Chapter Text
Jakurai's cochlea still rings a little from the haunting whines Hifumi bombarded him with over the phone the other day. Years of toil made it manageable for the doctor to keep his phone speaker near his ear. That would not even pass as a meager sacrifice for an upset friend, for a handful of minutes. Or perhaps, over an hour. He reminisces about spending his break on his phone sizzling against his ear as Hifumi sulks on the other end of the line.
There were countless instances in the past where he had to cancel his fishing trips with Hifumi. He has multiple consecutive shifts prior to their weekend routine. A night shift beforehand. Emergencies. As long as someone is in need, the possibilities show no end.
Each time, it has always been aligned to his unbridled purpose to serve humanity. It was never due to Jakurai planning to visit Hifumi and Doppo's apartment early on a Saturday morning with a firm requisition for the blonde to return home at lunch instead.
"Forgive me, Hifumi-kun," Jakurai remembers saying during the call. "I understand that this is selfish of me-"
"IT TOTES IS! Like, oh my gosh. I get it if ya gonna save the world with your doc skills like always 'cause like, that's totes ya thing. And there are like, women nurses there…" Jakurai can remember Hifumi's voice wavering away. "But like. LIKE. You're finally gonna go there, in our apartment, first shot of the morning and sweep Doppo off his bed like a prince charming to his sleeping beauty. And ya ain't gonna gimme even a peep?! Like, am both your teammate. We're fishing buddies. Doppo and I are besties! Sensei, why woncha lemme come home and see you catch the bigger fish?! I can sing the romantic background music."
The quite arduous task of patiently bargaining with Hifumi until he's somewhat satiated, without Jakurai revealing his amusement- has earned Jakurai his time alone on the lounger. The wall clock displays 10:45 AM.
As much as he appreciates Hifumi's offer to help, Jakurai does not wish to cause disappointments. He instead took Hifumi's stories to give him company.
During weekends, Hifumi has to wake Doppo. Drag him with broken nails and clenched teeth- as the blonde detailed. All to ensure the sleep deprived salaryman gets to eat. Deep chuckles erupt from his chest at the thought.
He wants to do the same. Then, a sigh. To wake the little sleepyhead. A slight curving of lips. Pamper him with breakfast in bed. The hand on his cheek flexes slowly. Pet his adorable bed hair back in place. Then, another sigh. But he finds himself unmoving from his seat, staring at his palms, at the callouses and bloody digits that gripped onto precious people he lost along the way.
His fingers linger on the leaves of a journal left on the coffee table. It has Doppo's careful inscriptions. Sometimes, the letters fall asleep as they were written. And when Doppo realized he made a drowsy mistake, he pasted a different paper on it. Or covered it with his little plant drawings. His little plant drawings. Jakurai takes a moment every single time to close his eyes and tame the growing grin on his lips.
In that journal are pasted or clipped ripped researched articles, and personal observations of every houseplant under his care in their apartment as well.
By now, the only thing left is for Jakurai to recite the inscriptions verbatim chronologically. Because, since cooking breakfast for Doppo at six in the morning, numbing hesitation ate away his lower limbs. Because, he failed to find it in himself to move. Not even his medical side that persists for the victims of war. He has no courage to wake Doppo for breakfast. Not enough strength to clear the unfathomable distance between supposedly connected teammates.
The doctor sets the journal down and attempts to perform his meditation for, perhaps, the tenth time since he arrived. Time and time again, his lids crack open to see if the bedroom door shifted from the doorframe. Although he is completely capable of hearing the faintest clicks of the doorknob, if it does turn. Even more so the dragging of feet of an awoken redhead. Yet time and time again, when only his own heartbeat desires to be heard, perhaps the ringing in his ear from the other day's call can have an endless encore.
Then, there's a light whoosh. Of an indoor slipper brushing against the tiled floor. The delayed tapping of thin material on the soles then the floor then the soles. Repeat. Stops. And before Jakurai's heartbeat turns unbearably loud once more, the doorknob clicks and the door creaks open. He realizes that his vocal chords forgot how to produce, "Good morning, Doppo-kun" when they used to do so with ease.
Surely, aging couldn't betray him in such a way, no?
Drowsiness clings onto Doppo like the spiteful breath of his boss on his neck and the traces of coffee and power drinks in the walls of his blood vessels. Tufts of turquoise and red hair disagree on which direction to take. And Doppo only backhands his drool off his mouth as he flashes Jakurai, when he yawns with a stretch and scratches his chest and stomach.
Jakurai immediately devises plans to survive a cardiac arrest.
Since Hifumi has sworn secrecy from his toes to the tips of his hair, Doppo continues to drag himself around in peace, unaware of his watchful guest stuck in the lounger. Jakurai sees him dragging himself with a mouth full of sods as he brushes his teeth, then his face being wiped clean with a towel. Doppo comes out with his work suit on a hanger, still dragging himself across the apartment. Then, he stops.
"Huh…" Doppo rubs his eyes. He stares at the suit for a little longer, in search of a speck of dust like he would to a memory. "Oh, shit-" He takes Jakurai back to the Mesozoic Era with a screech, and returns to the current timeline, despondent. Doppo wilts and hangs the suit back in place. Then, drags himself again to procure a sprayer. He disappears into another turn, out of Jakurai's sight. Long enough for the expanding emptiness to render Jakurai's chest hollow. Like he always does, when the distance between them barely decreases.
The emptiness creeps down to his limbs reminding them of their function. Step by step, he finds himself following where Doppo dragged himself. Step by step, he plants his feet where Doppo did his as if Doppo's warmth lingers long enough for Jakurai to have a feel of it. Step by step, the flurry of emotions he thought battle scars would keep from rising inches closer to the surface. And again, these feelings cower back down to the depths when he sees Doppo hugging his knees, a tired smile gracing his lips.
Doppo huddles with the pots of succulents having their share of sunlight. And Jakurai finds himself glued on the spot.
How ironic, he thinks, that he tends to encourage Doppo to not allow hesitations to rust his joints. To prohibit trains of thoughts from binding him. When he fails to even make his presence known. And to express the words this morning's excursion is for.
"It's quite sunny today, isn't it?" Doppo does a little body turn towards his plants. "You're all growing quite strong now. And pretty too." His fingers carefully brush over the echeveria, then the aloe vera. Even the cactus. "Uh shi-" Pricking himself, Doppo immediately pulls away and shakes his hand.
Jakurai has to clutch on the wall much harder just to not run straight to Doppo's aide.
"A bit too strong-" But his hand hovers over the cactus again, his voice soft and quite raspy from sleep. "Why did you prick me? Did I miss a watering day? Sunbath day?" He sighs. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Things got… too messy in the office." He begins to ramble on. The usual. Those are the same stories Jakurai would witness slip out of Doppo's mouth almost every single time. Same plot, different forms. "Sorry…" He breathes in, just like what Jakurai taught him. Breathe in, then out. Slowly. Repeat. And Jakurai breathes along as he watches; proud of him. "I know it's not an excuse. I know, sorry. I'll make it up to you, okay?"
As the scene progresses, Doppo gradually lies on the floor. A hand on his chest and the other grazing the succulents. As his eyes flutter to a close, he says, "hey… I wonder if you ever regretted being kept by me."
There it is, Jakurai thinks, the pessimism that seems to always try to cripple Doppo. If only he knows how adorable he is. How admirable he is for working so hard even when he always has wanted to end everything, himself. For being such a dependable teammate and friend.
"Heard last time, Hifumi has been singing to you. Did you like that? You must be tired from all my rants first thing in the morning. Sorry. I'll do my best so you won't have to grow in frustrations." The sleepiness takes a better hold of Doppo again as he yawns. "I guess I'm not good at taking care of things… unlike Sensei." His words gradually slur and Jakurai can only lean closer from where he is. "I don't think you met him yet. Blame Hifumi. He's making it hard to introduce him to you." His lips pucker slightly, and Jakurai had to look thrice to make sure. "I rarely hear him sing aside from when we rap for battles. But if it's him, I believe it's like you're cured from all ills of life. I owe him… a lot… I think I owe everyone a lot but… wanted to… pay Sensei back for being so… because I… he's like so… close but… hard to… and I… so much… I.." He falls asleep, with his back on the floor and begins to snore gently.
Jakurai smiles, in a manner quite somber.
Quietly, he treads back to the lounger. He feels happy, he won't deny, every time he hears Doppo compliment him. Even when Jakurai believes what he does is nothing special. It's as if somehow he manages to atone for his sins. However, if Doppo sees more of how brittle Jakurai is, the selfish desires he intends to add to Doppo's shoulders, the hypocrisy that gets Jakurai by, how it was him who's indebted to Doppo instead-
Jakurai brings the huge paper bag he plans to give Doppo once he wakes up. With a flick, he checks his wristwatch. Almost lunch.
He takes out a thick dual-toned dark blanket riddled with elegant line illustrations of plants. Nimble, he wraps it over Doppo. Jakurai finds himself crouching until he's inches apart from Doppo's sleeping face. Uneasy wrinkles litter the salaryman's forehead. As Jakurai's hand can only hover over Doppo's hair, his face crinkles and reflects Doppo's.
He remembers what Doppo told his plants about his voice. You put too much faith in me, he thinks. But he finds himself humming with his soft baritone to the sleeping redhead rather fondly. He hopes that at least his voice reaches him. And shorten the distance between them, a mere sinner dressed as a saint to a mere victim of a slave trade with the heart of an angel.
And maybe, even in Doppo's sleep, it does. The wrinkles on his face smoothen. It draws a sigh of relief on Jakurai's lips. So, he too, closes his eyes, and hums a little longer, basking in the faint warmth he can feel from a distance. Somehow, he finds a sense of peace as well. His heartbeat thrumming to the rhythm set by Doppo's snore.
Jakurai opens his eyes to glance at his wristwatch again.
His eyes find their way to Doppo one more time. To his bed hair. His pale face. The dark circles under his eyes. His chapped lips Doppo must've peeled with his teeth not too long ago. The hand on his chest. Then the other on his side, palm open, like an invitation. Jakurai's hand hovers over it, but he pulls back. It settles on the tips of Doppo's hair, passing over, a gentle brush. "I adore you, Doppo-kun," he whispers. On another occasion, he thinks, he'll express how much those words mean while Doppo takes witness. "I adore you dearly." He allows the blanket to embrace Doppo for him as he completely moves away. And it's cold, again. But now, not as much.
When Hifumi greets him by the entrance with his grin stretching from ear to ear, Jakurai only smiles. "I cooked a meal for you and Doppo-kun." And with that small smile intact, Jakurai bids farewell and leaves.