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“No,” Chigiri says, crisp and clear. His decision is final.
“Ha ha,” Kunigami replies. He’s smiling. Chigiri isn’t.
“Ha ha,” Chigiri echoes back and reaches across the couch to slam his laptop closed. Kunigami’s expression shifts and cracks.
“Wait, are you serious?” he asks. He’s slow to catch on, as always. Chigiri rolls his eyes. “Actually?”
Chigiri doesn’t bother replying. He ties his hair up into a ponytail instead because it’s their day off and they still have an apartment to maintain. He fucking hates cleaning day. (He bets Nagi doesn’t have cleaning day. Reo would probably get down and lick the floor clean if Nagi asked him to–or better yet, hire a whole fucking staff to do it. He hates simps. He especially hates rich simps.)
Kunigami tugs hard on his sleeve. It’s not anywhere near his full strength but Chigiri turns with the motion regardless.
“Please?” he asks, his voice breaking a little on the end. He’s staring at Chigiri with his eyes blown wide and his mouth curled down into some sort of puppy pout.
Ugh. That reminds Chigiri of why they’re in this whole mess in the first place. Bachira had sent Kunigami some stupid Instagram reel about labradors or retrievers or some other dog breed Chigiri can’t be bothered to remember, and now he’s been begging non-stop.
Two can play this game though. Chigiri tucks a stray wisp of hair behind one ear and gives him a wide, diabetes-inducing smile.
“No,” he replies cheerfully and Kunigami’s face falls immediately, dropping into a scowl.
“I hate you,” he spits back. His arms are folded over his chest but the words are watered-down and weak.
Chigiri crosses the length of the room, locking his hands behind Kunigami’s neck and pulling.
“No, you don’t,” he says and Kunigami’s frown lasts a valiant two seconds before falling apart completely.
“No, I don’t,” Kunigami admits and leans into the kiss.
Chigiri fucking hates his boyfriend.
“You said we were going out for coffee,” he spits out and Kunigami points at the cafe across the street.
“There’s coffee over there,” he replies but he’s grinning so wide his smile threatens to split his face. “Can’t you see it?”
Oh sure, Chigiri can see the coffee shop. He can see the coffee shop and more importantly, the pet fair right next to it. He should have paid more attention to the way Kunigami was hunched over his phone, spending an absurd amount of time googling just to find a cafe.
“I’m going home,” Chigiri says and Kunigami spins the keys around his finger in response.
Ah. Right. Kunigami’s holding not just the only set of his keys to his beaten-down Jeep, but also the only driver’s license between the two of them.
Maybe he shouldn’t have spent his high school career bumming rides off his sister.
“One look,” Chigiri says, jabbing one finger against his chest. (It’s rock-solid.) Kunigami smiles like he’s won the lottery.
“ Look ,” Chigiri reiterates, but he already knows it’s a lost cause when Kunigami grabs his hand and starts sprinting across the street.
Chigiri has never liked the feeling of being dragged somewhere. He much prefers to be the one doing the dragging. (But Kunigami’s radiating enough light to rival the fucking sun, so he supposes he can make an exception.)
He knows they’re in the right place the second the air starts to smell like piss. Chigiri’s noise wrinkles in disgust and he jumps back as a nearby pug slams against his cage trying to reach him.
The action sadly doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Kunigami says but he’s smirking like a fucking bastard. Chigiri really hates his boyfriend.
A lady with a plastic badge and an apron that reads “CHARITY BOW-WOW’ in big, cartoonish letters walks up to them before Chigiri can resort to physical violence. Her hair is falling out of her bun and the way she smiles reminds him faintly of Anri. (He wonders how Anri is doing. He hasn’t seen her since Blue Lock ended.)
“Can I help you gentlemen with anything?” she asks and Chigiri has to resist the urge to pull out a mirror and reflect the question right back at her. See—look how much effort it takes to take care of a pet. Chigiri’s day is already packed to the brim taking care of himself and his idiot boyfriend, thank you very much.
Kunigami opens his mouth but Chigiri beats him to the punch. Literally. He jabs his elbow in Kunigami’s stomach (years of experience have taught him his weak points) and speaks quickly before Kunigami can recover.
“We’re just looking,” he says and the woman smiles but hands him a brochure he didn’t ask for all the same.
“Well, let me know if you need anything,” she adds before walking away, probably off to change a water bowl or clean a litter or do some other extensive pet care that Chigiri has no intention of spending any of his time doing. Ever.
Kunigami jostles his arm, pointing at one of the cages. (It’s harder than normal and Chigiri thinks bitterly as he bites down on his tongue that it’s payback for earlier.)
“That one kind of looks like you,” he says, pointing to a beagle flopped over with its stomach on the ground. The expression on its face looks like it wants to die and Chigiri can sadly relate.
“Haha,” he says blandly but when he turns, Kunigami has disappeared from his side. The dog fair seems to be a crowd magnet though and Chigiri finds himself lost in a sea of grubby children and weary parents.
He spins around in a circle, peering over and around heads but comes up empty.
“Rensuke?” he calls out into the crowd but when there’s no response, he sighs and decides he’ll have to thread through this stupid fair himself.
Chigiri eventually finds him standing beside a large cage at the edge of the rented-out space. When Kunigami turns, Chigiri swears there’s actual tears in his eyes.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” he asks and Chigiri stares blankly back at him.
Inside the cage is the ugliest German shepherd he’s ever had the misfortune of seeing. Maybe he should re-evaluate Kunigami’s taste.
“And look,” Kunigami adds, grabbing his arm and tugging him closer. “Look at the collar. It’s a sign.”
Engraved on the gold nameplate hanging from its neck is the word “EGO”.
Hell fucking no.
Inside the cafe, Chigiri takes a second to breathe in the scent of actual civilized society, reveling in the way it doesn’t smell like dog piss. They stand in line for the register and when a lady a couple spots ahead of them stares for a little too long, he loops his arm through Kunigami’s and leans against his side slightly.
The lady flushes and looks away quickly. Chigiri smiles.
“Isn’t it fate?” Kunigami asks and Chigiri rolls his eyes because apparently they’re still on this. “What are the chances that the dog is named Ego ?”
A million to one. Not that he’s going to give Kunigami the satisfaction though.
“Fate isn’t real,” he scoffs as the line inches forward. Kunigami bites down on his lip, ever the hopeless romantic.
“What do you call us meeting then?” he asks.
“That was Ego’s doing.” The second the words leave his mouth, Chigiri knows he fucked up. Kunigami grins and lifts one eyebrow and Chigiri just groans and looks away.
They finally hit the front of the line and Chigiri orders a triple chocolate frappucino with seven pumps of caramel. Not that he needs any more tooth-rotting substances when the idiot next to him is practically oozing it.
Kunigami takes out his wallet without him even asking, falling into the routine like it’s second nature. He slides his credit card through and takes the printed receipt with a smile. (Chigiri fucking loves simps.)
They make their way to one of the tables and Kunigami purposefully takes the seat with its back to the window, forcing Chigiri to sit in the one with a view of the abomination masquerading as a pet fair outside.
“Ha ha,” Chigiri spits out and drags his chair so it’s at a 90 degree angle, facing the wall. He’s blocking the walkway but he doesn’t care.
Kunigami takes a deep breath and then folds his hand together.
“What do you have against dogs?” he asks, seriousness creasing his features and Chigiri resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“Pets are a lot of work,” he replies and Kunigami shoots back with a look that says you’re a lot of work. “And they shed.”
Kunigami twirls the end of Chigiri’s hair around one finger and pulls. Okay. Maybe he could have planned his argument better. At least he cleans up after himself though.
“We’re not even home half the time. How are we going to take care of a pet?” Chigiri finally says, massaging his temples. Kunigami frowns like the thought just occurred to him–which sounds about right. One look at the dog and all rational thoughts had flown out the window.
“We could… ask people to watch him,” he suggests and Chigiri just stares blankly at him. Their friend circle–if that’s what you can even call it–consists of soccer players, soccer players and more soccer players.
“You want someone like Bachira to babysit our dog?” he spits out. Actually scratch that–Bachira’s nearly part-dog himself, they might actually hit it off. Wait, why is he even considering this in the first place?
“Okay, so maybe not Bachira,” Kunigami grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Isagi, maybe?”
Sure, Isagi has a semblance of responsibility–or at least more than the overwhelming majority of Blue Lock–but that’s only when you manage to pin him down for longer than 10 seconds.
“Isagi’s not even in the country for half the year,” he says and Kunigami’s expression falls with the realization.
“What about–”
“No.” Chigiri cuts him off before he can finish his sentence. He can’t think of everyone at Blue Lock that he would trust with a sack of flour, let alone a living, breathing animal. (Gagamuru would probably run away with it. Barou wouldn’t even pick up the phone.)
Kunigami sighs, sounding ten years older than he actually is.
“Seriously, what do you have against pets?” he asks, and the stupid sincerity in his gaze knocks Chigiri clean off his feet. He’s left fumbling with his fingers, grasping for an explanation. Fuck this guy.
“Because,” he says eloquently and Kunigami raises an eyebrow. “Because they’re a lot of work. Because they take up so much time. ”
Pets eat away at what little precious free time they get. Case in point: they’ve spent at least half of this date debating over them.
Kunigami’s expression suddenly cracks and he starts laughing. It’s not a snort either–it’s a full-bellied laugh that attracts half the customers’ attention and reverberates in the tiny room.
“What are you doing?” Chigiri hisses and Kunigami finally stops laughing to rest his chin on one hand and smile up at him.
“Are you afraid I’m gonna replace you with a dog? ”
What? What. Why would he be–ugh. Kunigami’s so ridiculous. Of course he’s not–
Chigiri opens his mouth. And then closes it again. And opens it. Kunigami’s eyebrow somehow hikes up another inch on his face.
Divine intervention comes in the form of the cashier calling his order. He stands up so quickly his chair scrapes the floor and stalks to the counter, head held high.
Unfortunately, Kunigami follows him and he’s fucking relentless.
“You thought I wouldn’t have enough time for you if we got a pet?” he asks and Chigiri concentrates all his attention on tearing open the paper straw and jamming it into his cup. If he squints, he can imagine the plastic is Kunigami’s face.
“If you were so insecure, you should have just said so,” Kunigami says and Chigiri nearly gets whiplash, turning to face him at the accusation. Him? Being insecure? Ha. The word isn’t even in his vocabulary.
Chigiri opens his mouth to make a smart retort.
“Shut up,” tumbles out instead and he curses the mix of embarrassment and relief twisting in his stomach.
They finally make it back to the table and this time Chigiri slides into the seat with its back to the window. Fuck the stupid dog fair. They’re the root of this whole problem anyways.
Kunigami finally stops laughing to grip one of his hands in his. It’s so fucking gentle, doubly so since Chigiri has seen the sheer strength of his hands on the pitch.
“I’m never gonna abandon you,” he says and the way he says it with such fucking genuineness leaves Chigiri feeling embarrassed.
“Yeah, you better not,” he spits back. “I’ll hunt you down and kick you in the stomach.” Achilles had his heel and Kunigami has his weak-ass stomach. A well-placed elbow is enough to send him crashing to the ground.
“Sure,” he replies, smiling. Kunigami’s playing with his fingers now, lacing them together and squeezing once. “It was fate that brought us together after all.”
Ugh. He’s such a sap.
“Or Ego,” Kunigami amends and then he flicks his gaze to the window. Chigiri groans and buries his face in their joint hands.
He really fucking hates his boyfriend.
Chigiri whistles, pulling out the leash from the basket by the door. The dog doesn’t budge from its place on the floor, stupid collar shining under the kitchen lights. (Chigiri bites back the visceral urge to roll his eyes.)
“Ego!” he calls out and the awful creature comes bounding over, tongue lolling out of its mouth. (They’d tried to re-train him after they adopted him–and god, had Chigiri tried. But the dog was dead-set on responding to one name only and so Ego he remained. It’s almost fitting in a way.) Chigiri reaches down to hook the end of the leash around its collar and jams a plastic bag into his pocket.
That’s one animal down. Where’s the other?
“Rensuke!” he calls out into the apartment and Kunigami emerges finally from the bathroom, wearing joggers and a worn-out sweatshirt.
“You’re bonding,” he says happily and Chigiri throws the end of the leash at his head. Bonding. As if. He unlocks the door, the cool of the morning air rushing in. Ego bounds through the entrance immediately and Kunigami follows, tugged along by the leash.
Chigiri locks the door and follows at a more reasonable pace. When Ego eventually tires of chasing every squirrel in sight and finally slows down, Chigiri slips into the place by Kunigami’s side, commandeering his free hand.
“I told you I’d still have time for you,” Kunigami says, smiling even as Ego lurches forward and nearly sends him tumbling to the ground.
Chigiri rolls his eyes. He really hates his boyfriend.
(But, as he’s come to learn over the years, no matter how much he hates him, he’ll always love him more.)