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The first time Hisoka heard the name “Christine”, he thought nothing of it. He was barely listening anyway, moments away from dropping into a slumber. However, the first time Hisoka acknowledges is it when he asks his boyfriend what he’s doing in the morning.
“My my. The slumbering Princess is inquiring about my plans for the morn?!” Homare says excitedly, spinning around his heel to face Hisoka where he’s perching on the edge of Homare’s bed, sleepily rubbing his eyes. Hisoka nods.
“I’m just asking if you’re busy. That’s a normal thing to ask.”
“Yes yes but you see- that is quite unusual for yourself. Unless,” Homare gasps and puts a hand to his chest, “do you want to spend time with me? Is this a date?!”
“Getoffme,” Hisoka grumbles with no real anger as Homare launches himself at the smaller boy, forgetting how much bigger he is as they fall backwards as one unit. Hisoka lets out a little ‘oof’ as his back meets the mattress, Homare rubbing his face into the side of Hisoka’s neck. “You’re so annoying,” Hisoka huffs, but still puts an arm around the man.
“Oh but I cannot simply let go after you request something so out of character for yourself!”
“I haven’t even asked anything yet.”
“One does not need to be an academic to read between the lines, my dear Hisoka. Now pray tell, where will our date take place? I must plan accordingly.”
“Nothing special,” Hisoka says, voice slightly muffled as he speaks into Homare’s hair. He allows himself a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of jasmine. “Misumi told me about a new cat cafe that opened up recently. Majority of them have been rescued from being euthanised. That’s what Misumi said. He says a lot of things.”
“How charitable of them! We must pay a visit shortly then. Allow me to consult my planner and then we can organise when it is most convenient for us both.” Homare doesn’t move immediately, indulging in the other man’s warmth for a few moments. He eventually peels himself away, and hops over to his desk.
Hisoka watches his boyfriend flick through his planner, rhythmically clicking his pen as his foot taps alongside it. He’s quite musical, naturally, every one of his movements seem calculated and perfectly on beat. If he told Hisoka that all of his speech and actions were each based on his own internal iambic pentameter, Hisoka would not doubt him for a second. Homare’s elegant air and eccentric style truly completes the ‘artist’ look; slightly crazed; the light is on but no one is home.
“Did you have any particular day in mind, my dear?” Homare’s silvery voice breaks Hisoka from his momentary daydream. He’s turned around now, planner open in one hand, the other tapping his pen to his chin thoughtfully as he scans the double page spread with a troubled expression.
“This week would be good. I think Misumi mentioned that from next week, they’ll be super busy and you’ll have to book a place days in advanced.” Homare hums in acknowledgment, expression unchanging. He flicks a page forward, and sighs airily.
“Are you all booked up?” Hisoka asks. He walks the small distance across the bedroom and presses himself up against his boyfriend to look at his planner. Homare’s handwriting is infamously difficult to read, but especially so in his private journal. Cursive and writing quickly do not go together well, and it’s pretty much illegible to most people. Hisoka could make out most of the words through practice from trying to read the chicken scratch notes Homare would affectionately scrawl onto Hisoka’s scripts, but it still takes a few moments of focus, something he doesn’t feel like doing right now. Instead the shorter boy simply observes the page filled with blue biro, not looking at anything in particular.
Homare leans into Hisoka almost subconsciously and both of them can’t tell if they carry in staring at the page for a few moments more just so they can enjoy each other’s body heat for a little longer. He’d love to just stand here for ages, anywhere’s fine if Homare’s there, but Hisoka's tired and his feet hurt.
“I’m afraid so. I have plans everyday until next Thursday.” Hisoka raises an eyebrow at that. He hadn’t mentioned being busy tomorrow… it must have been a last minute thing.
Hisoka doesn’t question it until curiosity is preventing him from falling asleep.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asks into the back of Homare’s pajama top as they lay together under the covers.
“My mother called and told me she had found a long lost friend of mine! So, naturally, I intend to go reunite with them. Quite fortunate, is it not?”
“Mmm,” Hisoka’s reply comes. “What are they called?”
“Christine. I have missed her greatly. To think I believed we would never meet again! Life always finds a way for old memories to be relived as time is nothing but a linear feature, and memories are only bound by our ability to think, recognise, and remember. How poetic of me. I should write that down.” Fortunately, Homare doesn’t get up when Hisoka tightens his hold around the man, a simple message of ‘stay with me’.
“No matter, inspiration, unlike time, is not fleeting. We will always find ways to be inspired.”
“Noisy, Arisu,” Hisoka says softly, eyelids heavy. There’s something nagging at the back of his brain, but he chooses to wait until the morning to deal with it. He’s too tired right now. Homare gives a short, satisfied laugh, gently squeezing Hisoka’s hands that lay at his waist, a silent promise that he won’t get up. Not at least until Hisoka’s alseep.
When Hisoka arouses the next morning, admittedly it’s slipping into the afternoon at this point, Homare isn’t anywhere in their bedroom. When he finally pulls himself out of bed, he spots a post it note on Homare's desk. Blinking back sleep, Hisoka takes a second or two to decipher it: ‘I will be back for dinner! Make sure you eat something yourself. Much love, Homare’. Hisoka frowns at the note to stop a silly, affectionate smile from forming.
The post note is tapped to Homare’s planner, the pen still resting on the cover. He must have left in a rush. Hisoka goes to open the journal but stops halfway, hand hanging in the air. Despite Homare always being eager to share about himself and his work, Hisoka feels like reading it when he’s not here is… wrong. It all sounds better when Homare says it, anyway.
But it’s just his planner, not his writing or poetry notebook. There’s probably writing notes in the planner too, knowing what the artist is like. Hisoka sighs and leaves his room.
“Good afternoon, Mikage. Did you sleep well?” Omi asks when he enters the kitchen. Hisoka looks towards the man from his spot at the kitchen table, brain taking a moment to register the question.
“Mhm. Have you made lunch?”
“I’m just about to actually. Anything you particularly want?”
“Soup,” Hisoka replies after a moment of thought. Warm soup with buttery bread sounds so good right now.
“That I can do! Soup coming up.”
Hisoka watches Omi mill around the kitchen as he makes soup from scratch like the master chef he is, chopping vegetables and stirring stock on the stove. A few people come and go, checking how long until Omi’s done.
Somehow, Omi ropes Hisoka into helping, and before he fully realised it hes buttering bread. Omi has this charm and natural charisma to him that makes you want to just go ‘yes of course I’ll do that for you.’
Omi says something, but Hisoka’s a little too focused on the bread and misses it. Luckily, Omi just chuckles good naturedly and repeats himself.
“Where’s Arisugawa today? Normally you two aren’t more than a few metres apart.”
“Oh. Arisu’s out visiting a childhood friend.”
“That’s nice. What’s their name?”
“Christine. I’ve never heard of her before.”
“You’d think he would mention her if they were close as kids.” Hisoka eyes the other man as he skilfully slices and diced potato before adding it to the soup. It smells really good, warm and tomato-y. That is weird, Hisoka thinks. Surely if this Christine was so important to him that he felt the need to suddenly meet back up with her after all these years that he would have mentioned her before, even if it was offhandedly. Hisoka tends to forget a lot of things, but nothing about Homare. Those memories must be stored somewhere else considering how pristine they are. If Hisoka were a poet, he’d say the heart, but he’s not, so the brain will do. “Well, I suppose this is Arisugawa we’re talking about. He’s rather unusual, to say the least.”
“He is very unusual,” Hisoka agrees, and allows them to lapse back into a comfortable silence. Hmmm... He'll have to ask Homare about it once he gets home.
Hisoka tries to stay up waiting for Homare, but he doesn't turn up until quite late. The white haired boy is snoozing on the sofa in the living room when Homare returns. He gives a soft smile to his sleeping form as he pulls off his scarf. He leans over the sofa to gently shake him away.
"Hello my love," Homare smiles, voice low. "I'm home. Were you waiting for me?"
Hisoka grumbles something unintelligible, slowly rolling over and blinking at the harsh lighting.
"Where've you been," Hisoka states, not really asking.
"I was visiting Christine. Did you forget already?"
The two continue to talk as they return to their bedroom. Hisoka snuggles into the covers and fights his eyelids from drooping so he can fall asleep with Homare.
Hisoka lets out a hiss when Homare slips in next to him, skin frozen, and he wiggles away. It's a little futile considering this bed is actually meant for one person.
"I apologise for my tardiness." Homare says into the darkness. His touch is a little more bearable, hands warming up slowly from where he has them pressed against Hisokas's skin. "I didn't think you would wait up for me."
"'Course I would. Missed you."
Homare’s gone again when Hisoka wakes up, another note left for him on the desk. This time, Hisoka decides to take a peek at his diary. Only a little one. And it’s not like he’s going to read the entire thing, just the next week or so…
He undoes the stiff clasp and flips it to this week. Monday had nothing, Tuesday had ‘Mother + Christine lunch @ 1’. Wednesday ‘Christine @ 9:30’. Hisoka flips to the next week and similarly to the previous one, Christine is written somewhere on almost each day. Hisoka pouts and closes the diary with a huff. Stupid Arisu.
Hisoka didn’t think he was one for jealousy, green really wasn’t his colour. Yet… what was this twisting feeling in his stomach, sitting at the bottom, festering? A sort of empty pang in his chest… No. He must be getting sick.
If Hisoka is sulking, he most certainly doesn't show it- no, not at all. The way he drags his feet around the dorm and huffs at every minor inconvenience is not telling and no-one knows he's upset. He mopes around, being a general bother and after being irritating, lets himself into Azuma's room.
"Oh, hello Hisoka. What brings you to this neck of the woods?" Azuma smiles warmly. A pair of reading glasses are perched on his nose and he pushes them into his hair. Hisoka launches himself onto the beanbag chair. He keeps his face pressed into the fabric until he has to pull away to inhale.
"...Took Chikage's ugly cup and tried to smash it but he ruined my fun."
"Was it the one with the flower field on it?"
"Yeah."
"It is quite the tragic design. Perhaps we can work together next time." Azuma playfully winks. "Though, I have this itching feeling that that isn't the only reason your here."
Hisoka hums in acknowledgment but says no more.
"You know, the best remedy to any relationship problem is to talk about it. Not only communicate but listen too. Otherwise it turns into an argument."
"...I don't want to argue with Arisu."
"Of course you don't. No-one wants to argue with the person they love." Homare squirms at Azuma's wording. "But it's important to discuss what's worrying you. Many relationships end in turmoil because the partners are unwilling to set their pride aside."
"I'm not gonna break up with him. Unless he's cheating on me with Christine." Azuma lets out a giggle at that and Hisoka squints at the older man.
"I'm sure that's not the case."
"How do you know that?"
"Let's say... it's mother's intuition." Hisoka doesn't get it but Azuma doesn't elaborate either so he drops it. Whatever. The advice is good but Hisoka is also stubborn. And Homare is dense, so it's going to remain a mystery unless he brings it up first. Or until, you know, Hisoka walks in on their passionate lovemaking, or worse composing poetry together... Yuck.
"I'm home!" Homare singsongs. The door clatters against the wall, the resounding bangs are fireworks announcing his presence and Hisoka thinks it's very obnoxious and unnecessary. "But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Hisoka is the sun."
Hisoka glares over the lip of his bunk and his duvet begins to slip off his head. "She speaks yet she says nothing; what of that?" Homare sighs like a mournful maiden, hand pressed to his chest. An eye cracks open, watching Hisoka. If he's hoping that he'll carry this 'bit' on, he's sorely mistaken.
"Stop being noisy. Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"
"She speaks! O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this-"
"Arisu," Hisoka warns. Despite this, he clambers down from his bundle of blankets anyway and presses his face into Homare's cotton shirt and inhales. As if he'd been shocked, Hisoka jolts backwards. "You smell different," he says accusingly.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Duh. Who is it?"
"I suppose I have interacted with a plethora of individuals today, no doubt the city has also imprinted on me too! Let's see..." Homare hums. "My mother and grandmother, yes yes. And I suppose-"
"Christine?" Hisoka asks innocently though his tongue is laced with venom. But Homare doesn't pick up on it and begins beaming.
"Ah yes! Though she is small, she has a distinct smell to her. I find it quite comforting."
"Cool." Hisoka pulls away and sits on a beanbag, arms crossed. Homare busies himself with hanging up his trenchcoat and emptying the pockets.
"I'm rather pleased you remembered Christine. The very thought of you remembering those closest to me makes my heart sing. Nay- it causes doves to burst forth from my chest."
Dumb stupid silly awful loathsome Christine. She needs to be exterminated. Okay, well, maybe that's a touch too far, even Hisoka recognises this, but still, the sentiment stands. "Oh Hisoka." Homare lightly traces his finger across the boy's cheek. "Won't you tell me your woes?"
"No. I don't have any woes. And I wouldn't share them with you, either."
"Come now. I can see it in your eyes. What troubles you, my sweet Hisoka?"
Hisoka huffs and nestles further into his hoodie. Fine. Whatever. "I don't want to meet Christine. Not now, not ever. I know she means a lot to you and that's fine, I guess, just- keep it to yourself. I don't wanna hear about her anymore, got it?" He can live with it. It's whatever. Hisoka's not even bothered.
When Homare throws his head back in laughter, Hisoka's frown deepens. He pulls the strings of his hoodie tight. "Oh my! What an unexpected twist. Even I did not see this coming!" Homare flicks away a non-existence tear.
"Stop laughing at me. It's not funny."
"But it is! Look look." Homare hurries back to his trenchcoat and pulls out a bronze pocket watch. It's shiny. though even polish couldn't buff away the water stains and time's cruel hands. "She's beautiful."
"Okay? Don't change the subject, Arisu."
"Look at me," Homare says and Hisoka makes a conscious effort to look past the man. "Hisoka." Wow, that poster is actually wonky on the wall? How long has it been like that? Homare repeats his name softer this time and Hisoka, against his best efforts, looks at him.
"What."
"This pocket watch. Her name is Christine." Great, now he's naming antiques after her. Great great great. "This is Christine. Neither man nor creature, just a simple pocket watch. Does this settle your heart now?"
Actually no, it doesn't. It makes Hisoka want to crawl into a hole or try waterboarding himself in the bathroom. Or both. Double whammy. All this time, Hisoka had been jealous, jealous over a clock. This is, quite frankly, the worst day of Hisoka's life.
Homare smiles, and presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. "I hope you know the thought of replacing your love with another's will never cross my mind."
"...I know."
"Do you? Perhaps I haven't shown you enough affection, is that the issue?"
"No. Arisu- put me down!" Homare easily scoops him into his arms, holding him close to his chest like a babe. He sighs dreamily. "Arisu is enough."
"Is that so? But you believed me to be visiting another lady's chambers, surely there is doubt in your mind still? No matter, I shall shower you with all the love in the world." Homare begins pressing kisses all over Hisoka's face and against his will, he laughs. It crawls up from the corners of his lungs and burst forth from his lips. "Much better! What a beautiful sound. A thousand tales could be spun from the inspiration simply pouring through my veins."
Hisoka has found over time that, no matter how much he tries to fight the weed that is affection for another wrapping itself around his ribs and digging it's roots into his skin, it will continue to grow no matter what he does. But the weed has blossomed into something beautiful, so surely it can't be that bad?