Archive of Our Own

It started on Monday, with dinner. 

Ryo never expected company. Whenever he was traveling, researching, teaching in other countries, he kept to himself. He knew he was a foreigner, and he hated when people treated him as one. So he took his meals by himself in apartments, met with colleagues only when necessary, and never bothered to make any friends. They were a waste of time, in Ryo’s opinion. He had more important things to be doing than concerning himself with people. 

He was, in fact, so used to being on his own throughout the past years, that he entirely forgot about the wildest of all wild cards, the most persistent of friends, the beautifully frustrating companion he always left behind to wait for him: Akira Fudo. Akira Fudo, of whom Ryo understood simultaneously everything and nothing, nothing at all . Akira Fudo, who threw himself into Ryo’s arms every time the young genius came home. 

Akira Fudo, who arrived at Ryo’s house at 6:47 P.M. on Monday night with a takeout bag in one hand and knocking hard on Ryo’s door with the other. He hadn’t thought to eat in the last few hours and had much less thought to check his phone for any messages. He had made a breakthrough in his most recent research paper, focusing on indigenous tribes in South America, and had inadvertently become consumed by it for the last… how long? 

“ Ryo! ” Akira exclaimed, “You haven’t had anything to eat since last night?” 

The young scholar watched as Akira invited himself into his apartment (his home, now that Akira was here), dropping the food onto his living room table, and de-shouldering the black backpack that he’d brought with him. “You’re blowing it out of proportion,” Ryo said, unaffected even as his stomach began to growl, “I told you, I’ve had a few energy drinks. I was just busy.” 

“ Ryo ,” he chastised again, disappointment etched into those innocent features. He needn’t say anything more. The simple tone of Akira’s voice was enough to convince him to move over to the couch and sit down, motioning for Akira to join him. 

“I can sustain myself for days without food,” Ryo complained, even as he pulled out one of the boxes and allowed Akira to pass him a pair of chopsticks. “That can’t be the only reason you came over.” 

He admired the blush that spread over Akira’s face, glowing under his tan skin. Akira smiled sheepishly. This was when he’d always glance away, Ryo knew. He’d do something nice, Ryo would question it or tease a bit, and then Akira would blush and turn away, and he would watch, watch and silently yearn. Yearn for what they could have if they were brave enough to break through the emotional distance. For what might happen if Akira would just hold his gaze; if Ryo could just embrace him first, let himself linger in arms that felt so incredibly secure. 

He didn’t look away, this time, though. His eyes flitted back up to meet Ryo’s, shining with bravery and… and something else. Ryo found himself burning under the suddenness of it all and turned away to open up the small cardboard box in his hand instead. 

“I guess not,” Akira admitted, “I just wanted an excuse to see you again. If that’s okay?” 

Somewhere distant in the room, an analog clock tick-tick-ticked before Ryo spoke again. He was grateful, he was, but he couldn’t admit it. “I was in the middle of work, but I don’t mind the intrusion. Didn’t we just see each other?” 

Akira laughed brightly, swaying into Ryo’s side. “Yeah, two whole days ago. And you haven’t been answering my texts.” His voice quieted, softened by the same thing behind his shining open-eyed stare, “I missed you. And I was worried.” 

So. Maybe Ryo was a little optimistic in his outlook on the situation. He told himself that if Akira ever made a move, Ryo would reciprocate. He deluded himself into believing that the only thing standing between his unfortunate crush and a genuine romance was Akira’s reluctance, Akira’s timidity. If only Akira would… and If Akira ever… and I’m just waiting for Akira to catch up …

Yet now, with Akira leaning against his arm and bringing him dinner and daring to say that he missed him, Ryo froze. It didn’t make any sense for this to happen. How could he just… act like this? That wasn’t what Akira did. He’d bite his tongue and turn the other way and never stay pressed into Ryo’s side for this long . 

“You slept over from Friday to Saturday, Akira.” He rolled his shoulders back, prompting Akira to sit straight again. 

Akira paused before rustling in the bag and pulling out his own takeout box. “Well if you checked your phone, you would know I was coming over.” 

Ryo grumbled in response, but it was really only half-hearted. He popped a sushi roll into his mouth; chewed it deliberately. 

“Anyway, I can leave if you want.” He glanced tentatively towards Ryo. “I brought my homework, though, so I promise I won’t bother you.” 

He pondered that for a moment. He did have to get work done, especially to make up for all of the time that they had wasted over the weekend (not wasted , he could never waste time with Akira). And while it was a bit odd that Akira had arrived out of nowhere, just assuming that they’d be spending time together, Ryo didn’t actually mind. He’d pretty much never turn down an opportunity to bask in the warmth of Akira’s glow. He’d probably end up running over index cards and calculus problems by the end of the night, but he didn’t have to do anything so pressing anyways. Nothing more important than trying his best not to focus on Akira’s breath skirting down his cheek as they squeezed together, trying to figure out how to solve for x, at least. 

Ryo sighed. He’d been defeated since the boy had stepped in through the doorway, disrupting the structure with… 

Well, in any case. Akira changed him. Every day, continuously, Akira changed him. 

“Okay,” Ryo relented, “Just don’t expect me to be talkative after dinner.” 

He didn’t turn to his side, but if he had, there would have been some warning. He would have seen the way a bright smile spread over Akira’s lips, a little tentative, a little mischievous. He would have seen the way Akira practically vibrated with excitement and would have noticed that he’d placed his own meal down and freed his hands. 

However, Ryo was an oblivious fucking idiot, so when Akira threw himself against Ryo’s chest, tackling him back in a near-violent hug, his only warning was hearing Akira giggle. 

“Yes!” Akira exclaimed, “You’re the best, Ryo.” 

That startled Ryo well enough, but then he felt the soft press of a mouth against his cheek. 

His heart stopped cold. 

That had to have been an accident, right? No, yeah, of course. Akira simply turned his  head a little too fast or moved a bit too close. There was nothing deeper behind it. He knew Akira better than that, right? If Akira had meant to kiss him, he would know. There would have been some indication, some- some...something, at least. He wouldn’t just… 

“Ryo? Was that okay?” 

Then again, maybe he would. 

_____

“Come oooon , please let me change the station. Pretty please?”

Ryo let his eyes wander from the road, glancing at Akira’s puppy dog eyes, hand halfway to the tuning dial. The car swerved. 

“My car. I pick the music,” Ryo stated simply, and turned his attention back, smoothly passing the car in front of them and smirking at the driver. 

Akira ignored him and flipped the channel to a Top 40 hits broadcast. 

Ryo growled quietly. “Akira…”

“All you ever listen to is synth!” Akira attempted to defend himself, “And we’re going to a club where that’s the only thing they’ll play, and it’s a Tuesday night-”

“Then you shouldn’t have come along,” Ryo said coolly, changing the station back to his usual listening. 

Akira muttered something quietly to himself. 

“What was that?” Ryo thought he might have heard Akira’s comment, but he couldn’t be sure. He could never be sure with Akira; so often he would just say something, decide something, go about life in a way that was so fundamentally different from Ryo’s method that he needed to pause, needed to regain his footing. 

Ryo moved his right hand idly, traced the spot on his face where Akira’s lips had planted themselves so brazenly just a few days ago. Less than that, actually. Had it only been a day? Why was time moving so slowly? Why did everything slow down when they were together, the moments coming to a crawl, the seconds feeling like minutes, the minutes like hours, the hours… 

And yet there was never enough time. Never enough time for him to memorize the streaks of brown in Akira’s hazel eyes. Never enough time to breathe in Akira’s solid existence, to coat his nose with the scent of Akira coloring the clean white apartment. Never, never,  never enough time. 

“What, was I just supposed to say ‘no’?” Akira teased, his mouth quirking up into a smirk, “You’d never go for that.” 

Ryo sighed, looking out the window. It was a cool April night, the start of a new week. He really only wanted to go out to the nightclub to do some people-watching, to get a bit drunk and have Akira yell at him and pretend they were a couple. No one would bat an eye at them there; that was the main reason he kept going back, even though he knew that it wasn’t Akira’s scene. 

“You make that sound like I’m forcing you to be here,” Ryo pointed out, even though the potential ate at him. He put his free hand in his pocket and fidgeted with the pre-rolled joints he’d brought with him earlier. It was too early. Too telling? 

“Aren’t you?” Akira said, even though his tone was lighthearted, “It’s your fault I like you so much. I can’t help it, Ryo.” 

Ryo almost crashed the car (which would have been unfortunate, considering that he had just stolen it), and instead swerved into the shoulder, jamming the hazards with his thumb. What was Akira doing ? They don’t talk about this. This isn’t how they go about things. 

“Ryo?” Akira asked, and damn those beautiful eyes of his, Ryo hated them. Ryo loves him. That’s unimportant. 

His voice caught in his throat, hitched on a yell of what the fuck and bogged down by surprised tears. He swallowed roughly. “Tried to drive me off the road.” 

Akira nodded slowly, evidently trying to decide how deeply he wanted to buy into the lie. He sat back and sighed, “I really don’t like that you keep driving me around in stolen cars. Can’t you just do drugs like a normal person?” 

“I do use drugs, Akira,” Ryo said, irritable but able to breathe deeply now that Akira wasn’t talking about how much he liked him . “Theft is more fun.” 

Akira huffed again, but was quiet as Ryo turned off the hazard lights and merged back into the lane. For Akira’s sake, he flicked the turn signal down as he did so. He noticed Akira smirk in his peripheral vision, and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling in his cold, rockheart chest. 

A tanned hand reached over and turned down the radio. Ryo didn’t stop him. 

_____

On Wednesday, Ryo waited outside the high school in the same white car they had driven home from Sabbath the night before. He was thinking of keeping this one, just maybe. Akira had track practice today, but it should be ending any minute. He had asked Ryo for a drive back to the apartment today, for reasons unbeknownst to him, but hell if he was gonna turn down another night spent with his best friend.

This was bad. Ryo could get used to this, and getting used to anything is a risk . Any day now, Akira would go back to walking home with Miki and his friends every night. Any day, the Makimura’s would find a professional tutor for Akira and he’d no longer have an excuse to spend hours on end pretending not to stare at Akira’s frustrated grimace while he taught him basic calculus. Any day now, Ryo would have to go overseas again. He’d have to leave, maybe for months, and deal with the fact that Akira would become nothing but a specter in his phone screen for the next...however long. He couldn’t handle that, not if Akira kept clinging to his side like this. Why was he doing this? 

What did he want?

The athletes poured out from the school gates, starting to disperse down the sidewalk or get into other idling cars. Ryo tapped the steering wheel impatiently and took a loooong drag from his lit cigarette. He exhaled through his nose, smoke drifting out the open window, and caught Akira’s eye as he came through the gates, trailing behind the rest of the students with Miki and that other girl, the one with red hair. Ryo nodded his head abruptly in Akira’s direction and stubbed out the cigarette. Akira didn’t like the smell of smoke. 

His black hair bounced as he jogged over, his smile brilliant on his face. The other girl shoved him playfully as Miki giggled. Were they bothering him? Ryo wasn’t above fighting a group of high schoolers, especially not for the dignity of his best friend. 

“Have fun with your boyfriend ,” the redhead said, and she and Miki both waved goodbye to Akira as he climbed into the passenger seat, face flushing a slight pink. 

“You’re not going to correct her?” Ryo asked, revving the engine as he prepared to tear away from the parking lot. 

Akira’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted when Miki grabbed the passenger door and poked her head through. 

“Hey Ryo,” she greeted with far more warmth than she had ever regarded him. He was somehow pressed against the driver’s side door, but tried to inch even further away as she continued, “Don’t bring him back too late this time, okay? We have a test tomorrow morning.” 

“Miki,” Akira protested, Ryo feeling much like he shouldn’t be privy to this conversation (or he at least didn’t care enough to be), “I’ve told you before that he helps me study. He’s a professor!” 

“Adjunct,” Ryo mumbled. 

She laughed, “Sure, he’s helping you study . I don’t feel like having to let you in the house at midnight again because you forgot your keys.” 

“That happened one time,” Akira protested. 

“And it won’t happen again,” she stated, with a teasing sort of authority. Then, her eyes were on Ryo. “I’ll see you at dinner this Saturday, right?”

“Sorry?” Ryo answered. 

Akira groaned, “I hadn’t told him yet.” 

“Oops!” Miki laughed, “Well, I hope I’ll see you at dinner! I gotta go catch up with Miko now, but, Akira…” She trailed off and pointed her index and middle fingers towards her eyes, then pointed them back at Akira. He giggled— god, what a sound — and rolled up the window as Ryo finally pulled away. 

The asphalt sped underneath them, and Akira coughed softly at the underlying scent of smoke. Ryo cracked the window. 

“Dinner?” He prompted, aware that he sounded far too brusque but not particularly concerned about it. 

Akira fidgeted. “I was going to invite you today. Mr. and Mrs. Makimura are trying to have, I guess, a partner dinner or something? Miki is bringing Miko over, so they told me to bring you too. I assumed you wouldn’t want to come.” 

“I don’t,” Ryo said, “Do you want me to?” 

Akira shrugged, but Ryo felt the falsity of the movement. Too stiff, too shaky. “It’d be nice to have you there, I mean, they know you already. They know Miko already too, but it'd be nice to have your company. If you want to.” 

“Akira,” Ryo repeated, “Do you want me there?” 

“Please?” 

Ryo stepped harder on the gas. “Fine then, I’ll go.” 

When Akira thanked him, Ryo could hear the smile in his voice. He’d memorize that sound. He’d keep it carefully catalogued away in the storage of his brain, the first file accessible. Akira comes before everything. 

He pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store, and followed Akira out of the car as he dashed in to get, no doubt, an assortment of junk food that Ryo would never dare to eat. He walked around the front of the car to meet Akira and walk in with him. The parking lot (and, consequently, the store) was fairly empty aside from the one visible employee, obviously bored behind the counter. Akira slipped in between the shelves, and Ryo hesitated to follow, prepared to wait by the door until Akira had bought his fill. 

A warm hand darted out and grabbed his, wrapping it in warmth, and Ryo’s knees buckled. 

Akira was holding his hand. In public, in the middle of the world, in an empty convenience store, Akira had taken his hand. 

They didn’t do this. Akira lived and Akira produced light and Ryo sat there and smiled, reflected it back, never said a thing. They never say anything . Ryo doesn’t like to talk; Ryo is a man of action, not words, a thinker, a philosopher. He loves Akira in silence, and Akira never asks him what he’s thinking about. They. Don’t. Talk. About. It. 

Ryo yanked his hand away, panicked. He didn’t say anything, even when Akira glanced at him, confused and wounded and stabbing a wooden stake through Ryo’s lesbian-cold heart. 

Oh well. Ryo was used to feeling undead. 

_____

Thursday came and went with no sight of Akira. He had dropped him off at the Makimuras’ at eight the previous day, successfully avoiding Miki’s chagrin, and he had gone home, laid in bed, and stayed awake all night. 

Akira haunted him. Warm hands, warm hazelwood eyes, the feeling of his fingertips daring to wrap around Ryo’s hand. He hadn’t realized how small his hands were until Akira’s overlapped them. He had tried not to think about it. Something must have changed when Ryo pulled away his hand, because Akira had kept a measured distance all night. There were no earnest embraces, no daring kisses on the cheek… Akira was uncharacteristically quiet next to Ryo, sitting a safe distance away. 

On Thursday, Ryo actually had meetings to attend and research to conduct, and he couldn’t just spend all day waiting for Akira to get out of school, and then kidnapping Akira for the evening to watch bad TV and eat bad food and maybe also go for a swim on the balcony. He resolved to put Akira out of his mind. 

Speaking of Akira, Ryo still didn't understand what he had meant by “partner dinner”. Was there some sort of event happening with the school that Ryo knew about? The track season had just started, so there shouldn’t be any major events yet. No marathons either, and even if there were, Ryo hadn’t run one of those since he was a child and he certainly didn’t want to run one any time soon again. 

That other girl, Miki’s friend, the one Akira had called Miko… maybe she was a hint to this all, somehow. She and Ryo seemed to be the only invitees.  Some sort of partner dinner. For some reason, Akira had felt the need to specify that his guardians already knew both Miko and himself. A clue? Where had Ryo lost the thread? 

He felt like he had lost quite a few threads this past week. Akira was in a whole different ball of yarn. 

Jenny startled him out of his reverie, tapping his shoulder aggressively, and pulling Ryo’s attention back to the fact that he was currently sitting in a very important meeting, discussing very important discoveries in indigenous textile artifacts, and was being asked to share his opinion on the significance of the pattern. He could leave any time. He could speed over to Akira’s school, or to the Makimura’s, and ask them to let him in so that he didn't have to endure a single moment more of this. Ryo sighed and answered the question, and fixed his eyes on the wall-mounted clock. When the meeting was over, he could ask Akira himself. If he ever worked up the courage to talk about it. 

_____

The phone woke him up, vibrating harshly against his desk. What time had he gone to bed? Had he ever gone to bed in the first place? There was an open book next to him...something about the Incas. The computer screen in front of him was off completely, but the position of his hands on the keyboard was an obvious indicator that he had been writing before, probably in the middle of a research paper. Embarrassing. 

Right, what was vibrating? Phone. Texts. He stretched upwards, his back cracking, and grabbed the phone, looking at the screen. 

Akira. He opened it. 

Friday, May 4 2018

10:01 P.M. 

Akira Fudo:  heyyyy ;)

you’re coming tomorrow, right? 

I miss you :(

Buying Akira a phone had been a bad idea. He hadn’t thought about all the texts that would come through, at all hours of the day, seeking his attention. It was fine when it was the other way around, don’t get him wrong, but now—

Fuck. He’d forgotten about the dinner. Maybe it was a good thing that Akira had unrestricted access to him. 

Ryo Asuka:  Again, it’s barely been two days, Akira. 

But yes, I’ll be there. 

The response came instantly, so instantly that Ryo had to bite back an incredibly childish smile. Akira was sweet, but Ryo wasn’t soft. He shouldn’t be so affected by the fact that Akira was hovering over the phone, waiting for him to answer. 

Akira Fudo: Awesome! 

I told everyone and they’re really excited

So am i btw

Ryo Asuka:  Why is that exactly?

I’ve already met them all

Akira Fudo:  Well, yeah, but

It’s like an official re-introduction, yknow

Have you been okay lately? you’ve been acting kinda off :/

I’m worried

Off . He had the audacity to say that Ryo was the one acting strangely, when he’d been holding his hand and kissing him on the cheek and saying that’s why I like you and letting people tease him that they were boyfriends. Ryo was off? He scoffed quietly in the empty room. If anything, Akira was off. Akira was gone , completely reverted to factory settings, and Ryo was fucking confused. 

Ryo Asuka:  I’m fine, Akira. 

I could ask that question of you, though

You’ve been the one acting weird, in my opinion. 

Akira Fudo:  lol right

anyway i gtg, so you better go back to sleep! 

Remember, six tomorrow! 

Muah! <3

A kiss. 

Akira had left him with a kiss. Sure, it was a virtual one, and, the more Ryo looked at it, he considered that Akira probably was right. He was acting weird about all of this. Why not just enjoy it? Maybe it was a sign. Maybe Akira was going to confess to him soon, and maybe they’d start their covert relationship, having sleepovers and trading kisses and being in love. 

Ryo had never kissed anyone before. He’d never seen the appeal, never understood the reason for it, why others were so willing to press mouths together and pretend it meant something. 

But he craved Akira’s cedar-tanned kiss. He wanted the gentle press of innocent lips claiming his mouth, knowing that that is as close as they can ever physically get, wishing he were less-than-human so he could possess Akira’s body completely and coexist with him there. It was the only romance he desired. He ran his delicate hands through his hair, lingering on the buzzed undercut, wanting Akira’s broad fingers laying there instead. 

A kiss. It wasn’t real, but it was as close as he’d ever get. Ryo was a beggar, and he knew better than to ask for more than what was given. He would take it. 

He looked back at his computer screen, at the books piling next to him. At the clock. He glanced towards the hallway, to where his bedroom was. 

He’d see Akira tomorrow. He could make tomorrow come sooner. 

_____

Ryo couldn’t remember the last time he was invited to attend a dinner that wasn’t with colleagues, a gathering of friends rather than academic minds. Perhaps not since he had been a child, when he had spent long days with the Fudo’s, out with Akira all morning and coming in for a warm dinner at night. But even then, there had never been invitations. Ryo had simply existed in that space, quiet and certain, glued to Akira’s steady side. He never needed to be asked . 

He pulled the car (the same one) into the driveway of the house, and sat there briefly, letting himself take deep breaths and wondering if he smelled too much like smoke. He didn’t know the Makimura’s exceptionally well, but he had a feeling that they wouldn’t appreciate a young prodigy showing up outside their door, reeking of marijuana and promising them that Akira never took anything at their sleepovers (which he didn’t, not really). He’d opted for his usual attire, white and clean and, well. Basic. But that was okay. At least he wasn’t dressed like a hoodlum. 

Through the window, he could see the figures of Miki and that other girl standing in the kitchen, apparently setting the table. Miki glanced around the room quickly, and then pressed a quick peck to the other girl’s lips.

Oh well . That was unexpected, at least as far as he had ever expected anything from Akira's friends. Less competition then, if the Makimura girl had a girlfriend hanging around, vying for her attention. Akira would need to spend more time with him now, wouldn’t he? Yes, Akira fleeing his own home to stay with Ryo, to live quietly in his apartment for a night. A weekend, maybe. He’d certainly like it to be a weekend. 

Ryo saw Akira rush past the two girls, and a few moments later, the front door was thrown open. He acknowledged Akira’s wide wave with a nod and got out of the car. 

He hadn’t made it halfway up the driveway before Akira rushed him, wrapping gleeful arms around him in a hug that made Ryo forget how to think. His own embrace was not so crushing, but it was immediate, instinctual. Akira . 

“I really wasn’t sure if you were going to come,” Akira spoke, muffled in the plush material of Ryo’s white coat. 

“You didn’t tell me your friend is a lesbian,” Ryo stated blankly, instead of answering. 

Akira giggled, his shoulders jumping in between the embrace. “She’s not, for one. Didn’t I tell you it was a partner dinner? That Miki was bringing Miko?” 

He had said that, sure, “Well, yes, but I didn’t think she was bringing her like that .” He released Akira and gestured to the kitchen through the window, where the girls were now holding hands and chattering happily. 

“They just started dating last weekend too, so it’s pretty new. That’s why you both were invited.” 

Ryo cracked half a smile, “So I’m here to keep you from getting jealous?” He didn’t mind that, not really. If it was the only way he’d ever get close, he would settle for being the consolation prize. A participation trophy.  

The smile faltered, Akira’s light seeming to dim somewhat. “You don’t really think that, right?” 

The front door swung open again, Miki at the threshold. “There you are, Ryo. Akira’s been talking non-stop about how long you were taking to get here.” 

“Am I late?” Ryo asked Akira, who shook his head earnestly.

“No, no, no,” he cast a sidelong glance towards Miko, “She just showed up early, so I was, you know. On my own.” 

Consolation prize. 

“Right,” Ryo enunciated, then brushed his way past Miki, swallowing the insult deep into his chest. He heard shuffling behind him, and Akira was suddenly at his side. Ryo glanced at him, then back at Miki’s uneasy expression in front of him, at Miko sitting at the table, and the Makimura’s caught between shock and pleasant, copy-pasted smiles. It sent something uncomfortable crawling under his pale skin, and he stepped in slowly, eyeing them as though they were monsters waiting to break forth, to attack him. He had to be on the offensive.

“Ryo Asuka,” Mr. Makimura greeted, his face a little tense, shoulders held high and stiff. His eyes settled hesitantly on Ryo’s figure, and he bristled uncomfortably as he noticed that Mr. Makimura was eyeing his daughter with the same confused distrust. “Good to see you again.”

Ryo nodded silently. Akira’s hand settled on Ryo’s shoulder, and his skin shot alight with tension. When did his touch become familiar? When did Akira become everything , or had he just always been? 

The wife’s greeting was more friendly, a smile on her face glowing with genuine warmth, as she ducked around her husband and took Ryo’s hand, still pale even against the whiter skin of Akira’s family. “Akira has been talking our ears off about you. I know that we know each other, but it’s great to meet you like this, now.”

He eyed Akira’s bright smile, hoping for an explanation of like this or that Akira had been talking about him so much to his family , but all he received for clarification was the continued easy grin, and a gentle brush of Akira’s head bumping against his shoulder affectionately. 

“Um. You too,” he muttered, his affect as flat as ever, tense and taut. They were acting odd, that much was obvious, and Ryo wasn’t about to let his guard down. Mrs. Makimura’s smile faltered just a bit, and she extracted her hand and began to lead Ryo (and his newfound human backpack) to the table. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just made one of our usual dishes. Akira mentioned that you can be” —she cut herself off and corrected— “That you’re not as indiscriminate about what you eat as Miko is, but he assured me you both would like this.” 

Ryo swallowed uncomfortably as he sat at the table, taking up a spot next to Akira and near Mrs. Makimura, who was sitting at the head of the table. He remembered, vaguely, the manners he was meant to have, and mumbled an ineffectual, “Thank you.” 

Miki and her... girlfriend , apparently, mirrored their own seating, and the family unit began eating, and took up some unimportant conversation. Ryo sat mostly silent, only speaking one or two words when he had to, and trying not to melt each time Akira looked at him with that smile, the one he’d been wearing since Ryo had arrived today. 

 He tried to ignore Akira’s knee bumping against his, or the way they had pulled their chairs close enough that their feet brushed together under the table with enough frequency that Ryo doubted it was entirely accidental. 

After dinner, Ryo stuck to Akira’s side as he washed the dishes, watching the deliberate movement of his hands under the water. He dreamt of those fingers wrapping around his own for more than just a few moments, for hours as they, well. Ryo didn’t do much for fun. Maybe while they were on a long drive down an empty road, holding hands over the center console. Maybe Ryo would, if he was brave enough, pull Akira’s hand up, press his lips against the knuckles, that small intimacy. Worship. 

“Akira,” he began, under his breath and painfully aware that they shouldn’t be having this conversation in Akira’s guardians’ kitchen, “What—” 

“Asuka,” a gruff voice called, startling Ryo from...well, what had he been about to ask? He looked up, still shaken, to see Mr. Makimura standing at least a head over him. He nodded, keeping his composure as best as he could and tucking away the part of himself that was still sixteen years old and had never quite reached average height. 

“Sir,” he responded stiffly. 

Mr. Makimura tossed a glance towards Akira, who was still grinning placidly, then back at Ryo, “Can you help me outside real quick?” 

Ryo, thrown off his course by the sheer oddity of this entire day, this week, actually followed. 

Mr. Makimura led him to the front yard, and then admitted, “So, this was just an excuse to speak to you about Akira where he can’t hear.” 

Ryo didn’t know what to say to that. He kept his mouth closed, his emotions and his confusion dammed up. 

“Listen, I’ve… I’m not used to these relationships. The… like Miki and…” he trailed off, then started again, “In my day, we never had to see these, well. Like you and Akira. I was raised with the, you know, that old Adam and Eve theology. And I still haven’t quite come around to this yet.”  

Not only had Ryo lost the thread of the conversation somewhere, but it seemed as though he’d never even been sewing in the first place, only to find himself suddenly with a needle in one hand and fabric in the other. Keep it dammed up. Locked. Shut.  

“Truth is, it’s gonna take me a long time to be comfortable with. But, well. We love Akira like a son, and we just want what’s best for him. So, if you make him happy, my wife and I will always do our best to support that. She’s more, ah, open than me.” 

Ryo, finally, ventured to speak. “Sorry?” 

Mr. Makimura laughed stiffly, like he was performing an impression of someone who had just heard the most mediocre joke of their life, and almost moved to put an arm around Ryo’s shoulders before dropping short at the shared aura of discomfort that surrounded them. 

“You have my blessing,” he eventually said, “To date Akira. You did before today, when he first told us that you’d asked him out, really. This was just, so we could make it official. Show that we support you and Miko as our ‘children’s’ partners.” 

Permission. To date Akira? Did he really think—or, no, Mr. Makimura had been told...had thought they were already, that Ryo had—

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Thank, uh, thank you,” Ryo stammered, then sat, worldview shattering in front of his eyes as a new reality came pit-pat-pit-pat up into view, as he realized just what had been so odd about this past week. Why Akira had missed him so much. Why there had been those hugs and kisses on the cheek and why everyone at Akira’s school was permitted to mistake them for boyfriends: 

They were . 

Somehow, somewhere along the line, they had started dating, and Ryo had completely missed it. It simultaneously explained everything and left him with nothing at all and Ryo could not get up from the front step, could only sit on that concrete and wonder when the fuck this had happened. 

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there. He did not know the last time that time had existed, the last moment he had lived where his head wasn’t aching with the enormity of his confusion, but it was evidently long enough for Akira to finish the dishes and come out to join Ryo on the front step. He sat down beside him, and instantly, naturally, leaned his head over and onto Ryo’s shoulder. 

Ryo hesitantly returned the gesture, feeling the wave of nerves flow through his very being as he tested the waters. Tried to see just how far he could go. How real any of this was. 

“He scare you away with his dad talk? You’ve been out here for, like, fifteen minutes,” Akira broke the comfortable silence. Ryo liked the quiet, but it was even better when he was with Akira. It didn’t feel quite so empty as it normally did. It made him feel real. 

“Not quite,” Ryo answered, sifting through each word in his mind, trying to string them together in a way that could express just how lost he had been throughout this whole ordeal. He couldn’t settle on any that seemed sufficient, so, against his better judgment or concerns, he asked, “Akira, how long have we been d- together?” 

Akira’s head popped up from Ryo’s shoulder, and his eyes focused in on Ryo’s face, evidently feeling the confusion now. “Um, about a week now, right? Since the sleepover last Saturday. Or, maybe it was technically Friday. It was...I can’t remember what time it was but Saturday was my first full day as your boyfriend. I remember that much.” 

“And you…” 

Ryo watched as Akira chewed deliberately on his bottom lip, confusion quickly overtaken by concern. “Ryo, do you...do you remember asking me out?” 

No . “Akira, I wouldn’t forget something like that. My memory is near perfect, especially with regards to you.” 

Akira’s eyes narrowed, then he roughly pushed Ryo away from him. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” 

“I,” Ryo started, still trying to keep up the ruse, “I don’t know--” 

“You said you weren’t high, Ryo.” 

Now that was something that hadn’t been brought up before. Obviously, he wasn’t right now, no matter how much he would have liked to be considering the tension, but he was certain he hadn’t told Akira one way or the other. It wouldn’t have even come up. The only time Akira ever asked was when Ryo was smoking, but he was trying to kick the habit when he was around Akira. The last time he’d even been under the influence when they were together was…

Oh . Fuck. 

Ryo was still taken aback by Akira’s sudden show of anger, and, testingly, asked “Akira, what happened when you slept over?” 

“Oh my god,” Akira said, then dropped his head into his hands, “You really don’t remember. Ryo, you’ve got to stop doing this.” 

“I-” 

“I came over on Friday night,” Akira started, his voice thin and tired, “And you had been drinking, and I know because you told me. Something about...I don’t know. A stressful meeting or something like that but, you were drinking and uh, so I did, too. A little, at least.” 

Ryo shook his head, as though trying to shake the confusion, “That…” 

“I know, but then, well. You were acting all nervous and shifty, so you went out on the balcony to smoke, and I know it was laced with something because it always is—”

“Not always, Akira. I’m responsible with my use.” 

Akira laughed, humorless and a little choked, like he was cutting off a cry. That was likely, after all, seeing as he was almost always cutting off a sob of some sort. “Right. But you forgot the entire night when you asked me out. Do you know how long I’d been waiting for that?” 

“What happened next?” Ryo said instead, unwilling to face the horror of what he had done. At least, he hoped, it couldn’t have gone much worse after that. 

Akira exhaled, slow and measured, and then continued. “I, um. I followed you out onto the balcony. And, like I said, you were under all sorts of influences, so I know you won’t believe that you said this but keep it in mind. You, uh,” he took a shaky breath in, “You said I was pretty. That you don’t care about anything else but me and just kept going like…. ‘Akira, you’re just so pretty, and you’re so good’.” 

Ryo tilted his head back, looking at the sky and questioning the fate that whatever external power there had decided to saddle him with, and said, “That is true. For what it’s worth. It really is only you. And you are,” Pretty , he wanted to say, but was far too sober to admit it, so he defaulted to, “good.” 

He looked down again in time to catch Akira’s flush. “Thanks, but I, that’s not really the point here. After you said that, you asked me to, um, to be with you. And I said ‘What, like a boyfriend?’ and you said ‘Exactly like a boyfriend’ and then. Well, I said yes and you- you- uh, you kissed me.” 

Suddenly, Ryo was all panic again, jumping to his feet in a movement entirely uncharacteristic of his demeanor. “I kissed you?” 

Akira shrugged. “Yeah. Few times. It got kind of— I should have known you were… ugh,” he groaned, dropping his head back down into his hands. 

Compelled by shame, desperation, and finally, finally hope, Ryo wrapped a thin hand around Akira’s wrist, gripping him with unwavering earnestness. “Come with me,” he directed, and it really wasn’t a question, so Akira followed. Ryo, uncaring of their hosts or their company, pulled Akira into the stolen white car and peeled off down the road.

“Are you taking me back to your place?” Akira asked once they were already well on their way, too far along to reasonably turn around. Ryo glanced over, then back to the road. If he… maybe Akira would…. He held out his hand, palm up, and waited. Akira took the proffered grasp, linking their fingers together in a way that was so foreign, but was finally allowed (and apparently had been allowed for a full week). 

Ryo tested the grasp with an experimental squeeze. Akira returned it. Ryo repeated the motion again as he replied, “Yes. I figure that a family dinner where everyone besides me already knows that we’re dating isn’t the best place to be having this conversation. Am I right?” 

Akira was quiet behind him for a few moments, as though he was mulling over his decisions in his mind; whether he should be upset with Ryo or understanding. Ryo shifted uncomfortably. It was tense, quiet, the rumbling of the road underneath them doing a very poor job of covering the barrage of Ryo’s thoughts. 

“That’s...hm. I don’t—”

“Akira,” Ryo cut him off, pulling onto the freeway. He didn’t know what he’d planned to say after that, so he just uttered the name again. An incantation. A prayer. “Akira…” 

“Ryo,” Akira said, tone lilting just this side of cheeky. The lighthearted intonation quickly dropped as he continued.“I can’t believe you just… forgot.” 

The radio wasn’t on. Why wasn’t the radio on? What idiot left the radio turned off? He needed background music, needed distraction, needed to escape this clusterfuck he’d gotten trapped in, but he was the one who had pulled Akira into the car, wasn’t he. 

“I don’t typically forget things that happened while I was high,” he said, then muttered under his breath, “Shit. I’m going to kill that dealer.” 

“ Ryo ,” Akira pressed on, “Why did you take me if we weren’t going to talk about it?”

They didn’t talk about it. That wasn’t their thing. They never talked about it, never said anything, just let the emotions fester and let the pressure build up until one day it would blow and leave them, leave them to….

They needed to talk about this. Ryo hated it, but they had to. For Akira. For himself.  

“I am talking about it.” The reply was too trite, he knew, but he was… goddammit . 

He spotted a quickly approaching exit, not entirely sure where it led but not particularly concerned with that fact, and turned the car rapidly, steering them over the exit and onto whatever road it left them. He drove silently, keeping an eye out for any fairly deserted turnoff, realizing belatedly that he’d lost his grip on Akira’s steady hand at some point. He slowed to a stop, then killed the engine. 

Akira stared, somewhere halfway between confusion and frustration, and opened his mouth to speak. Ryo cut him off quickly. 

“Akira Fudo,” he began, tension and nerves giving way to formality, as they were wont to do, “I, you’re my best friend Akira. Well, you really are my only friend here. As in, in the world, but I believe we share something a bit more exclusive than friendship. Right?” 

Akira nodded, brow furrowed and hesitant. Ryo inhaled and continued. 

“Listen, Akira. I’ve spent… an unquantifiable amount of time waiting for you to make the first move. I know you feel this too, and I would have known even if we hadn’t been dating for the past…week?” His voice raised in pitch towards the end there, intoning it more as a question, or a request for verification. 

“Yeah,” Akira said, laughter breaking through the bitterness, “A week.” 

“Yeah,” Ryo echoed.  “Um, Akira,” he said, then paused, closing his eyes and picturing the calm, embracing hazel that so often slowed him down… then opened his eyes to see it right in front of him. There was no way to do this that wasn’t awkward. If there was, he would have done it ages ago, and he would have been sober. He cleared his throat and decided to rip off the bandaid. 

“Akira, will you be my boyfriend? Formally?” 

Akira was trying to keep his face stern, Ryo could tell. Ryo knew how upset he was over the situation, and he also knew how long Akira could hang onto a grudge (approx. three months, two weeks, and six days. At a guess.), so he anticipated that it would have taken longer for him to warm up to the idea again. 

So, when Akira smiled like the rising of the sun, the hazel in his eyes illuminating with the streetlights and his hand tightening, tightening around Ryo’s, his shallow breath caught in his lungs. Hold it. Hoooold it. 

Ryo was different, with Akira. He was nervous, unsure of himself, constantly off balance like a bicycle always listing towards one side or the other. He couldn’t control Akira like he could with the rest of his life, and it thrilled him, filled him with horror and anticipation in a way that he wasn’t used to with the rest of the world, and a way that made his heartbeat flutter. 

Looking into Akira’s eyes was like being thrown out of an airplane without a parachute—worse, even, because he didn’t even know how this fall would end. He didn’t know if he’d live or die and he sure as hell didn’t know which outcome scared him more. That must be love, then, right? And if it was love, then this would work out. This would be okay. Logically. 

“ Ryo ,” Akira began, and his voice was impossibly fond, “I already am. I already said yes to you. And I’ll say it again, and again, and again.” 

“Oh,” Ryo squeaked, through an expression that was dangerously close to a smile, “Thank you. Okay.” 

Akira chuckled, his free hand reaching across the center of the car to cradle Ryo’s face. He almost jumped at the touch, but kept himself steady. Somehow, innately, in whatever part of him was especially susceptible to his lingering humanity, Ryo knew that Akira was going to kiss him. He knew that’s what this feeling had to mean, he knew that was what the quirk of Akira’s lip meant, but he— he still couldn’t—

“You can go ahead, Ryo,” Akira prompted, and how could a voice be that soft ? Was this what it was like last time, when Ryo was so out of his mind, spinning through whatever the drugs had been laced with? Was this how soft Akira’s voice had been, or, maybe, had he gone first? Had Ryo sounded this broken when he asked permission for Akira to be his? This desperately tender? 

“I,” Ryo stammered out (when had he ever stammered? ), “I can’t, Akira. I can’t be first.”

Akira laughed again, and even that sound was touched by the same tender tone he’d adopted. “ Love ,” he began to answer, the word stumbling from his grinning mouth like a hypothesis, “You already were first. Just kiss me, already.” 

Ryo shifted forward, eased towards Akira, and paused halfway in the pursuit of his lips. He had been drunk before, he hadn’t been in his right mind, he couldn’t possibly cross that forbidden territory now . He was meant to be waiting. 

Akira, a smile spreading to his sympathetic eyes, laughed once more and closed the distance. 

For once in his life, Ryo’s mind went blissfully, impossibly, silent . 

_____

By the time Akira came downstairs to greet Ryo, it was already late afternoon, the sun shining in through the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows. He was working on his research again, chipping away at the large pile of unread books and unannotated journals from this past week when he felt arms go around his shoulders and a chin rest atop his head. 

“Good afternoon, Akira,” he said, unable to stop the bemused grin that slipped across his face, content and peaceful and allowed to simply be. 

“Mornin’ babe,” Akira answered, his own easy smile audible in his gentle voice. He disengaged from Ryo, and then came around to sit next to him on the couch. “Just checking, you remember yesterday, right? You know we’re dating?” 

After the episode in the car, they’d gone back to Ryo’s apartment, hand-in-hand. Akira had pulled them through onto the balcony, and they’d kissed for… well, long enough that Saturday turned over into Sunday and the world went quiet with the dark hours of the morning. They’d gone to bed late (early, whatever) and thrilled in their ability to coexist. Ryo wasn’t really a cuddler, but that was okay because Akira was content to lay next to him and ramble sleepily until he dozed off, peaceful and softly snoring and his . Ryo remembered every moment of it. 

“Yes, Akira,” he answered, teasing at frustration, “I know.” 

Akira hummed and leaned into Ryo’s side, nuzzling him as best as he could without being a nuisance. “Good. Don’t forget again.” 

“In my defense, you could have told me the next day. You knew I was under the influence. Under many influences.” 

Akira laughed in a quick exhale. “Yeah, I think I… I kinda knew you wouldn’t remember it in the morning, so I didn’t want to ask cause I knew it would confirm that, and I, I didn’t wanna lose you.” 

Ryo’s heart swelled there. “It would have saved the confusion.” 

Akira shrugged against him. “Probably.” 

Somewhere outside, the city went about its day. Cars drove past, their droning noises just about reaching the penthouse apartment. An analog clock ticked away in some unseen corner of the living space. The room itself buzzed with static electricity. 

“Was there anything else I forgot?” Ryo asked, breaking the quiet, “About that night.” 

A few more beats passed, but it didn’t sound like Akira was considering the question. Instead, this quiet was one of hesitation.

“You, uh,” he started eventually, “You said you love me. I wasn’t really ready to say it back, so I didn’t wanna bring it up.” 

“Hm,” Ryo answered, packing away the disappointment where he wouldn’t have to worry himself with it, before his sabotage brain morphed ‘I wasn’t ready’ into ‘I don’t feel the same'. “We can get back to that later, then.” 

Akira nodded, black hair rubbing static against Ryo’s white sleeve. “Sounds good to me.” He shuffled a bit, and Ryo glanced down to see him pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

“Shit,” Akira murmured, checking his notifications, “I need to get home— Miki and I were supposed to finish up a group project together.” He stood from the couch, and Ryo followed, taking the opportunity to press a quick kiss to Akira’s lips. It was natural. Easy. 

“I’ll drive you home,” Ryo said and smiled as Akira’s hand settled into his own like they’d practiced it all their lives. He intertwined their fingers, and squeezed a little tighter.