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Sometimes, when the night sky got too quiet and the noise in his mind began to take hold of him in its place, Kaida would find himself knocking at the door of his dear friend’s bedroom.
Embellished with neon purple fairy lights and a decorative plate in the shape of a champagne glass, it was only obvious that it would catch his eye the first time he became overwhelmed with anxiety—Kaida had knocked the first time to tell him to turn those damn blinking things off, it was hurting his eyes, but Fuwa seemed to have other plans in mind.
What Kaida didn't understand, though, was why he came back the next night; and the night after that. And what had him even more confused was why Fuwa would always be ready for him, sitting at the edge of his bed almost eagerly, with half-open arms and a sincere smile like a silent invitation.
Yet even with the soft, radiating warmth that came with Fuwa’s ever-comforting aura, Kaida would feel almost nauseous from the way his thoughts would start to screech and yell the further he’d sink into the host’s embrace. The tighter the hands on his back would grip the more they’d start to take the form of a voice, calling him undeserving, unlovable, unwanted, whispering words in a dreary monotone like a demon reciting its curse. One that, no matter how much he’d research and no matter how many books he’d read, he would never be able to control.
Even so, Fuwa would keep Kaida in his unwavering grasp as he trembled, humming a sweet lullaby under his breath as if to coax his mind to rest, kissing his calloused fingertips until it felt like they were the only two people in the world.
Kaida wished it were that simple. Kaida wished, time and time again, that Fuwa could hold him close forever until all his thoughts dissipated into nothing but specks of dust, that he’d croon his gentle tune until the dissonant cries of his own conscience had been drowned out. Kaida wished, with every selfish bone in his body, that Fuwa would look at him and only him for eternity.
And maybe it was because of the way Fuwa’s thumb would press against his cheek with a touch so tender and intimate he could cry, or maybe it was because those hands that prodded and teased him in front of their friends would always come around to give him shelter and safety at the end of the day, but Kaida wanted more.
It wasn’t enough to just let Fuwa care for him.
So Kaida lurched forward without another word, hesitating for no more than a moment before their lips met each other in the middle. There was a different kind of dizziness stirring in his head this time, one that made his heart flutter with glee from the sensation of Fuwa’s face so close to his, and Kaida had to grip the smaller man’s shoulders for fear that he would become so lightheaded that he lost balance.
It was strange, wasn’t it? How Kaida Haru, the man who brought sunshine and brightness upon everyone in need of comfort, had to rely on someone who thrived most in the depths of midnight to settle the raging storm that followed him everywhere he went?
It wasn’t right. Kaida knew it wasn’t—how was he supposed to help everyone else if he couldn’t even save himself?
But then Kaida felt Fuwa start to smile against his skin, breathing out a soft chuckle through his nose before his lips parted and he leaned further into the kiss. The fingers carding through Kaida’s hair never let up, steadily soothing his beating heart until eventually, all was calm once again.
It wasn’t right, and Kaida knew that, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that with every second he spent in Fuwa’s arms, his future began to shine just the tiniest bit brighter.
So he stayed, letting the host lull him to rest through a softly whispered song for another night.