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Monday.
Greeting dawn and hasty farewell kisses.
Their phones ring exactly at the dreaded sixth. The shrill scream of morning is enough to cause a stir in their sleep-addled brains and alert them of a crisp Monday. With the sun glares ever intruding and the twitters always earlier than dawn, a fresh day announces itself anew.
Satoru mumbles something his own mind can’t comprehend, hoping it’s passably coherent for Yuuji to pick up on. And because he is a lucky, loved man, Yuuji obliges to his grousing with the swift click of a snooze button.
The sheets rustle, rumpling to Yuuji’s side when he sits up softly yawning. Satoru squints past the capering rays to not miss the golden bareness of his skin. They’re dusted with peach, overshadowed only by the pretty litters of lovebites and Satoru’s greedy markings. He’s never been the most remorseful, and he’s quite the proud artist.
“Don’t look so sly now.” Yuuji, apparently, is also quite the mind-reader.
Satoru chuckles at his pouting. It comes out raspy, pleasantly rough for Yuuji’s hearing. “You like it when I’m sly. Don’t pretend.”
His hand makes its way up to Yuuji’s fingers. He traces the knuckles, a bit bruised from his stubborn sheet-grabbing.
“You owe me a well-cooked breakfast.” Yuuji huffs before revelling in his soft caresses. His freckles are hidden in the wrinkles of his irked face and Satoru almost mourns their brief disappearance.
“Anything for you, love.”
“Cheesy old man.” Yuuji snorts at him. He pats Satoru’s chest before reaching below for his scattered clothes. When he gets to his shirt, surely sullied from yesterday’s naughty affairs, he groans in mild annoyance and briskly turns to Satoru. “You ruined my shirt! This was my favourite shirt!”
“Please, I know your favourite shirts are found on my side of the closet.” Satoru teases.
Yuuji grouchily but carefully gets off the bed. He stands naked with his hands on his hips and his mouth in a frown. Even when upset, he presents a glorious painting of himself to Satoru.
“Now you owe me two breakfasts.”
Satoru props his elbow on the pillow and sends him a grin, shameless while he gawks. “The sleeved ones are on the right, by the way.”
Yuuji, clinging on to the small morsel of anger, snatches away a billowy white and heads straight to the showers. The clothes are sure to be bigger than him but Satoru won’t dare warn.
“I don’t smell any eggs, mister!”
Satoru is lazy when he sits up and lazy when he treads. His answer to the demand comes out a snickering, “On it, my beloved master!”
He’s thrown a jacket, probably from the heaps of new laundry strewn all over their bedroom.
“I want it scrambled!”
And scrambled Satoru delivers. They’re mixed well with the butter and the salt and the flavours of his effortless affection. There may be some spice in it to complement the coffee Yuuji would have to kiss off of his lips. A well-earned, sneaky deception, Satoru muses. Oh, to have a lover like him. Yuuji is extremely fortunate than most.
“Breakfast’s done!”
The phone rings at a kinder, laxer seventh. He counts to three, expecting the endeared praises he would inevitably receive.
“I forgot!”
But then Yuuji nearly comes tumbling down the halls spouting strings of frantic worries. Satoru catches his second fall easily and worriedly, not in any hurry to nag a skittish teacher in his dishevelled fit.
“Forgot what?”
Yuuji heaves a laboured breath. He depends on Satoru’s hold for balance. “We have an early meeting for the kids' sports fest! I had it written on my notes but I remembered leaving them at the office yesterday. Ugh , Nobara’s gonna kill me.”
Satoru sips his coffee with doting amusement. Yuuji is pretty when he’s put together. But when he’s graceless, he’s a different kind of delight. Especially in a shirt that does little to cover his collarbones. Again, Satoru won’t dare warn.
“So no breakfast then?”
Yuuji breathes more slowly. He taps his finger on Satoru’s wrist, displaying an apologetic smile. “I’m really, really sorry. Just save me some for lunch?”
“I thought you wanted me to buy you take-out?”
“I don’t want to waste your efforts,” Yuuji struggles with a shoe Satoru hadn’t noticed he’d been carrying. He assists Yuuji more firmly while he struggles to slip into the insoles. “Maybe pack me one and drop it by my office?”
“And have your swarm of kids follow me around?”
Yuuji raises a brow. “Hey, it’s not my fault they’re a fan of your work. But if you don’t want to humour them, you can hand my lunch to the guard.”
“Nah, I was just kidding.” Satoru ruffles his hair. “I’ll take them to you later.” And maybe buy himself another coffee that he would conveniently drink as Yuuji moons over his cooking.
Yuuji, for a fleeting moment, is composed and unmistakably fond. He plants a soft kiss on Satoru’s lips, leaving a taste of mint and strawberry.
“I love you.”
Satoru blinks. Yuuji lets go of his hand to check the belongings in his bag.
“Anyway, I’m gonna be home early today so you don’t have to pick me up – mhpf !”
Satoru mindlessly tugs him forward and steals a longer kiss. He presses deeper, hungrier until Yuuji is left gasping and tapping for an out.
“Take care.”
Yuuji parts his lips, dumbfounded. And then he cackles as merrily as he can that he wakes up their oversleeping neighbours.
“Cheesy old man.”
-
Later, after his second cup of caffeine, Yuuji sends him a furious text with a barrage of confusing emojis.
You didn’t tell me about the hickeys! Now my students are making fun of me!
read, 9:00 am.
Careful, there’s a big one on your nape.
sent, 9:01 am.
Tuesday.
Laundry night and balcony gossip.
“Separate the coloured ones from the lighter ones.”
“And then?”
“Fill up the washer to an appropriate level.”
“Done.”
“Put in the laundry detergent first.”
“Should I go with the flowery scent or the plain one?”
“Flower, please.”
“And put the clothes last right?”
“My baby is finally learning.”
Satoru chortles. He faces Yuuji after emptying the first basket.
“Does your food taste better now?”
Yuuji slurps his lukewarm soup in the confines of a small balcony. He’s perched atop a rickety table that is dangerously posted near a nine-storey fall. Ever the carefree soul.
“Delicious. The scenery makes it more romantic.”
Satoru relies on the buttons for the automatic commands then strides in wide threes. Immediately, he positions himself between Yuuji’s swinging legs, pulling him closer to himself and far from his macabre demise.
“You’ll fall.” He explains to a surprised Yuuji.
Yuuji shrugs and feeds him a fair length of noodles. Satoru chokes on the aftertaste of chilli.
“You intended that, didn’t you?”
Yuuji jokingly bites on his scrunched nose. “That’s payback for my shirt.”
“Hey, I did try to clean off the evidence.”
Satoru gets a jab on his hip. “Megumi will kill you if he finds out we had to throw it away. He gifted that to me on my birthday.”
The older prevents another nudge with the palm of his hand. It’s large enough to encase Yuuji’s ankle and strong enough to drag his leg around his waist.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind not knowing the real reason if he actually knew.”
Yuuji makes a disapproving look, partly mortified if the situation ever becomes a reality. “My clothes are now off-limits. That means no touching unless it’s cuddles.”
Satoru scowls. “Totally not fun.” He takes Yuuji’s other leg and locks himself in. “Totally not fair either.”
“You should have thought about the consequences before going all berserk on me.”
“Berserk?” Satoru’s palm trails up, inches higher towards Yuuji’s flimsy shorts. “That’s what we’re calling it now? Inventive.”
“Oh shut up. You like my weird word choices.”
He chuckles, pinching his skin. “I love them because it’s from you.”
The younger rolls his eyes.
“Nice try, old man. You’re not getting out of laundry duty this time.”
Yuuji squeezes his cheek and offers him the last of his food. Satoru chews inattentively to the same rhythm as their washing machine.
“I wasn’t trying to.” The man insists. “Tell me again about that student of yours. Sato…Satoshi, was it?”
“It’s Satori, Sa-to-ri .” Yuuji grabs his face, enunciating each syllable.
Satoru chuckles at the abruptness of his scolding. “Sorry, sorry. So what about him?”
Yuuji recounts the story excitedly. “Satori finally confessed to her crush! Even better, the boy likes her back. And they’re in the same class which is a plus. I think they’re going to date soon. Satori even asked me for advice for good dating spots in the city.”
“You didn’t recommend her anything illegal, did you?”
Satoru finds the younger's hands fiddling with his locks. Yuuji is obviously unaware of such a habit.
“Wha– of course not! I suggested the aquarium we went to last week for our date. Remember that place? The one with the restaurant where you can dine with the fishes?”
Satoru hums in recognition. The place had impressive scenery but Satoru barely paid much attention to it. He had been too busy admiring Yuuji’s bewildered fawning over the sharks.
“Isn’t it a little pricey for two high school students? Unless one of them comes from a loaded family, then good for them."
“You mean rich kids like you?” That earns Yuuji a humorous groan. He mindlessly braids half of Satoru’s bangs with a jaunty giggle. “I thought if I gave them the coupons we won at the arcade, they might get a larger discount.”
“What a kind-hearted sensei you are.”
“It’s my natural talent.” Yuuji folds his arms in mock confidence. Snobbish and haughty and completely the opposite of his usual humility.
Satoru adores it anyway.
“I’m serious.” He says, like a dulcet note he wants only Yuuji to hear. “Your students are lucky to have you.”
Yuuji stares back at him, his motions stilling. And then he beams.
He’s vaguer under the dim lighting of dusk. His outlines are outshined by the glitters of towering skyscrapers. But Satoru does not find that a loss. He’s not going to miss anything even if he gazes at the blurry haze of him. Because it’s Yuuji regardless. Yuuji in a cramped balcony with his cold noodles and twinkling gaze.
Yuuji as he’s faithfully been. With Satoru.
“Second basket’s up, mister.”
He’s prompted back to the rumbling machines. Yuuji, with his nimble feet, prodding him in the ribs.
“Killjoy.” Satoru snorts.
“Love you too, sweetie.”
Wednesday.
Supernatural documentaries and bathroom breaks.
For the outside world, it is a stagnant Wednesday. A mundane, gloomy, uneventful Wednesday. The downpour is a terrific melody for suspended classes and the traffic below is a blessing to overworked employees. Labour is, as preordained, ceaseless for the depressed adults.
For Satoru, it is a restful Wednesday. A bit glum due to a cancelled dinner date. A bit grumpy because of caliginous skies. And a bit languorous in the cosiness of unplanned binging. But a lovely Wednesday, nonetheless.
The hostile drizzles are concealed behind layers of freshly washed curtains. The thunders are muted by the resonant soundtracks of an eerie documentary. But the tremours, no matter how subtle, are not as well hidden.
“Alright?”
Satoru peers down on his chest where a mop of sweaty red strands startles in alarm.
Yuuji inhales sharply and looks at him. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Woke up about halfway through the ending.” Satoru rubs his eyes. Yuuji makes it stubbornly clear that he does not want to disentangle from his embrace. “Did they find any ghosts?”
The commercial break starts with a bombastic beat and evinces a squeak out of Yuuji. He buries himself further into Satoru’s side.
“A bunch of them. Dead kids buried alive.”
Satoru yawns. “Typical.”
He shifts, about to stand, but Yuuji forces him down. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
Satoru furrows his brows. “I mean, you can if you want to?”
Yuuji grips on tightly. He purses his lips, doe-eyed when he glances furtively at him. “I need to go to the bathroom. With you .”
Oh. A mischievous grin makes itself known in Satoru’s expression. “Were you holding in your pee this whole time?”
“I w-wasn’t!”
Satoru reclines. Yuuji panics and concedes.
“You were snoring peacefully, I didn’t wanna disturb your rest.”
The older man sags and takes pity on him. “You know I don’t mind it.”
“Yeah,” Yuuji shrugs. His nerves are less jittery. “But you’ll find it funny.”
Satoru raises his hand. “I promise not to laugh."
Yuuji hastily brings the hand back on his shoulder. “Then you better guard the door and wait for me.”
Satoru’s hands travel to his wrist, holding on securely. “Anything for you, babe.”
Yuuji’s legs, inspired by the tingles of an hours worth of sitting, cautiously spring off the couch and scamper behind Satoru’s frame. Their shadows are but a silly silhouette in the scarce illumination of twilight.
“You lead the way.” Yuuji’s fright is a desperate clench on Satoru’s elbow. Satoru does not have the heart to tell him there is a nearby switch on his left.
Their pace is vigilant but cloddish. They bump into wooden nooks and edges several times and bruise their toes more than twice. Yuuji shoos at any unforeseen movements he imagines. With every mewling cat heard by the hallway and creaking floorboards echoing from their footsteps, Yuuji’s nails dig deeper and deeper into Satoru’s skin.
Satoru bears with the pain, certain that he would be rewarded with kisses and thanks for his knightly deed.
“We’re here.”
Yuuji just about makes it past the threshold before he comes sprinting back and closing his eyes shut in embarrassment.
“I know this sounds weird but, c-can you… maybe hold my hand while I pee? Please .”
Satoru links their fingers together. “You know, we’ve done weirder things than this.”
The wisecrack succeeds and alleviates a whit of dogged tension. Yuuji drums on his knuckles. Thrice to spell out love.
“That’s because you’re a kinky person.”
Satoru breathes out a chuckle and guides him to the toilet. He doesn’t bother with the lights as Yuuji would prefer.
“You don’t have to hold my hand.”
Satoru latches on anyway. “Take all the time you need.”
The rain continues at a tuneful speed. But it is fainter in the bathroom. The coolness of the currents may invade. But Yuuji’s smaller palms are warm.
When Yuuji finishes, hands already washed and shivers subsiding, he returns to Satoru’s comfort.
“You're a godsend.” He says. He radiates even in the dim. "I love you."
Satoru squeezes his hand. Thrice to spell out love.
Thursday.
Dropping by the office and waiting until seven.
School is hell embodied when one inspects it more adamantly. It provides a visceral sense of terror that is perhaps most notable in the human experience of juvenile wandering.
That, or Satoru simply abhors the banal routine of an overstaying system. The very idea of school is dispiriting to him. He believes there is more to education than an oppressive box of mediocrity that only promises moribund careers. But he supposes some choose to not be exceptional.
“Some people like stability and familiarity, Satoru.” Yuuji often argued. “Others can’t afford to be spontaneous.”
Satoru will admit, but only to himself, that Yuuji makes a good point. He’d quickly yield if the debates were not about education. Because all Satoru needs to be fully convinced is Yuuji.
So even if he is aggrieved by the mere presence of a campus, he commits to his untimely visitations with a handsome flair and a bouquet of vibrant flowers.
Today he brings expensive sweets for the office in the hopes he will be permitted a space of his own. The older staff is smitten with him so he is easily entertained. The younger ones are wary of his reputable name that they’re not as vocal of their protests.
And Nobara, the outstanding history teacher, is with no ally but herself.
“One of these days, I’m going to kick you out.”
“I thought you’d say that,” Satoru smirks. He lays a bag on Nobara’s desk with a planned jostle. The bag rings in wealth as his glasses glint. “I brought a gift. One of a kind.”
Nobara is suspicious but she surrenders when Satoru urges with a wink. She fishes out the box and discovers a bracelet with her name engraved on the inside.
“Diamond?”
“Realer than the pay you were promised by your employers.”
“Fine.” Nobara scoffs. “You’ll get Yuuji’s desk. He’ll probably be out in an hour.”
Satoru obeys and flops down on the seat adjacent to her. “Still teaching arts?”
“Yeah, kids really get engaged in the activities. I don’t know how he does it, but Yuuji’s got a way with placating angsty kids.”
“Probably because of his unflagging empathy. Most teachers lack that these days.” And if Satoru were a student of Yuuji, he might be less aversive to the system.
“He’s ridiculously patient with them.” Nobara shakes her head. “Not a good thing if you’re not paid enough to handle their bullshit.”
“Careful now, Nobara-sensei. The students might hear you.”
“Please, like I want to keep it a secret. Yuuji is the only one who genuinely cares for this school. Why do you think the old bunch are eager to file for early retirement?”
It wouldn’t be a shock, Satoru thinks. Considering the overwhelming schedule that they go through and the measly remuneration they receive – even a bootlicking subordinate would cave in the first month.
“If Yuuji wants this job, then I’ll just have to support him.”
“That’s because you can afford it.” Nobara sneers. She glances at her phone and slouches wearily. “You’re practically his sugar daddy.”
“I’d gladly be one for you if you just accept the editorial position.”
“And deal with your shit?” Nobara pauses, appalled. “You’re way worse than the kids, old man.”
“I’m four years older than you.”
“Still an old man.”
There’s a clatter before Nobara shuts her drawers. The heaps of files peering past her computer slightly quakes at the disturbance. Her clutter is a decrepit horror for Yuuji’s tidy space but she makes do with the little area she has available.
“Overtime?”
“I’ve got overdue papers to grade,” Nobara explains. “Better hope Yuuji doesn’t have one.”
“I’m willing to wait.”
Nobara peeks at the clock and chuckles darkly.
“You’re sure to take back your words.”
Satoru tracks the arrowheads. Fifty minutes before seven.
“I won’t.”
-
Fifty dwindles to a thirty and by then Nobara has thinned out the papers to be marked zero. Half the staff abscond with their leftover treats. Half stay for the next ten minutes then relent to fatigue by twenty.
In the last minutes, Satoru has taken to dozing off and only waking to bid Nobara an equally jaded goodbye.
Tick, tock, again it circles back. The arrows hit seven and Satoru lingers alone.
Five more minutes. He basks in the whirring of the fan and passing vehicles. With closed eyes, he counts in a cycle, listening to the thumping of heels or rattling windows.
Ten more minutes.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Thirteen–
“Hey.”
The voice whispers in a velvety tone. Satoru wakes to the sound of its calmness, instinctively leaning into its touch.
“Satoru, I’m here. Let’s go home.”
He feigns a snore. Yuuji gently slaps his cheek under his own pretence of admonition.
“I hope you don’t wake up your drowsy students like this.”
“Absolutely not.” Yuuji laughs quietly. “Now get up so I can cook you dinner.”
The thought of Yuuji’s cooking instantly enlivens him. Satoru stretches his limbs, wincing when he hears a crack from his knees.
“Steak and wine?”
“Fancy, aren’t we?”
“Don’t I get a reward for waiting?” Satoru bats his lashes, for a comelier persuasion.
“I’ll cook you anything you want.”
Yuuji pulls him to a blundering stand only to catch him with a hug. He’s shorter and evidently clumsier. They flounder for an ungainly second before Satoru learns to tilt back to gravity.
The younger’s face collides with his chest, tickling Satoru with his vibrating giggles. Satoru pinches his ear as if to scold. Yuuji follows the pull and raises his chin upward.
“Thank you for picking me up.”
Satoru grins, swaying as Yuuji sways. “The food isn't the full payment.”
“Will an I Love You suffice?”
Satoru imitates a face of deep contemplation. “Only if you say it in the bedroom.”
“We should light up the candles then.” Yuuji teases.
Friday.
Reading manuscripts by the fireplace and grieving over fiction.
“So? How is it?”
Yuuji appears to be mulling over the last two pages of his draft, and is visibly perplexed the harder he concentrates on the same paragraphs.
“I don’t get it…” The papers crinkle in his hold. Yuuji glares up at Satoru, red with tears and utterly betrayed. “He dies? That’s it?”
Satoru snickers at the other. He massages the stress in between Yuuji’s brows, keeping his head still on his lap. “That’s how it was supposed to go.”
“But what about his friends?! Did you even care to think about them?” Yuuji gasps, remembering the most horrid detail of all, “Snowgum! His dog! You let him leave behind his loyal dog?! Oh, that poor dog. He must have been distraught.”
“Yuuji,” Satoru tuts. He carefully retrieves the draft from Yuuji’s flailing hands. “It’s just a story.”
His reply is admittedly indifferent. It’s coarse and dauntingly remorseless. Even the charred firewood crackles in dissatisfaction.
Yuuji sits up. He sniffs, hiccups and frowns. “Do you really think that?”
Satoru slumps. He takes a second to answer. Sheepishly, he confesses, “Okay so maybe I was sort of running out of inspiration. I was opting for easy closure. Figured it would appease those damn executives if I delivered on time.”
Yuuji's eyes dull with worry. “Don’t hurry yourself, Satoru. The best stories are ended well when the author is cared for. You shouldn’t have to bend to their whims. It’s not their decision to make.”
“And if Nanami yells at me for another missed deadline?”
“I’ll tell him not to overwork you.” Yuuji plays with his collar, fixing its creases. “And I’ll make sure you write it whenever you feel like writing it.”
“I doubt I’ll be allowed to mess up the schedule though.” But if Satoru were to have the freedom, he might just have a deeper attachment to his work than the flimsy, complacent connection he currently has with it. No rest for the perfectionist, as the bitter adage preaches.
“Trust me,” Yuuji smiles. “I won’t let any company ruin what you love.”
Satoru exhales tiredly. He rests his forehead against Yuuji’s, wallowing in the serenity of his solace. “I’m gonna write you a better ending.”
“Or,” Yuuji cradles his cheeks. “You’re going to write yourself a better ending. And I’ll love it just the way it is.”
He’s planted a kiss on the bridge of his nose, then his lids and last, on the distressed lines of his throbbing head.
Or, Satoru thinks, he’ll write an ending for the both of them. The best of the bunch and truly theirs.
Saturday.
A toast for the future and spontaneous singing.
Saturday at the bars are a buzzing wilderness for the devitalized folks. There is drinking and dancing and singing and pissing off the bartender for the third round of free drinks to all the drunk and restless.
Saturday at the bar that Satoru and Yuuji go to is very much the same, albeit more amiable to lightweights and disinclined to fistfights.
Nobara is on her weekly job rants with Maki as her devoted listener. Megumi is keeping watch on a cackling Yuuta while Suguru downs his fifth shot of tequila and Shoko her sixth. And if Todo finishes his third, he reckons there will be discordant singing.
Tonight, Satoru is not imbibing any of the lurid alcohols. He has his nerves running about in his veins and his brain conjuring tangents after tangents of possibilities.
Tonight, in the lively company of his friends and Yuuji’s, his life may very well be on tenterhooks.
“Satoru?”
Fingers interlock with his. Yuuji, perceptive to a fault, soothes him in a wordless reassurance.
“Are you okay?”
Satoru gazes into the lucent lure of amber. “Nothing, just…waiting for the show to start.”
“Todo’s got the mic now.” Yuuji taps playfully on the arm draped around him. Thrice. With an inkling of anticipation. “Ready for a wild night?”
A glimpse. An innocent glimpse. That's all it takes to stop Satoru from combusting, from dallying. Of course, there should not be anything to be indecisive about. He is sure. He is hopeful.
Music plays. Drums amplify the jingle of strings. And with the timely dramatics, lights sparkle in little flames. The barstools screech as the people around them jump up and flock to each other's warmth. Alive in a moment of spontaneity.
Satoru stays rooted to his seat, gazing still into his home.
Then he slips a cold metal on Yuuji’s finger, watches as the amber coruscates three shades brighter. Thrice. Always thrice.
“Ready.” He says. “Always ready.”
Yuuji stays rooted to his side, gazing still, astounded.
“I love you.”
This time, it’s Satoru who says it.
Sunday.
Waking up with a raging headache and falling deeper in love.