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There was a feeling called "pity" that Kaoru occasionally felt. It wasn't often, but it was enough for him to recognize it as the feeling fluttering around his chest.
Pity. That's all it was.
And in being a decent friend filled with pity, Kaoru assured Kojiro that going to urgent care wasn't necessary—why spend all that time in the waiting room to get a few bruises checked out when Kaoru had the resources to fix them himself?
Kaoru didn't know why it… evolved.
Something had been off about Kojiro all evening, and it began around when he asked Kaoru to go for a skateboard ride with him. "It’s been so long since we’ve gone for a casual ride together," Kojiro had claimed, and he "had some new moves” he wanted to show Kaoru. Kaoru agreed reluctantly, not bothering to push. His wrist had been starting to ache after working on commissions all afternoon.
So, they took an easy path along the narrow alleys behind Kaoru's apartment, quietly absorbing the sounds of birds mocking each other from the tops of oak trees and young teenagers chatting around stolen cigarettes outside of convenience stores. The flapping of lost cat flyers stapled to telephone posts, their wheels stuttering over the raised patterns on rusty sewage covers. It was not peace—Kaoru didn't think he would know ‘peace’ if a pebble caught under his wheel and sent him flying face-first toward it—but it was damn close.
It got even damn closer when conversation struck like an old matchbox, and despite the brutality that was summer in Okinawa, Kaoru felt warm for the first time in three years.
So, it caught both off guard when one second, they were skating down the street and talking about their dinner plans, and the next, Kojiro was groaning on the ground, and Kaoru was crouching over him, calling him an idiot.
(And it seemed as if Kojiro had met ‘peace.’)
Now, they were in Kaoru's home office where Kaoru kept all his first aid supplies—Sakurayashiki Kaoru, ever the poised and prim gentleperson, had fingers that collected paper cuts like his mother collected hand-painted teacups. Kojiro lowered himself into the desk chair Kaoru refused to replace while Kaoru sorted out the antibiotic ointment and the brightly patterned bandages Miya gifted him for Christmas. Kaoru stifled a laugh at the thought of Kojiro showing up to work with stars and flowers distracting from his facade as a professional.
Unfortunately, it was a poorly stifled laugh. Kojiro begged Kaoru to use the flesh-colored bandages, but Kaoru refused. He was the doctor; he should treat his patient however he saw fit.
“How did you even—” Kaoru said, turning the bottle of water upside down onto a washcloth— “manage to fall like that?”
Kojiro hissed when Kaoru dabbed the cloth on his chin. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Kaoru.”
And doing this wasn’t some grandiose gesture. This just was. In the years Kaoru had come to know Nanjo Kojiro as his best friend, playing nurse came with the package. Kojiro had learned the etiquette of icepack making when Kaoru headbutted the people making fun of his appearance. Kaoru kept paper stitches in his back pockets to fix Kojiro’s knuckles after defending him from the bullies that went after Kaoru when his doctor pronounced him concussed. Their first-aid efforts doubled when they learned to skate. This was normal. He had the supplies, and Kojiro was hurt, and they weren’t all that different from the kids they were in high school.
Kaoru wiped up some of the blood streaked down Kojiro’s neck before wetting another section of the towel. “Well, maybe if you were looking where you were going, you wouldn’t have fallen.”
“I’m so sorry for inconveniencing you, Kaoru. I’ll never do it again.”
Kaoru bent down until he could look Kojiro in the eye, holding up the washcloth like a threat. Kojiro flinched before it even touched him. “Like hell, you won’t.”
Kojiro, for the large man he was, hated having his injuries cleaned more than any part of the healing process. Kaoru never could understand. Kojiro spent every morning in the gym creating micro-tears in his muscle tissue voluntarily, and he still tensed up when Kaoru mentioned the words “triple antibiotic.” It was ridiculous.
Kind of adorable but ridiculous.
“Keep your head up,” Kaoru said, lifting Kojiro’s chin with two fingers as he thoroughly wiped away all the grime. It was far from the worst injury Kojiro’s ever had, but with the way Kojiro flew from his board, Kaoru was glad he hadn’t broken his jaw.
(Though that would mean that he wouldn’t have to hear Kojiro run his stupid mouth for a while. But then he’d have to look at Kojiro’s sad little face and make Kaoru feel even worse for him— feel more pity for him.)
Satisfied with the job he'd done on his chin and neck, Kaoru pulled Kojiro’s head back down and examined his busted lip. It also wasn’t the worst busted lip Kojiro’s ever gotten, but it was already swollen and purple. Kaoru bent down to look closer and ignored Kojiro’s eyes following him.
“That’s almost in the exact spot I got my lip ring,” Kaoru said, more under his breath than to Kojiro. “This might sting a little.”
“Like they all haven’t stung,” Kojiro said, darting out his tongue to lick the wound and cringing when it did, in fact, sting. “Ow.”
“You’ll infect it like that, dummy,” Kaoru said, grabbing Kojiro’s jaw between his thumb and forefinger and moving his face until Kojiro looked him in the eyes. “Be good and stay still for a few seconds."
Kaoru tried to be considerate and put light pressure on the wound, but when he wiped away the buildup near the widest part of the gash, Kojiro yelped and reached out to grab Kaoru’s forearm. “That hurt, Kaoru. Can you be careful?”
Kaoru ripped his arm from Kojiro’s grasp and glared down. “I’m trying. If you stop being such a baby, maybe we can get through this quicker.
Kojiro sighed and sat up straighter, probably not pouting on purpose but looking like it with his swollen lip (and it was not cute). “Okay, fine. I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” Kaoru squeezed a bit of triple antibiotic onto his finger and leaned down to apply it to a scrape on Kojiro’s neck. “Keep moving, and I’ll strap you down.”
The way Kojiro's lips curled made Kaoru regret the very thing he might have said the first day they met that gave Kojiro the lifelong impression that Kaoru wanted his friendship. That dumb smirk. The way it made Kaoru's heart leap.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Kojiro said once Kaoru had ducked his head down to smooth a pink bandage at the base of his throat. “I might be into it.”
There was a… voice Kojiro used. Kaoru supposed you could say that about anyone, but with Kojiro, it was just… there was that something. That something that sounded much like his normal voice but twisted and glazed with a tone. A tone that was deep and dark, and Kaoru wouldn't let his right mind put Kojiro and sexy in the same sentence but.
His body gained autonomy outside of himself and reacted sometimes.
Kaoru continued his ministrations down to the bruises blooming underneath Kojiro's shirt collar and ignored the blush blooming across his cheeks. “Please stop talking. Shirt, off.”
Kojiro groaned and slipped his shirt over his head. The upper left part of his chest was scraped raw, and Kaoru hid his wince as he went to grab his towel again. Kojiro tossed his head back.
“Hey, can we at least finish the cream shit before we go back to this?”
“Absolutely not,” Kaoru said. “We don’t want to risk infection, do we?”
And then Kaoru did something kind of stupid (which was a sentence that could apply to multiple instances in his life).
Kaoru blamed it on how much Kojiro loved to talk. Talking was how Kojiro got to most places. He talked his way into letting the previous owners of his restaurant’s space rent out the building to him, he talked his way out of many detentions in their school days, and he talked his way into the pants of so many different people, Kaoru was sure one of Kojiro dedicated one of the drawers in his room to the clothing his hookups left behind.
In saying this, his only intention was to shut Kojiro up.
By—sitting on his lap.
And it made a lot more sense in Kaoru’s head. Kojiro had opened his mouth to—he didn’t know, to say something Kaoru wouldn’t have wanted to hear. He knew it; there was this little twinkle in Kojiro’s eye he got when he knew he was about to piss Kaoru off. Kaoru didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t feel like hearing Kojiro argue with him right now.
So, for some reason or another, his mind decided that instead of snapping or physically putting his hand over Kojiro’s mouth, he would go for the Shock Factor. Because it was warranted. Because from what Kaoru knows about Kojiro, if he made up his mind to say something, he would say it.
Knees slid over wide thighs.
Warm hands slid over narrow hips.
All the firm muscles that rippled along Kojiro’s tan abdomen disappeared into the low waistband of his shorts.
How those muscles flinched and flexed underneath Kaoru's touch.
(Oh god, was he drooling—)
When he looked up to focus on Kojiro’s lip, their faces were centimeters apart.
“Hi,” Kojiro whispered, trying to catch Kaoru’s gaze as he squeezed the last bit of ointment onto his middle finger. Kaoru's cheeks erupted into flames when Kojiro slowly raised his hands. “Are you gonna kiss it better?”
Naturally, his plan wouldn’t have worked. This was Kojiro, king of, Kaoru didn’t know, sex. Sensuality, flirtation.
“Hell no,” Kaoru said, tilting Kojiro’s head up with his knuckle and smearing the ointment on his lip. “We’re trying to make you better, not worse.”
“Why would that make it worse?”
Kaoru wiped the residue on his yukata and settled back onto his haunches to examine his work. He should be used to seeing Kojiro banged up, bruised, and bandaged. They’d gotten into so many fights in high school and got hurt going skateboarding so many times that Kojiro was injured more often than not.
But an older, shirtless Kojiro sat underneath him—a warm Kojiro, who can pull off stupid kitten bandages—Kaoru’s brain was going fuzzy.
“I would only infect it. More than it probably already is, considering how you'll hardly let me clean it.”
Kojiro shrugged, and his eyes were so heavy on Kaoru’s lips. “I heard it's the best remedy.”
Kaoru twisted the cap onto the ointment tube. “Why the fuck would I want to kiss you, Kojiro?” he said, secretly knowing every reason why he would. Secretly knowing that he wanted to kiss every busted lip Kojiro’s gotten, knowing how much he dreamt about putting his mouth on every one of Kojiro’s bruises, every one of his moles and freckles and imperfections. Secretly knowing that the taste of Kojiro was all he’s wanted on his tongue for years now.
“Because you wouldn’t be so embarrassed sitting in my lap if you didn’t.”
Maybe the abundance of pity was making Kaoru feel weird. Maybe the scent of Kojiro's cologne was driving him insane. Maybe it was all the above or none, but—Kojiro’s fingers trailed upwards to twist a lock of Kaoru's hair between his fingers. Kaoru slapped his hand away with a force that left his palm stinging.
"Don't touch me.” Rubbing his hand, Kojiro glanced back at Kaoru’s face, and Kaoru was sure the pink stain on his cheeks was evident even in the darkness of the office.
"You're cute when you're flustered."
Kaoru swallowed hard. “And you’re a dumbass when you keep flapping that mouth of yours.”
Flustered. The only time Kaoru ever got flustered was when he was drunk and lost the ability to filter out the thoughts that made him want things. And Kaoru had been drunk several times— he’d been drunk last night and the night before, two days before that, the day he and Kojiro graduated high school, and the day before Kojiro left him for Italy. He had been really drunk that night. So drunk, Kaoru could barely walk up the stairs by himself; Kojiro’s steadying hands were the only things keeping him from falling straight over. And Kaoru, absolutely hammered, remembered looking up at Kojiro as Kojiro tucked him into bed and thinking that in the moonlight, Kojiro was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
It was the first time he ever wanted to kiss his best friend.
He thought Kojiro’s lip was bruised that night too.
And now, Kaoru was stone-cold sober. He would never skateboard drunk— he was smart enough to establish that rule—but in the dark and in the office and in the lap of his bruised best friend, Kaoru felt even drunker than he did that night.
Kojiro’s thumbs on either hand brushed softly against the outside of Kaoru’s thighs. “Haven’t you ever thought about what it would be like to kiss me, Kaoru?” His right hand moves to Kaoru's thigh, resting it gently near his knee, rubbing small circles over his skin. His left hand grabs Kaoru’s wrist and brings it towards the bandage on his neck. “Right here?” Then he brings Kaoru’s hand up toward his busted lip, pausing Kaoru’s fingertips on his chin. “Or right here?”
Kaoru felt like a deer in headlights. He'd been caught—or maybe he always had been caught. If Kojiro was in the car and Kaoru was gazing at him from the road, illuminated by the glowing yellow headlights, perhaps they'd been stuck at that standstill since Kaoru knew liking boys was an option. Was this Kojiro finally revving up to run him over and send his organs splattering? Was he even making sense anymore?
“Kojiro,” Kaoru said quietly, sliding his hand out of Kojiro’s grasp and back down the side of his neck, “Kojiro, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Kojiro’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth fell into a frown. “What do you mean—”
“What would you do if it was true?”
The hand that had been holding Kaoru’s wrist dropped to his waist. “If what was true, Kaoru?”
Kaoru looked somewhere past Kojiro's shoulder, the haze of his mind impairing his ability to concentrate on anything other than Kojiro. He could practically hear Kojiro's engine firing, but Kaoru lost plausible deniability the second his last sentence left his mouth. “What you said. About me wanting to kiss you.”
Kojiro pressed his hand against Kaoru’s cheek and turned his head until their eyes locked. His pupils swallowed his irises black.
And then Kojiro's lips were on his.
Lips soft and hot and bruised, he kissed Kaoru, and Kaoru's brain leaked out through his ears.
He knew this was what he wanted, maybe since the night started, maybe since his life started. Kojiro was kind, stupid, honest, and infuriating— stood by Kaoru even when Kaoru told him to screw off. He was there to bandage the wounds Kaoru got when he was self-destructive, got on Kaoru's every nerve, and lit all his cells on fire. Kaoru craved Kojiro, and it scared him.
After a few seconds of Kaoru remaining unresponsive to the kiss, Kojiro pulled back and only got through the words, “are you—” before Kaoru wove both hands into his hair and crushed their mouths back together.
It scared Kaoru. Scared him like hell because the last time he let himself feel this way for anyone, his heart took years to heal. Maybe it was still healing. Maybe Kojiro wasn’t the only one who needed to be fixed tonight. All Kaoru knew was that it was terrifying kissing his best friend, but Kaoru liked the thrill of it.
Kojiro hissed and jerked back to touch his lip. “My lip’s still busted, you know?”
Kaoru scowled. “Oh, so now you’re worried about it?”
Kojiro smiled at Kaoru’s pout and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “Just be gentle.”
So, the third time was slower and lazier, and Kaoru felt intoxicated by the methodical movements of Kojiro’s mouth against his. Slowly, Kaoru’s arms wound around Kojiro’s neck, holding him close while Kojiro’s grip tightened around his waist, pulling their bodies flush together. He traced his tongue between the seam of Kaoru’s lips, coaxing his mouth open enough to slip his tongue between his teeth.
The sound that left Kaoru's mouth was unholy.
Kojiro pulled away, and Kaoru almost protested before Kojiro’s lips found his neck. Kaoru gasped slightly and shuddered, the sensation warm and sending shivers down his spine. Kojiro’s wandering hands traveled up Kaoru’s back. They traced the curve of his hips, his fingers rough against the thin material of Kaoru’s yukata, and Kaoru leaned into Kojiro’s mouth on his neck until the office chair reclined.
"What are we doing?" Kaoru asked, his voice rough.
Kojiro grazed his nose against Kaoru’s collarbone. "What I've wanted to do for years now."
Kaoru's head lolled to the side, and his stomach fluttered as Kojiro's warm mouth continued to make him breathless. He'd never known how sensitive his neck was—especially the spot above his collarbone—and he didn't realize how Kojiro discovered it so quickly.
Kaoru glided his palms against Kojiro's torso, reveling in the taut planes of his stomach. His skin was hot. He knew Kojiro was a warm-blooded person, but Kaoru couldn't help but wonder if he was the reason Kojiro felt so feverish. He hoped he was.
Kaoru moaned as Kojiro's kisses turned open-mouthed against the underside of his jaw, and Kojiro's fingers tugged on the knot at the end of the obi.
"Can I take this off, Kaoru?"
Kaoru hardly recognized the verbal agreement spilling out of his mouth, but then Kaoru's obi fell away, and Kojiro splayed his large hands on Kaoru's bare hips. Kaoru groaned softly, reaching up to grasp at the curls at the nape of Kojiro's neck, and Kojiro nipped his bottom lip.
“I’ve always wanted this, you know,” Kojiro said against Kaoru’s mouth. “You. Kissing you, touching you." He kissed Kaoru's shoulder. "Tell me you want me." He brushed idle patterns against the curve of Kaoru's hip bone. "Say it, and I'm all yours."
Kaoru blinked slowly, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His breath escaped him. His lips were buzzing and swollen from friction. Kojiro stared, eyes dark and clouded.
"I want you," Kaoru caught himself saying. He met Kojiro’s gaze as his hand found his shoulder, pulling him closer. "I've only ever wanted you."