a man not much older than them. As he describes the bar, a flash of recognition settles on the other man’s features and he provides them with the necessary information.
They arrive at the bar after roughly ten minutes, seated at a circular high top table near a large window. Kojiro glances around, brows lifted and lips stretched into a grin. “Looks way different. Nice, though. Can’t believe that guy actually knew the place,” he says, shrugging off his jacket.
Kaoru mimics the movements, draping his coat over the back of his chair. He nods, allowing his gaze to roam along the bar. It’s small, quaint; yet filled with people. Locals mostly, from what he gathers. It’s why he had chosen the bar initially when they were eighteen.
It had been their first trip abroad, a school trip to Europe. Their class had been chosen to visit Paris, while others students traveled to Berlin, Madrid or London. Kaoru, who liked to be prepared, had carefully crafted an itinerary; consisting of various activities (should they be rewarded with some free time during the trip). An extensive Google search had led him to compile a list of bars, stores and restaurants. The bars were added upon discovering that the legal drinking age in France was eighteen and both Kaoru and Kojiro were more than happy to jump at the opportunity of visiting various bars without having to rely on fake IDs. Kaoru’s knowledge about alcoholic beverages was limited to the handful of times they had shared cheap beers from the local grocery store, bought by some of the older kids they used to hang out with at night. Hence his distaste for wine at the time. It was too tart, too rich, and Kaoru discovered that French beers weren’t quite his taste either.
He did, however, discover that rum-and-cokes were much more appealing. Kojiro agreed after taking a few sips, and Kaoru remembers the way his cheeks had looked a little more red than usual and how his eyes seemed brighter, warmer, gentler, in the bar’s dim lighting. He remembers wanting to reach across the table, to slide their hands together, but something stopped him; be it fear, anxiety or common sense. Instead, Kaoru had curled his fingers tightly around his glass, fiddled with the straw and pointedly ignored the glint in Kojiro’s eyes and the way his smile seemed a little more charming than usual.
His hand almost moves on instinct now, unlike those many years ago. It slowly slides across the wooden table; fingers fitting themselves perfectly between Kojiro’s. As if they were meant to be there. “So, what do you recommend?” he wonders aloud.
Granted, Kaoru’s very capable of choosing his own drink, but the way Kojiro is observing the wine list piques his interest. His brows are drawn together, lips slightly pursed as if he’s deep in thought. Kaoru watches his eyes flit over the laminated card in his free hand and he smiles to himself at the sight of it.
“For you, I’d say the Sauvignon Blanc. That’s what I usually give you back home. Maybe the Haut-Brion.”
“And if I want red?”
“A cabernet and merlot blend; Pauillac from ‘94.”
“And if I want rosé?”
“You don’t drink rosé.”
“Touché,” Kaoru says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Kojiro mirrors the expression. “Gimme some credit, I know what you like. I’ve known you for years,” he points out, pulling his gaze away half a second later to order their drinks when a waitress approaches their table. “Shame though, it matches your hair.”
Kaoru huffs and offers a half-hearted eye roll, “I don’t make all my choices based on aesthetic value.”
Kojiro makes a noise at that; incredulous and amused. His elbow is propped up on the table, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he observes Kaoru with a lazy grin. “I’ve seen your wardrobe, skate-gear, apartment, and studio, sweetheart. You love a theme, a certain aesthetic. Nothing wrong with admitting that.”
Their conversation is briefly interrupted when the waitress returns. She offers them a small smile as she places a silver bucket on their table, with the wine bottle sticking out of it. Two glasses are filled, golden liquid shining beneath the restaurant’s golden lighting. They are gently knocked together, a quiet ‘cheers’ spilling from Kojiro’s lips. Kaoru repeats the word before taking a sip.
“It’s called maintaining a brand. I like everything to be cohesive. My wardrobe matches my profession.”
“S’that what your agent told you to say?”
“Maybe,” Kaoru replies. “Fine, fine, I like a theme. And I like things that look nice. Sue me. Clothes, art, interior,” he pauses, taking two sips. “People.”
“Are you flirting with me? I’m flattered,” Kojiro grins. “Don’t let my boyfriend hear that.”
“He doesn’t have to find out.”
“Scandalous. Buy me dinner first, pretty boy.”
They end up spending a good two or three hours at the bar, eating a variety of snacks rather than a proper meal. As they slowly return towards the hotel, Kaoru’s arm curls around Kojiro’s bicep and he mentions the list of activities he’s got planned for the two of them. Kojiro agrees for the most part, supplying a few ideas of his own every now and then. “I’ve got a list of bakeries I wanna visit, though,” he says when they arrive at the suite. “We can do one every day, and see which one has the best pastries.”
“What’s the rubric for the pastries?” Kaoru wonders, slipping into the bathroom to remove his contacts.
“Taste, price, size. Am I forgetting something?”
“Aesthetic value.”
“Of course. Okay, those four then. And at the end of the trip I’ll choose a winner.”
“Do you want me to use Carla to keep track of the scores and compile a final list for you?”
Kojiro snorts, stepping out of his jeans and tossing them onto one of the chairs before flopping down onto the bed. He taps his finger twice against his temple when Kaoru steps into the bedroom. “No need, I’ve got it all up here.”
“I’ll make a list anyway.”
✩✩
They wake up fairly early the next morning, and as promised, they visit the first bakery: Maison Landemaine. (Which turns out to be quite famous). Kojiro informs him that there’s even a store in Tokyo and Kaoru gives a thoughtful hum in response as he observes a wide array of pastries, breads, and everything in between. Kojiro orders a variety of items and Kaoru nibbles on a croissant as they exit the store. He wonders if his stomach can handle the onslaught of sweet foods on a daily basis.
Kojiro, however, seems to be enjoying something called a Brioche á Tête; explaining to Kaoru that it tastes absolutely incredible. Kaoru snags a piece as they walk before extending his croissant in return and Kojiro happily takes a bite.
“Tastes good. Verdict?” he asks.
“Taste: eight. Presentation: eight. Kinda expensive. Size is pretty decent. Overall, I’m giving them an eight.”
“Generous.”
They navigate their way towards the Louvre, which is – as expected – crowded. (Perhaps ‘crowded’ is an understatement). Despite the fact that they left the hotel fairly early, Kaoru should have anticipated that the museum would be packed with like-minded tourists. Regardless of the amount of visitors, they manage to explore the palace-slash-museum without much trouble; strolling from room to room and walking down large hallways. He’s fairly certain that it would take a number of days and multiple visits to see everything, and Kojiro mentions that they can definitely come back again the next day. As they slowly walk through the Michelangelo Gallery, observing the various sculptures and statues, Kaoru is almost overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it all. The intricate details cut into hard stone; pale marble beautifully reflecting the museum’s bright lights.
Art has a way of rendering you speechless. It draws you in. Makes you stare and gape at it in wonder and think: how could a mere person’s hands create such a masterpiece.
It makes him wonder how others view his art.
Sculptures are replaced by paintings and other historical artifacts as they enter another room. He’s not entirely sure how much time they spend wandering around the museum, marveling at the various art pieces they encounter, but Kaoru thinks he could spend all day roaming through the halls. Sometimes they pause to observe a particular piece, other times they nudge and poke each other before pointing at a funny-looking statue or character in a painting. (“That’s you!” “No, that’s totally you”).
After what feels like forever, they exit the Louvre with the promise of returning another day. They have dinner on the terrace of a bistro they encounter on their way back to the hotel and Kaoru listens to Kojiro’s stories about his semester abroad. He’s heard it before; tales of Kojiro’s adventures. He’s received postcards and photos, along with a variety of souvenirs. And yet Kaoru listens to the stories all over again, because Kojiro has a way of drawing him in and making him pay attention to every word, every syllable.
The following days are a repeat of the second day. Mornings are spent at bakeries; tasting baked goods and determining where each baker ranks on Kojiro’s ever-growing list. Compiling a decent ranking turns out to be quite the challenge and Kojiro nearly has a meltdown after taking a large bite from a madeleine one morning. (“It’s amazing, what the hell!”). Afternoons are spent visiting tourist attractions, such as the Notre Dame cathedral, the Palace of Versailles, Sacre-Coeur and, of course, the Eiffel Tower.
Kaoru enjoys their stay in Paris. They explore its streets whilst visiting the many landmarks the city has to offer. It allows him to forget about whatever responsibilities wait for him in Okinawa; hectic schedules are ignored in favor of museum trips and strolls past the Seine. He’s not thinking about performances, interviews, or commissions. Instead, he finds himself rising in the early hours of the day, wrapped in the comforting arms of a man he loves, and spending at least fifteen minutes exchanging slow kisses while debating if they’re having eggs or pancakes for breakfast. (“Why not both?”).
Paris allows him to forget, but it also allows him to come back to himself; to a part of him he has ignored. While he’s grateful for his clients and proud of how both his business and brand continue to grow and expand, Kaoru has a habit of losing himself in his work. It’s what he’s good at. He’s committed to his craft; striving for perfection with every stroke of his brush, because he’s an artist. He wants to deliver a decent product, not only for the clients, but for himself. The pressure can be smothering at times, swallowing him completely until he drowns in it, but Kaoru thrives under pressure – enjoys the late nights and working until he’s completely spent and falling into bed at two in the morning.
It’s not a particularly healthy lifestyle – Kojiro reminds him of that – but it works for him. (It has worked for years). His work ethic has allowed him to become successful at a young age; allowed him to build a name for himself. Despite the late hours, many responsibilities and sometimes overwhelming pressure, Kaoru loves what he does. He finds peace in creating, enters a trance-like state whenever his fingers curl around a brush and slowly glide across a white sheet. There are notebooks filled with useless scribbles and random words, half-finished sentences and short poems that will never see the light of day, because those are for himself and only himself.
(It’s easy to lose sight of that, when a hobby becomes a daytime job).
Which is why taking a break, and taking a trip overseas, has been exactly what he needed. It’s good to get away from work, both figuratively and literally. Traversing through Paris with Kojiro has been good to him, allowing for a clouded mind to clear up like the sky after a thunderstorm.
He should probably thank Kojiro for that.
✩✩
It’s a little after four p.m. on a Tuesday when they find themselves wandering around Champe de Mars after exiting the Eiffel Tower. Kojiro mentions that they should take a photo with the infamous landmark in the background and Kaoru rolls his eyes with a laugh, but agrees regardless. He slips his arm around Kojiro’s waist, who leans towards him and presses their cheeks together as he snaps roughly a dozen pictures. (“We need options”). A couple walks past them half a minute later and Kojiro wastes no time approaching the woman to ask if she can take a photo of the two of them. Kaoru barely has the time to object before Kojiro slings an arm around his shoulder.
The woman smiles as she holds the phone, tapping her finger against the screen a few times and Kaoru’s arm snakes around Kojiro’s waist once more. A strained smile finds its way onto his face, but when Kojiro leans in to mumble something against the shell of his ear, a laugh finds its way out of Kaoru’s throat. He nudges him gently, eyes briefly turned skyward in a halfhearted eye-roll. Kojiro chooses that moment to capture his chin between his fingers before pressing a short kiss to Kaoru’s lips; who makes a noise of surprise. He glares at Kojiro, who pulls away with a wink, and watches as he jogs back towards the woman to retrieve his phone.
When he returns to Kaoru’s side, he thumbs through the photos with a satisfied grin; seemingly pleased with his impromptu antics. He mentions that the last photo will ‘absolutely be his background’ and Kaoru jabs an elbow into his side. “You’re annoying, now let me see,” he murmurs. Kojiro’s fingers curl around his wrist before he pulls Kaoru along, leading him towards an empty spot on the grass and promptly shrugging off his jacket before sitting down atop of it. He gestures for Kaoru to follow his movements and Kaoru scrunches his nose, has half a mind to utter something about ‘grass stains’ but Kojiro levels him with a flat stare.
A quiet sigh escapes him before he removes his own coat and places it atop the grass. Once seated, Kojiro turns the phone towards him; going back and forth between the various photos. They look fairly decent, Kaoru thinks. Cute even.
He frowns at the last photo; surprise evident on his features, whereas Kojiro seems more at ease as he kisses Kaoru. “You can’t make this one your phone background, I look way too caught off guard,” he points out.
“Then let’s take another,” Kojiro shrugs. Kaoru presses his lips to a flat line, gaze narrowing. “We’re not asking someone to take a picture of us kissing.”
“We can take a selfie then,” Kojiro suggests, shifting until he’s lying down on his back. His fingers tug on Kaoru’s sleeve. “C’mon,”
“What if someone sees us?”
“Look around, Kaoru, they’re all too busy with themselves. Nobody’s gonna care if we take a cute photo or make out a little.”
“Who says I wanna make out with you in a grass field?”
“Call it a hunch.”
“I call it bullshit.”
“Whatever, c’mere, you wanted a better picture right?”
“That’s not—” Kaoru starts, glaring down at Kojiro – who wiggles his brows in response and gives another tug on his sleeve. Eventually, Kaoru complies, because of course he does.
Kojiro tugs him closer, until Kaoru has no choice but to slide an arm across his chest. Kojiro’s free arm is raised until they’re both properly in the frame and Kaoru resists the urge to roll his eyes, uttering a ‘this is so embarrassing’ under his breath. Next to him, Kojiro snorts, “Shut up, Kaoru. Relax,” he retorts quietly. His lips brush against Kaoru’s cheek; short and fleeting, like they have so many times before, and Kaoru feels a rush of warmth flooding his face. Another kiss is pressed to the corner of his mouth, barely a proper kiss, but enough to make him chase Kojiro’s lips.
Unfortunately, Kojiro, world-class asshole and the bane of Kaoru’s very existence, pulls back slightly; just out of reach. “Needy,” he grins.
“I am going to strangle you,” Kaoru returns, amusement lacing his words. He resists the urge to smile, but it’s a futile attempt as the corners of his mouth (involuntarily) curl upwards.
“Ah, kinky.”
Kojiro leans in after a moment, pressing their lips together, and Kaoru sighs.
He vaguely registers the sound of Kojiro’s phone, the idle chatter of other tourists, the quiet chirping of a flock of birds and the rustling of the leaves as a gentle breeze caresses his skin. The sun’s rays are bright and intense, blanketing them in a layer of warmth. It’s nothing like Okinawan summers, less humid, but pleasant all the same.
The sounds are muffled, fading into nothingness, while Kojiro’s lips slowly move against his; unhurried and gentle. Kojiro smells faintly like strawberry and vanilla, sweet yet fresh – much like the fruit tarts they had eaten roughly thirty minutes before their afternoon stroll. He remembers Kojiro’s critical analysis, explaining the construction of the small pastry and the importance of a decent crème pâtissière. Kaoru had hummed around a strawberry, reached out to wipe some of the custard off Kojiro’s bottom lip, before stealing another bite. “You should make these,” he’d commented.
“You think I should make everything remotely tasty.”
“And I’m right.”
They had ordered a few more tarts after that, and spent roughly two hours at the lunchroom, with Kaoru feeding Kojiro small pieces and asking him to guess the flavors – all without looking at the pastries. As expected, he’d guessed all of them correctly.
Fast forward thirty minutes and they find themselves exchanging slow kisses on a grass field, mere meters away from the Eiffel tower. Kaoru wonders when his life had somehow turned into a very cliché and never-ending romantic comedy. Though, when he pulls away, lips barely grazing Kojiro’s and warm, brown, eyes looking at him as if he’d hung the moon and the stars, he supposes that cliches might be okay.
“Think we got the perfect shot?” Kojiro mumbles, nipping at Kaoru’s bottom lip.
“Uh-huh,” Kaoru responds distractedly, lips brushing along Kojiro’s jawline, “Phone background worthy.”
Kojiro huffs a laugh, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Kaoru’s head while his fingers slide through long, pink strands. His breath hitches when Kaoru bites down gently, who stifles a quiet chuckle against Kojiro’s skin.
“Watch it,” Kojiro warns, utterly failing to sound threatening. Kaoru hums in response, burying his face into the crook of Kojiro’s neck instead. They remain quiet for a moment and he feels the steady thrumming of Kojiro’s heartbeat against his palm. It’s oddly comforting and reassuring.
Kojiro is the first to break the silence, shifting slightly and Kaoru pulls away to look at him. “Speaking of photos,” he begins quietly, raising his phone once more and scrolling through what looks to be a chat history. “My mom texted me the other day. Said she found these old photos of us,”
“Which ones?” Kaoru wonders, brows briefly knitting together in thought.
“Ah, here they are,” Kojiro says with a grin, tapping on a few photos his mother had sent to him a few hours prior. Some of the photos have faded over time, but there it is; Kaoru and Kojiro’s friendship captured on film through the years. Proof of their inability to separate themselves from one another.
The first photo is one of them at age seven, asleep in a makeshift blanket fort, with a Kamen Rider action figure and Doreamon plush toy between them; along with two copies of Weekly Shōnen Jump and two Tamagotchi’s. Red for Kaoru and yellow for Kojiro. Kaoru vaguely remembers complaining that his Tamagotchi couldn’t seem to stay alive and Kojiro promised to take care of the digital pet for him.
The next photo seems to be at a swimming pool of sorts. Kaoru reckons they should be about twelve, both of them animatedly chatting while sharing Ramune ice pops and dangling their feet in the water. He can make out Kojiro’s little brother walking out of frame and he remembers how Kojiro’s older sister had brought a friend along as well. He can’t quite remember the last time they’ve eaten the blue ice-cream captured in the photo, but he remembers they both went through a phase where they wouldn’t consume any other ice-cream flavor.
The third photo is taken at a hospital, with Kaoru sitting on Kojiro’s hospital bed and Kojiro flashing a grin and a thumbs up at the camera. They were sixteen. It had been the summer he’d broken his arm. A lime-green cast covered the lower half of his left arm; its surface covered in various messages – most of which belonging to their female classmates. And even girls from other classes. A few of Kaoru’s doodles had made it on to the cast and he remembers taking any opportunity to sketch something, anything, on Kojiro’s arm at the time.
After that comes a photo of the two of them on Kojiro’s first motorcycle. Kaoru remembers the look of horror that flashed through the eyes of Kojiro’s father, a stark difference to his mother’s excitement. They had spent the majority of the afternoon and night driving around town; looking for new spots to explore.
A few more photos follow; Kojiro and Kaoru at age ten, laughing with cake smeared over their faces whilst celebrating the birthday of Kojiro’s little brother, followed by a photo of them making ridiculous faces behind his sister’s back. There’s a photo of the two of them in the backyard, chasing one another with the garden hose and water balloons; a photo of them at age fifteen after Kaoru had gotten his first piercings, studying for high school entrance exams. Followed by a photo of the two of them at their high school graduation ceremony, overjoyed and thrilled about the future. There’s another one of them at age sixteen, wearing matching yukatas and holding taiyaki whilst attending a local summer festival. There are photos of them skating together, of them watching movies together, of holidays spent together, a never-ending stream of snapshots of their adventures between the ages of five and eighteen.
“They’re cute,” Kaoru comments, brushing a finger over Kojiro’s phone as he looks at a photo of the two of them playing with a cat with orange fur. “Wasn’t this your grandmother’s old cat?”
“Mm-hm. Keiko. Remember when we gave her a whole box of treats and grandma got mad?”
Kaoru laughs at that, nodding twice before tapping on a photo of the two of them with their skateboards at age eight. “I like this one a lot. And the one on your bike, and the one in the blanket fort.”
“Yeah, that one’s nice. We haven’t built one in a while.”
“A blanket fort? Well, we’re old now.”
“You’re never too old for a blanket fort.”
“Guess we’ll have to make one when we get home then,” Kaoru supposes. “Have a little movie night like the good old days.”
“And watch Anpanman?”
“I can’t believe you remember that,” Kaoru snorts. “What about Yokai Watch?”
“Of course. A classic. Wasn’t Nekomata your favorite character?”
“Yes. And yours was Merameraion if I remember correctly.”
A hum vibrates through Kojiro’s throat as he swipes through the photos once more. “My mom said we should come over to see the rest of the photos. I’ll tell her we’ll come over when we get back to Japan,” he tells Kaoru, fingers tapping on the screen to write a short message to his mother. Kaoru hums in response, watching the speech bubbles float across the screen. ‘In Paris with Kaoru’ one message reads, followed by ‘It’s our anniversary in a few days’ and ‘I’ll bring you and dad a souvenir when we come back’. Kojiro’s mother responds almost instantly, seemingly delighted with the fact that they’re taking some time off. She informs Kojiro that she’ll be happy with any kind of souvenir, as long as it’s ‘cute’. Another message follows and Kaoru’s eyes widen ever so slightly upon reading the words.
‘Tell Kaoru that I’m enjoying his book a lot and that your aunties like it too. I keep bragging about my amazing son-in-law ;-)’.
Kojiro releases a chuckle, writing out another response before glancing over at Kaoru, “You hear that, son-in-law? You’re a hit with the ladies. For once.”
He’s supposed to say something in return – make a witty remark of sorts. And yet, words fail him. Instead, Kaoru smiles as memories of Kojiro’s mother — Hiroko — flood his brain; seeping into the corners of his mind. He remembers warm smiles and tight hugs. He remembers red-painted nails, brown skin, and long, black curls framing a kind face. He remembers gentle fingers wiping away his tears and the words ‘you’ve always been part of this family, Kaoru’. Kojiro gets his sense of humor and his warmth from his mother. (Kaoru had noticed early on that they have the exact same smile).
She’s kind, funny and a little loud. And brutally honest. It’s what makes her a great person, he thinks. Whoever has had the honor to meet Nanjo Hiroko, would immediately understand where Kojiro gets his confidence from.
Kaoru has always liked her; from the moment he stepped into the Nanjo household on a Thursday afternoon roughly two decades ago. While his relationship with his parents had its ups and downs, filled with misunderstandings, broken promises, and unspoken words, Kojiro’s mother had always gone out of her way to create an environment where he felt heard and understood. Fortunately, the rift between Kaoru and his parents lessened over time and Kaoru had come to accept that there would be times where he and his parents wouldn’t see eye to eye. And that was okay.
He found a second family in the Nanjo’s. A home away from home.
“Jealous that she likes me better than you?” he counters. Kojiro shakes his head at that, pockets his phone and turns his gaze on Kaoru once more. Gentle fingers caress his cheek. “Nah,” he answers.
“Not at all. You deserve it. You’re part of the family.”
The words are spoken with such certainty and gentleness that Kaoru can’t find it in himself to object — not even in a joking manner. His skin glows, warm and red, beneath Kojiro’s touch and his smile widens ever so slightly.
“It seems like I am.”
✩✩
After a long day of walking and exploring, Kaoru’s muscles ache; fatigue settling deep within his bones. His legs feel heavy and his feet are sore – a direct result of their Parisian expedition – and Kojiro suggests a long soak in the bath tub. (“I’ll throw in a free foot rub” “You’d better”).
A few hours later they find themselves in the large tub, with enough space left for at least one or two grown adults to join them. Kaoru feels a pang of envy when he thinks about his own bath tub back home. (Perhaps it’s time to renovate his bathroom after all). Granted, those thoughts are pushed aside as Kojiro’s fingers curl around his ankle – his thumb rubbing slow circles into his skin.
Upon their arrival at the hotel, Kojiro reached for the phone on the bedside table, ordered a bottle of champagne, and urged Kaoru to start filling the bathtub. Fast forward a few minutes and they are sitting across from one another; two flutes resting along the edge of the tub, and a few candles scattered throughout the room. The scent of lavender, combined with vanilla and something else he can’t quite place, travels through the air – filling his senses as orange light spreads illuminates the space around them. Every surface is basked in candle light, warm and gentle; a soft orange glow that reminds him of the many nights they spent at Sia La Luce. (Kojiro has always preferred a more romantic and intimate ambiance and Kaoru appreciates it all the same).
The warm water, the candles, the champagne; all of it is a recipe for relaxation. Beneath the soap suds, the tightness of his muscles has slowly dissipated. Soreness makes way for pleasure and he finds himself in a state of complete serenity. Across from him, he sees that serenity mirrored on Kojiro’s features.
His thumb continues to rub circles along Kaoru’s ankle, moving up slowly to massage his calf. “You’ve got a scar here,” he mumbles absentmindedly, raising Kaoru’s leg ever so slightly. “S’that from when you broke it?”
The memory of Kaoru’s last hospitalization swims to the surface. It seems like an eternity ago. Broken bones have healed. Damaged skin has returned to its original state and the bruises on his soul have faded away. The only evidence that remains are jagged white lines scattered across his body. Some are small, barely there, hardly noticeable; much like the scar along his ankle or the one on his forehead. (That one is conveniently covered by his hair). Others are bigger; such as the ones along his ribcage and forearm. There’s one right below his shoulder blades, and another one on the side of his thigh.
He knows they will fade over time, but that does not stop the occasional wave of nausea or the mild irritation he experiences when his gaze happens to land on his reflection. The memories of that day and the weeks following it do not haunt him, but they leave a sour taste in his mouth regardless. If not for Kojiro’s presence, patience, and gentle care, Kaoru thinks the mental scars would’ve taken twice as long to heal.
He’s no stranger to scars or injuries; given that his oldest and dearest hobby consists of speeding down a road on wooden plank with four wheels attached to it. But this had been different. Unexpected. More personal, somehow.
He brushes those thoughts aside, offering a reaffirming hum at Kojiro’s initial question instead. “Does it still hurt?” he asks afterwards.
“Not really,” Kaoru shrugs. “Only if I put too much pressure on it for too long. It healed quite perfectly, actually.”
Kojiro remains quiet at that, save for a noncommittal noise. His fingers continue to massage the muscles beneath Kaoru’s skin and Kaoru regards him for a moment; watching the slight crease between his brows. He pulls his leg back after a moment, mourning the loss of Kojiro’s comforting touch before sliding forward.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, quietly.
(He already knows the answer).
Kojiro meets him halfway, leaning in when Kaoru brushes his knuckles along his cheekbones. “That time?” he continues.
It earns him a short nod and Kaoru’s fingers slowly unfurl themselves, allowing his palm to fit against Kojiro’s cheek. He leans into the touch, turns his head until his lips are pressed to Kaoru’s skin. They feel soft against his hand.
It occurs to him that while he had a few unpleasant memories of that night, Kojiro had been the one to find him; bruised, bloodied, and barely awake. An image he most likely would prefer to forget entirely.
“You know I’m grateful to you, right?” Kaoru asks.
Another nod.
He smiles.
“It was just…” Kojiro begins, voice breaking off into a sigh. “It was scary. Seeing you like that.”
“I know.”
“And I was just… worried. And angry.”
“But I’m okay now. Thanks to you.”
Kojiro chuckles at that, though it’s more of a huff. “Eh. If it hadn’t been for Shadow, I would’ve punched him.”
A grin spreads along Kaoru’s lips, his thumb tapping against Kojiro’s jaw. “My hero,” he quips, sliding forward to close what little distance existed between them. He settles into his lap, an arm draped along Kojiro’s shoulder. “But you didn’t. You made sure I got to the hospital. And for that I’m very grateful.”
“You were more important.”
“Lucky me.”
Kojiro’s arms settle around his waist, his hands resting along Kaoru’s back. “You handled it correctly,” Kaoru tells him. “Instead of reacting impulsively, you made sure I was okay. And that’s what’s important.”
“What would you have done?” Kojiro asks.
“If it were you who had been hurt, instead of me?”
“Mm-hm.”
“I probably would have gotten arrested that night.”
“Defending my honor?”
“Absolutely.”
The words finally pull a laugh from Kojiro, the one Kaoru adores. The ones he can spend all day listening to. “I have no doubt that you would, tough guy. I’ve seen your old karate trophies. What’s your rank again? Nidan, black belt?”
“Sandan. Get it right.”
“Sorry, oh great master Sakurayashiki.”
“You are forgiven. For now.”
Kojiro hums, rubbing his hand along Kaoru’s lower back. “Thank you for defending my imaginary honor, but don’t go to jail just yet, all right? I need you around here.”
Something about the latter sentence sparks a feeling within him, fondness and something else he can’t quite put into words. It causes the corners of his mouth to rise as his fingers curl around the back of Kojiro’s neck. “You need me?” Kaoru repeats.
He feels the way Kojiro’s hands slowly move up and down his sides. “Mm-hm. Thought it was obvious.”
“Maybe,” Kaoru hums, using his free hand to smooth back the curls falling along Kojiro’s forehead. “Feel free to repeat it any time.”
“I like when you do that,” Kojiro points out.
“This?”
The question is met with a nod. “Feels nice. Comforting.”
Kaoru leans in to press his lips to the skin above Kojiro’s left brow.
“And that, too,” Kojiro tells him.
“Fortunately for you, I like doing it.”
“Fortunately for me.”
With the date of their anniversary coming closer, mere days away in fact, Kaoru allows himself a moment of quiet reminiscing; thinking back on the past year.
It’s been a year since they started dating. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Three hundred and sixty-five days of loving Kojiro; of sunsets and sunrises together. Another year filled with memories. A year spent exploring, discovering, learning and relearning. His heart had been placed within the palms of his lover’s hands, unspoken words accompanied it. It’s yours now, be careful with it. And for three hundred and sixty-five days it remained unharmed. Instead, those gentle hands had held it; shielded it, and provided it with a kind of love one only hears about, dreams about. But Kojiro’s love is real, it’s tangible.
For three hundred and sixty-five days Kaoru let himself be loved. And perhaps, Kojiro had loved him long before that, but the past year he has finally been able to show it, vocalize it, in a way he’d been wanting to for years. Kaoru allowed himself to be loved and allowed himself to love.
Loving Kojiro has been easy. Kojiro showed him that love could be easy. That love could be gentle and beautiful. Loving him is like witnessing the sunrise on a summer morning in July; beautiful and warm. It’s like slipping on a cozy sweater and relishing in the warmth and comfort it brings. Loving Kojiro is waking up to bright smiles and fond looks. It’s gentle hands and soft lips. It’s feeling safe and treasured. Familiarity and comfort; a sense of home and it’s only you. Yet, it is also filled with surprises, plot-twists, and spontaneity. It’s fun and freeing, a constant adventure. Loving Kojiro is everything all at once.
It had been frightening at first – to open up, to lower the walls he’d carefully crafted over the years, but Kaoru realized that his fears had been irrational, because this was Kojiro. Kojiro who had been with him since the tender age of five. Who had held his hand in the dark when they were seven. Kojiro, who stayed by his side during every panic attack he’s endured from the age of fourteen and onward. Kojiro, who encouraged Kaoru to take a leap of faith; to forego expectations set by his parents and follow his dreams rather than abide by their rules. It was Kojiro who had seen him slave away at three a.m. through a computer screen whilst being at the other side of the world. It was Kojiro who supported him when Kaoru thought his senior project – Carla’s prototype – to be a complete and utter disaster. Kojiro’s unwavering support and faith in his best friend, throughout the years, made Kaoru realize that loving him and being loved by him wasn’t frightening – for Kojiro had a lifetime of experience loving him. And vice versa.
He’s been there when Kaoru learned to ride a bike. He’s been there when Kaoru learned to skate. When Kaoru discovered that girls weren’t quite his type, and that he was rather much interested in boys instead. He’d been there throughout Kaoru’s rebellious phase, ridiculous hairstyles and questionable fashion choices included. If one were to play the film of Kaoru’s life, Kojiro would be present in every frame.
Three hundred and sixty-five days have gone by so quickly and Kaoru thinks he could spend another three hundred and sixty-five days with the man before him.
Brown eyes glance up at him when Kaoru pulls away slightly. His thumb brushes along the line of Kojiro’s cheekbone and he’s rewarded with a gentle smile, bathed in orange candle light. It highlights the warm undertones of Kojiro’s skin and if he squints, he can locate the beauty mark on his lower lip, the dimple in his right cheek, the faint scar in his left brow. Miniscule details that may seem unimportant to anyone else – anyone else but him. The scar reminds him of an accident that had occurred when they were seventeen, young, stupid, and a little bit reckless. An incident on a hill had caused them to take a nasty fall and left Kaoru with a sprained wrist, some sore muscles and a small scar along his temple. Aside from the cut in his brow, Kojiro had bruised a rib or two and sustained a few bruises along his arms. All in all, it had been disastrous.
It amuses him now, though, as he observes him.
Kojiro’s fingers dance across Kaoru’s back, drawing invisible lines along his skin. Kaoru smiles.
“Hey,” he whispers.
“Hey,” Kojiro returns, quietly.
Before he gets the chance to respond, he’s being pulled forwards. His lips brush over Kojiro’s, over that beauty mark he’s kissed thousands of times the past three hundred and sixty-five days. He inhales the scent of lavender, vanilla and something else. The kiss deepens and the arms around his waist tighten simultaneously as he brushes his tongue along Kojiro’s lower lip. His lips part on a sigh and a whisper of ‘Kaoru’ and Kaoru hums in response. He sinks his fingers into green curls; they feel damp and soft beneath his hands as he grips onto the strands.
As his breaths gets more shallow and his skin warms beneath Kojiro’s touch, Kaoru thinks of that first night in Sia La Luce. He thinks about how everything changed because he allowed himself to act on an impulse; scratch an itch that had been bothering him for god knows how many years. He remembers the hard surface of the wooden table against his back, Kojiro’s urgent hands clawing at layers of fabric and the way his lips had stolen every bit of oxygen from his lungs. He also remembers that fond look on Kojiro’s face and how it stirred something inside of him, deep within his chest, and Kaoru snuffed it – buried it somewhere deeper and promptly ignored whatever that feeling was.
(He was successful for a few weeks).
However, that feeling returned and kept returning; swimming to the surface and clawing its way out of his chest with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for. When he pulls away slightly, he feels that same intensity coursing through him now; the steady beat of his chest, filled with love (and so much more) for the man in front of him.
“Hey,” Kojiro says again, a breathless chuckle following his words.
“Hey,” Kaoru returns.
Kojiro’s palm is warm against the back of his neck, sliding down slightly until it reaches Kaoru’s shoulder. “What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“A lot of things. Us, mostly.”
“My favorite topic. Wanna share with the class?”
“It’s our anniversary soon.”
“Hence why we’re in Paris.”
Kaoru snorts at that, offers a half-hearted eye roll. “I’m aware. I’m just thinking about the past year.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kojiro hums. “Speaking of our anniversary… I got an idea for what I wanna do for dinner that night.”
The words cause Kaoru’s brows to draw together. Nevertheless, a smile spreads across his lips as he leans in; close enough for his lips to brush against Kojiro’s. “And I bet you won’t tell me what we’re going to do?”
“Nope,” Kojiro grins. “A little surprise.”
“You’re going to cook for me.”
“I’m not telling.”
“You’re hiring a private chef to cook for us.”
“Kaoru, stop it.”
“Fine,” Kaoru says. “But then I get to decide what we do that day.”
“Figured you’d say something like that, but fine.”
“It’s only fair, Kojiro.”
“Mm-hm. Now tell me, what were you thinking about? How much you love me?”
Kaoru smiles, grins, as he captures Kojiro’s chin between his fingers. “Actually, yes.”
And there it is: that look of surprise he so longs to see. Astonishment settles on Kojiro’s features, coloring his cheeks a shade of red – much to Kaoru’s delight. Nothing amuses him more than to render Kojiro speechless. Kojiro, who oozes charm and somehow always says the right thing at the right time; whose words reduce Kaoru to a bumbling mess, cheeks impossibly warm and bright red. Kojiro, with his romantic gestures and casual I love you’s – which are often delivered without any forewarning. Kojiro, who enjoys surprising Kaoru in a variety of ways to showcase his love. Be it with words, gestures or gifts.
And Kaoru who adores it all; red-faced and speechless.
However, the tables have turned.
“I do love you. And I was thinking about how easy it is to love you,” Kaoru explains. His fingers release Kojiro’s chin, palms sliding down before settling on the space between his shoulders and neck. “I think I’ve always loved you. Long before we actually got together.”
Astonishment transforms into fondness and Kaoru watches as a smile spreads across Kojiro’s lips. His palms fit themselves against Kaoru’s cheeks, warm and comforting. The kiss that follows is gentle, a soft press against his lips. It causes a flutter to appear in his stomach.
“Took you long enough, Kaoru.” Kojiro says quietly.
Kaoru chuckles, placing his palm over Kojiro’s hand. “It seems I’ve been a little slow. Forgive me?”
“Only this once,” Kojiro returns, “And I think I’ve always loved you, too.”