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Kojiro hasn’t knocked in years—not at Kaoru’s door, at least. He has the keys already out, dangling from his fingers, and when he steps onto the mat outside, he shifts the groceries in his arms, then stoops down to the door knob. He turns it, pushes it open, wrestles the key out before crossing the threshold—
“I’m home,” he calls, as he always does, though he doesn’t live here and never has. He might, one day, if they ever talk about “it.” That thing unspoken that they dance around, all but experts at the steps.
Kojiro slips out of his shoes and pauses to listen. The apartment is quiet, but there’s faint noise from the bedroom, behind the cracked open door. The sound of running water and a shuffle of products—
Kaoru’s started the day late, but that’s nothing unusual. It’s 10 AM on a rainy Sunday morning. There is no one to impress, least of all Kojiro.
He glances around at all the blinds pulled shut as he crosses to the kitchen. “Hey, wouldn’t kill you to let some light in,” he calls toward the bedroom, setting the bags down on the wooden counter. “Damn vampire,” he adds under his breath, a smile betraying his affection.
He starts unpacking the groceries—mostly fresh ingredients for the brunch he has in mind, but a few things to populate Kaoru’s barren fridge, as well. Nothing needing to be cooked, since the spoiled brat can’t be damned—just some sushi and sliced fruit and bottled iced tea. Enough to keep him alive through the work day tomorrow—
Humming, Kojiro shuts the fridge and looks around. He thought he’d heard the bedroom door creak, but there’s no sign of Kaoru.
“I’m making bruschetta,” he announces, in case Kaoru is lingering just out of sight, slipping into his yukata. There’s no answer and that’s well enough, because Kojiro has just flicked on the kitchen light and he doesn’t need to hear it for the thousandth time that he “could have just asked Carla to do it.” Like it’s really so much effort.
Kojiro grabs two tomatoes and goes to wash them in the sink. Over the sound of the faucet running, he hears a strange mechanical noise. Probably one of the older appliances, a victim to Kaoru’s tinkering—
He doesn’t think much of it, since movement catches his attention in his peripheral vision. There’s nothing there when he looks, but he’s sure there was—something small, fast, and black-furred between the couch and the kitchen island, having zoomed out from the bedroom.
“Kaoru,” he starts uncertainly, pushing up on his tiptoes and leaning over the island, trying to see where the thing had gone. “Did you get a cat?” He can’t see anything, but it sounds like something is moving.
“Here, kitty, kitty…” He sets the tomatoes down on the cutting board, grabs a dish towel for his hands as he rounds the counter.
Something whirs in the shadows, between the barstools.
Large, glowing pink eyes blink suddenly open.
“Konnichiwa.”
Kaoru, standing in his bedroom in front of the mirror, neatly ties off his obi to the sound of a yelp. There’s an almighty thud from around the kitchen somewhere, then the sound of his name and pounding footsteps. He rolls his eyes, counts off the seconds. One, two—
“KAORU, WHAT IS THAT THING?”
“That thing is Carla,” Kaoru answers coolly. He plucks a thread off his sleeve before turning to Kojiro, raising an eyebrow at his wild eyes and panting. He looks quite dramatic for having sprinted a mere thirty feet from the kitchen to the bedroom. Ridiculous ape.
“Carla,” huffs Kojiro, still breathing hard, “is a skateboard. THAT—”
“She’s not a skateboard,” Kaoru interrupts, folding his arms across his chest with an unimpressed look. “Carla is a highly sophisticated AI with diverse applications, one of which just so happens to be—”
“A FURBY?”
“—my skateboard, and yes, an electronic toy repurposed as a mobile operative capable of greeting my guests and home invaders, alike.”
Kojiro scoffs. “Who are you calling a home invader, four eyes?”
“Nanjo Kojiro,” comes a pleasant, feminine voice from behind Kojiro, who springs forward into the bedroom like an alarmed cat. “Master has asked me to deliver a message. Please stand by.” She begins to play a recording of Kaoru’s voice that almost immediately degrades into a garbled sound. “Me hungry,” she rattles out, voice gravelly, clicking her beak and advancing on Kojiro, who practically shrieks—
Kaoru observes all this with scientific detachment. “I see,” he muses, adjusting his glasses. “She’s assessed your behaviour as childish and is attempting to endear herself to you by mimicking a simple toy…”
“What—I’m childish?” Kojiro snaps, affronted, still slowly backing away from Carla. “You’re the one experimenting on our childhood!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, we never played with Furbies.”
“IT’S THE PRINCIPLE OF IT, KAORU.”
“Well… principally, you’re an idio—“ Kaoru breaks off with a sharp gasp, scandalized as he’s ever been. “DID YOU JUST KICK CARLA? OH, DON’T YOU SHAKE YOUR HEAD—YOU DID! I SAW YOU!”
“SHE WAS TRYING TO BITE ME.”
“SHE DOESN’T HAVE TEETH.”
Kaoru rushes around the end of the bed to where Kojiro is backed against a wall. There, at his feet, Carla is lying on her back, her big pink eyes staring dully at the ceiling as she mutters, “Whoa, whoa.”
“Carla!” Kaoru cries, dropping onto his knees and cupping her in both hands. “Carla, if you can hear me, say something, please…”
The Furby whirrs and stutters gibberish, blinking out of sync.
“You killed her,” says Kaoru, lifting his head to glare up at Kojiro, who’s been not-so-subtly trying to inch away. “You killed Carla.”
Kojiro stops where he is, half-formed guilt on his face. He shakes his head a second later as if to clear the expression, then lets out a scoff. “She can’t die in a way that matters.” He crosses his arms, resolute.
“You can,” Kaoru threatens, standing with Carla in his arms.
Kojiro rolls his eyes, then lifts an eyebrow. “If you kill me, you’re stuck cooking for yourself…” He leans in and jabs a finger into Kaoru’s chest as he utters gravely, “For the rest of your life.”
Now, it’s Kaoru who scoffs, stepping back and turning away. “You know, I could afford delivery,” he says over his shoulder, walking out of the bedroom with Kojiro on his heels, sputtering protests.
The dark and quiet apartment that Kojiro walked into has filled with light and life as the morning continues. It’s still raining outside, but the clouds are thinning. Warm yellow light indoors proves as good as sunshine for both their moods now that their plates lay empty.
They sit together on the couch with their shoulders almost touching, nursing bellinis as they soak in old music. Something Kaoru liked in high school, but won’t admit to now—even when they’re alone. He won’t actually say it. He’ll just take the old CD out, throw a look at Kojiro like he’s daring him to comment, then hit play on nostalgia.
That’s what it is for Kojiro, who always thinks of these songs like the soundtrack to Kaoru—well, teenage Kaoru. The boy he grew out of, so Kaoru likes to believe. He’s still in there, thinks Kojiro, though he keeps that to himself.
Oh, but he must be smiling since Kaoru looks at him sidelong.
“Care to share with the class?”
“Not today, sensei,” says Kojiro with a wink.
“Hmph.” Kaoru elbows him, subtly leaning into the contact. He tips his head to the side, letting his long pink hair spill down on Kojiro’s shoulder; and just when Kojiro thinks that his head might follow—
“Huh, where? Doo? Me no see you, Master!” comes a grating voice.
Kojiro groans and downs the rest of his bellini in a single gulp. “You said you took out her batteries,” he mutters accusingly, empty glass in hand. He sets it down on the coffee table, then turns to pout at Kaoru, who tries and fails to ignore it—
He just looks too pathetic. Kojiro knows.
Rolling his eyes, Kaoru takes a slow sip from his own glass before he replies, “I did.” He pauses. “And then I may have put in new ones.”
Kojiro’s pout fades with a groan. “I thought she was dead…”
That earns him a scowl.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Jealous ape.”
Carla laughs, a rocky, gurgling sound like a mountain stream if the water were static. “Party!” she giggles. “Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo!”
Raising an eyebrow, Kojiro glances over his shoulder at the kitchen counter, where the Furby—or Carla—or “Furba,” as he’s decided to call her—it—whatever—lays abandoned next to Kaoru’s tools, half her wiring exposed like a corpse picked by vultures. Appropriately horrific.
“I’m not jealous,” he says flatly, offering a hand to take Kaoru’s now empty glass. “Your robot girlfriend on the other hand…” He smirks at Kaoru as he stands, gathering up the rest of the dishes to wash.
“If you’re implying that I would program such a base emotion—”
“I’m implying that you did.”
Kaoru twists around on the couch, frowning after Kojiro as he heads into the kitchen and sets the dishes in the sink. “Then you’re not implying anything, you’re stating it, you beefed up chimp.”
“That’s a new one,” Kojiro snorts.
“Whoa!” Carla loudly exclaims, startling them both. “Big light!” She starts to convulse—as much as a Furby can manage—causing Kaoru to leap up and rush to the counter, tools in hand before he’s even sat.
He has the air of a surgeon, or more, the latest Dr. Frankenstein.
Kojiro chokes down a laugh as he soaps up the dishes, but he still smiles into the sink, with his back turned to Kaoru, just listening to him tinker. It’s times like these he forgets he has a home to return to.
It just feels like he’s there, like home’s a synonym for “Kaoru.”
He might tell him one day—when he’s drunk or something.