Work Text:
9:47PM [y/n]: ‼️ URGENT ‼️
9:47PM [y/n]: URGENT as in WHERE TF ARE YOOUUU?
9:49PM [y/n]: I stg did you forget you have read receipts on?
9:50PM [y/n]: Kyyyo… Ik you’re reading these
9:50PM [y/n]: oh ffs help me pls
9:50PM [y/n]: 😭
9:51PM Kyojuro: Hi [y/n]! 😁
9:51PM [y/n]: don’t give me that bs
9:53PM [y/n]: I have a proposition for you 😇
9:53PM Kyojuro: That emoji is typically not good news.
Kyojuro chuckles as his phone rings, leaning back in his swivel chair. Muted buttery light shines a halo onto his desk illuminating precise piles of neatly labeled folders, a shoddily crafted ceramic pencil holder, and his laptop with an open notebook beside it. Homework can wait.
“KYYYO,” his phone is already a safe distance from his ear — he knows how you get when he doesn’t pick up immediately. He does it on purpose
“Good evening [y/n]! How may I be of assistance?”
“Don’t greet me like a phone operator Kyo,” you huff.
“A phone operator wouldn’t know your name. Are you alright?”
He figures it pertains to homework, and braces himself to disappoint you. Since middle school, he’s finished assignments early so he can offer a helping hand when you inevitably call him freaking out the evening they’re due he slowly turned into a night owl for the same reason, but this specific assignment’s still troubling him. Also, the fact that he’s basically enabled your poor time management for years has NOT yet occurred to him. He’s an angel for goodness gracious.
“Yes!” you pause, “I mean- No! Well, like, yes. I’m fine. But no, I do need help.” Another pause. “Your, help.”
“Sadly, [y/n], I haven’t finished this week’s assignment,” he grimaces.
“Oh that’s okay I can totally help you with it! Actually though are you free tomorrow? I have some very interesting gossip regarding yours truly BUT I refuse to reveal anything unless you buy me bubble tea.”
He admires how freely you ramble talk. How you stumble and twirl around each word. Every inhale and exhale is a choose-your-own-adventure with him simply along for the ride. You’re so lively and genuine! Even through the phone he can picture you pacing endearingly, wearing fuzzy socks and an old shirt of his, with at least two half full drinks forgotten on your bedside table.
“What shirt are you wearing tonight?”
“Okay ruuude Kyo. I asked my question before you. But whatever. I’m wearing that shirt you gave me back in the spring Kyojuro LOVES spring cleaning: out with the old, in with the new because it had that stain but it’s super cozy so I don’t know why you got so worked up over some soy sauce when it’s a very nice shirt otherwise.”
This is why you’re Kyojuro’s best friend. Nobody else could keep him on his toes in such an enjoyable, whirlwind manner.
“Do you wear it out in public?”
“Uh,” you cluck your tongue in thought, “Nope.”
“Exactly! It is a very nice shirt otherwise, but I did not feel comfortable wearing it out in public, and now that it is in your possession, you also do not wear it out in public.”
“Are you implying a dare Kyo…”
“I am not!” he backtracks hurriedly, “I was only pointing out that while a stain may not retire a shirt completely, it was not unreasonable of me to give it up either!”
You snort, “Yeah, yeah. Now answer my question Mr. not-unreasonable-Rengoku-Kyojuro: are you free tomorrow?”
“What if I am free, but do not care for your gossip?”
“Ah but you care about me, and the gossip happens to be about me!” you quip.
Who is he kidding? Kyojuro is definitely free tomorrow. And, you’re right. He cares about you.
“Are we meeting there, here, or at yours?”
“Can I bring the bubble tea to yours?”
“[y/n], as politely as possible: do not mess up my order again.”
He adores you. Sincerely. But, he does not handle mistakes regarding his bubble tea order particularly well. And you have erred previously.
“Text me it. I promise I’ll show it to the barista.”
Kyojuro takes a moment to consider his roommate. Uzui Tengen: man of many women. Surprisingly tidy, and frequently not on the premise due to aforementioned many women. Uzui has no qualms with you — Kyojuro wouldn’t be roommates with anyone who did.
“If you do not mind me doing homework, then I am available at anytime!”
He knows you won’t show up until at least noon: you’re a sleepyhead.
“Yay! Sleep tight. Cya tomorrow.”
Kyojuro shrugs in amusement as your Caller ID icon vanishes. You never give him a chance to say, “Sweet dreams, [y/n]!” back.
1:07PM [y/n]: hey hey you you
1:07PM [y/n]: I’m outside
1:07PM [y/n]: with bubble tea
1:08PM [y/n]: let me iiin 🤬
You’re not a klutz. You swear. Which is why you do NOT drop the drink tray when you see Kyojuro but like, you very nearly did. You can tell he showered earlier: his hair’s especially fluffy in a freshly unkempt way, and the faint hint of sandalwood floating from his collarbones forces you to double check that you’re not melting into a gooey puddle.
—
“Why do you use essential oil?” you’d ask him in high school.
“Natural cosmetics feel better on my skin! And I imagine I am more pleasant to be around when I smell good!”
“What exactly am I smelling?”
“Sandalwood!” he’d held out his arm toward you.
You’d sniffed his wrist and blinked contentedly. And no, you had not bought a sandalwood candle shortly after. Self restraint who?
—
“I sent you a Venmo request,” you step into his apartment, kicking your shoes off.
“Paid! With an additional tip!”
He’s too kind. The amount he Venmos you, whether paying for his portion or both, could count as disposable income.
“Is Uzui home?” you peer around nonchalantly.
“He is with Makio! Or was it Suma? He may be with Hina, or was it-”
“So he isn’t home,” you poke Kyojuro fondly.
You head to his room, plop your bag onto his carpet, and put the drink tray on his desk.
“Can, we, uh… sit?”
That’s odd. You don’t normally pause between words — only sentences. Perhaps the gossip about you isn’t… good? He hates to think you’re here doing damage control. Worried now, he sits cross legged on his bed and motions for you to join him.
Ohmygosh.
You join him.
He has no idea you’re on the verge of bolting from his room. It’s not his fault! Not at all. It’s just. You’ve had this grand plan of a slow burn, romantic wooing for ages. In middle school, the concept of love was more so wow he’s cute! and I hope we’re partners for ballroom dancing; playing spin the bottle for feathery cheek kisses and nauseating butterflies. High school introduced when did he grow taller than me? and what if we don’t have any classes together and he forgets about me?; he didn’t forget about you though, and those butterflies persisted. College? Hah. College brought strangers’ mouths to yours: wet and enticing, but never his. Brought finally getting to wear his shirts (high school you was sooo excited), but only because he didn’t want them anymore (middle school you insisted it was better than nothing). Brought 3am conversations after too much homework and too much drinking. Cooking in his kitchen pretending to be lovers. Well. You indulged in pretend; you doubted he did. Stirred those butterflies into a naive, hopeful frenzy. And yet. You’d never consciously initiated your grand plan. Never snuck past that line of we’ve known each other too long and if he loved me, then he would’ve made it obvious… right?
“[y/n],” Kyojuro’s tone is soft. Overwhelmingly soft. “I trust you. You’re wonderful.” W-what?
“Thanks buddy,” oof. How uncharming of you. Idiot. You look sharply down into your lap.
“Whatever I may hear, I will always ask for your side of the story.”
“Kyo?” you glance at him.
“[y/n],” his eyebrows scrunch, “What is your proposition?”
Gulp.
“So I know I probably seem forever-doomed-to-be-alone but I recently met this person and they’re very attractive like yeah their face and whatever but their personality too and I asked them out on a casual coffee date which was totally awesome of me, they said yes by the way, but now I’m scared that they’ll try to end the date with a kiss because I’m terrible kisser and what a horrible impression that would leave.”
How do they ramble talk so darn fast?! And when, why, how, what they’re going on a date?
Kyojuro maintains a careful gaze, consciously willing his hands to relax from their involuntary fists.
“I am confident you are an excellent kisser!”
You’re too nervous yourself to notice the lowness of his voice.
“Yeah but I well could you maybe wouldyouteachme Kyo?”
Even he couldn’t catch that.
“Could you repeat that [y/n]?”
“Wouldyouteachme?”
“Slower, [y/n].”
“Would. You. Teach. Me?”
Kyojuro chokes. Quietly. He hates denying you. It pains him when he can’t provide. When he can’t be, find, or create what you ask for. But this? This doesn’t pain him. Doesn’t feel challenging. Thrilling. Worth it. It just aches.
“Please don’t ask that of me.”
His whisper splinters you.
He never whispers.
And his rejection snaps you.
He hardly ever rejects you.
You stand abruptly. He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t acknowledge your movement. Well fuck me your eyes sting. Great job [y/n]! your eyes burn. What the hell did you do?
“That was inappropriate of me. Rengoku…”
His heart wobbles.
You never use Rengoku.
He’s Kyo.
Kyyyo.
He’s your Kyo.
“Why did you ask that of me?” his voice cracks.
“Rengoku. I’m so sorry. So, so, so sorry. We’re best friends. And best friends don’t. Don’t do that. Or ask that. Of each other. I’m sorry.”
“If best friends don’t, then why did you?”
He isn’t angry.
You know his angry voice. You know all of his voices.
Except this voice.
You know all of his expressions.
Except this expression.
Somewhere, somehow. He’s, faded. The crisp, enthralling flicker of his stare dimmed to a distracted, disheveled fog. And his hands. Usually so steady. So firm. So reliable. Twitching. His back haunches with unsettling tension. Broad frame shrunken. You’d never seen him miserable. He’s sing-in-the-shower exuberant. Dance-in-the-rain passionate. Fall-in-love-a-first-sight magnetic. And never-gonna-give-you-up, never-gonna-let-you-down honest.
Realization hits you square in the jaw.
“I love you Kyo.”
The tenderness that ripples through his body shatters the thread of familiar between you.
His hands, steady, firm, reliable are on you in an instant touching touching touching. Soothing your trembling wrists, tugging you closer by your elbows, cupping your cheeks gently gently gently. As his beautiful, desperate, fragile breaths caress your forehead, both eyelids, the tip of your runny nose. Your toes wiggle against his, your fingers digging into his hips, guiding the warmth of his chest to your exhilarated heart.
“I love you [y/n]!”.
The loudness of his affection reverberates in his tiny room. Sinks itself patiently, safely into your contagious smile.
“Your smile is my most precious memory!”
“Kyo,” you murmur, “How many memories of my smile do you have?”
“All of them!” he declares.
You giggle.
“Kyo,” he pulls back slightly, hands traveling from your cheeks to your ears. “Would you like to get coffee with me?”
His cheerful laughter reassures you as he teasingly pinches your earlobe, “Do I get to kiss you at the beginning or end?”
“Can I be greedy?”
“Hm… you can be!”
“How about both?”
“What a fantastic choice!” he grins, suddenly gripping your chin with tantalizing, delicate intent, “Kissing 101, lesson 1, are you ready?”
You squeak.
He tastes of lemongrass and sweetness, lips moist and plush. Of course, he isn’t overbearing. Listens to your sighs. Follows the tickle of your eyelashes. Makes sure to press deeply, heavily. And linger promisingly, lovingly. Even when your teeth clink. Even when your neck cramps. He’s perfect.
You are in love.
He is in love.