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(He hadn’t found out about the cat’s supposed fate until he was almost nineteen, nearly four months after Tohru and Kyo had left the country. Shigure had tossed it in his face the way he’d done everything else at the end of their high school careers, too pleased with his fucked up plan working that he’d forgotten to play the buffoon. Yuki had just been standing there, minding his own business as he waited to catch the bus away from the Sohma estate, when out of nowhere the dog-breathed bastard had turned up uninvited.
Yuki doesn’t remember what had sparked the remark. Something about Yuki mellowing, maybe, or something about Tohru which therefore turned into something about Kyo. Yuki doesn’t remember, he just remembers the rumble of the approaching bus and Shigure’s voice lilting out, “well, at least Kyo had a reason to challenge you so often, what with the bet on the line. You can’t really blame him can you? You didn’t seem to enjoy your stint locked up in the dark either.”
Yuki hadn’t been able to move, or speak, or even blink at what had just been - implied, but heavily. If Shigure wrote his books with that kind of language Yuki was sure his editor would be in tears, crying about how heavy-handed and clunky such storytelling was. It’d been laid out so starkly, so suddenly - the last piece of the puzzle of his childhood slammed into his chest, and suddenly he’d hardly been breathing as a feeling that was entirely dread had been dropped down his spine like a half-melted snowball. He’d forced himself to swallow and hadn’t turned his head to look at the other man, but only because he’d suspected that’s what Shigure had wanted.
“This is why Hatori won’t talk to you anymore,” Yuki eventually managed to spit, voice steady but low and rough around the edges with emotion. The bus had come and gone in the time it took him to force himself to speak. The statement had been childishly cutting and yet- fitting. His hands had been shaking, but they’d been shoved in his pockets, so Shigure probably hadn’t known that.
Shigure had only laughed and if it’d been to mask any hurt, Yuki hadn’t been able to tell. If the older man had said anything after that, he has no idea what it could’ve been. Yuki had turned and walked away, heading for the Sohma family dojo instead of waiting for the next bus to take him home. He’d had questions he needed answers to and he knew only one place where Shigure wouldn’t follow him to continue his taunts.
And there, tucked in the dojo with a warm cup of tea, Kazuma had told him the terrible truth of the fate of the cat, the fate of every cat that had come before, and the fate that Kyo would’ve suffered if the curse hadn’t broken when it had.)
-
Yuki’s not sure how exactly they ended up all crammed around the low table in the main room of their apartment, elbow to elbow and shoulder to shoulder without any sign of blood, but it makes some leftover residue of personal space anxiety flicker in his brain. He’s also not sure how their neighbors haven’t beaten his door down to complain about the noise, but that, at least, he’s grateful for.
“Revolution,” Uotani crows, her smile as knife sharp and vicious as ever. Normal people might have just sighed or groaned at suddenly being launched from being the rich man to the poor man, but Momiji has never been normal – he wails like he’s been mortally wounded and droops himself across the tabletop with a theatric sob. Hanajima smiles and leans serenely out of the way as Momiji slumps forward, peering over at the blonde woman next to her in a manner that makes Yuki want to blush and laugh in equal measures. Uotani just snorts, chin jerked up and arms crossed proudly over her chest before blowing a kiss to her girlfriend in a way that tips the scales more firmly toward blush than laugh.
“Hah, take that, you little twerp,” Kyo snorts. He shifts his knees enough in his place in the circle that Yuki can feel it in a domino jostling effect, the movement rocking Tohru, then Machi, and then finally him. Yuki rolls his eyes more on principal than true annoyance, sighing quietly as Machi shifts more closely into his side.
His girlfriend shoots him a look, one that probably doesn’t mean your family is awful and messy and I’m not sure how they got in our home even though it carries that energy. Yuki shrugs a little with his opposite shoulder in response, bouncing the obnoxious deadweight that is Haru with the movement. Haru doesn’t even budge, cheek still pillowed into what has to be the most uncomfortable part of Yuki’s shoulder. The look he gives Machi in returns is meant to convey I truly wish I wasn’t related to them either, though he figures that’s probably not what she gets from it. Or maybe it is – she snorts quietly in the back of her throat and shakes her head, turning back to the cards in her hands without a word.
“How could this happen to me,” Momiji wails, launching himself up from the top of the table only to topple over into Kisa’s lap. How he manages to do that with Hiro ruthlessly wedged between them, Yuki doesn’t know, but the blonde boy manages it somehow. Momiji has a pact with the laws of physics that has let him skirt around the edges of what’s supposed to be possible since they were kids, so however he does it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it happens regardless. Poor Kisa gives a squeak of surprise at the drop of the older boy in her lap, which manages to be the only thing to get through the light doze Hiro had been managing, sending him sputtering back to full consciousness with a jerk. That jerk in turn startled Kisa again, which sends her careening into Haru on her other side, who in turns slumps even more heavily into Yuki like the terribly mannered bastard he is. Dominos, Yuki thinks again, and tries not to wish this was already over quite so desperately. “I was doing so well this time,” Momiji adds, slipping somehow into the old edge of a German accent he’d used so much in their school days.
“Yeah, yeah, shut up and play, you little brat,” Uotani scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder before he leans around Hanajima to gesture at the sulking blonde with a flick of her painted nails. “We don’t got all night, y’know!”
“I think we’re passed that point actually,” Machi murmurs, so low Yuki thinks he might be the only one to notice. He shifts a little to see what she’s talking about, having to shrug Haru back onto Kisa for a moment as he leans around the woman at his side, and then can’t quite stifle his snort of surprise when he sees what she’s referring to.
Tohru is past dozing and now well into sleep, cards still somehow held loosely in her hands. Her body is slumped against Kyo’s shoulder on her other side from Machi and her head is tipped back to lean against Rin’s knees behind her. The dark haired woman, who refused to participate in the card game and wasn’t somehow roped in anyway, has a tentative and gentle hand on Tohru’s head, fingers oh so slightly tangled in brown hair, and she seems to be sitting as close to the edge of the couch as possible so that Tohru can be as comfortable as possible.
“Ah,” Yuki murmurs back, just as quiet. It does take them an awfully long time to get around their ten-person circle, so it’s been a while since Tohru’s had to play a card. That combined with her long flight combined with the fact that it was nearing three am by the time they settled down to start the card game had something to do with her sudden nap, he’s sure. “She must be jet lagged.”
Despite trying to whisper as quietly as possible and the fact that the words are meant only for Machi, he apparently attracts Haru’s attention enough for him to sit up, inadvertently freeing Kisa from her half-squished fate. “Makes sense,” the boy groans, rolling his neck around and absent-mindedly reaching over to tug the blanket sliding down Kisa’s shoulders back up. Hiro slaps at his hands and misses, but Haru barely seems to notice as he adds, “I mean, they were trapped in the airport for like, what? Two days? Three?”
Haru leans around Yuki, carelessly throwing his stupidly long arm over his and Machi’s shoulders in a move so Shigure Yuki resists the dual urge to punch him and ask if Haru’s been talking to that disgusting bastard again, and then calls out to Kyo, “oi, kitten, how long were you and Tohru stuck ‘cause of that freak storm?”
Kyo lifts his head from his cards, half-heartedly smacking Rin's free hand back when she tries to silently command what he should try to play when it's eventually his turn again. His face scrunches up with confusion for a second, likely just as groggy and jet lagged as his sleeping girlfriend, but Yuki can't help but notice how careful he is not to jostle Tohru as he turns to give Haru his answer.
"Like a day, day and a half maybe? I dunno, it felt longer than that though. I'm just fuckin' glad we got here at all, everything considered."
The unspoken part of that sentence rings out, at least to Yuki's ears, saying glad we got here for Tohru's sake.
(It should be unsettling, still, after everything they’ve been through, all the graves they’ve carved out and hurts they’ve buried in them, to have his phone ring with Kyo’s name and not feel a bitter rush of anger and jealously flood his veins. In a way it was unsettling and yet Yuki had plucked the phone from the countertop without a second’s pause, tucking the phone against his ear and answering with a short, “what’s wrong?”
There hadn’t been a hint of scorn in his voice, nor a lick of anger in his chest. It should’ve felt off-putting, should’ve left him reeling like he was trying to pivot for a kick on the wrong foot, and instead that only thing that washed over him was concern.
Kyo’s sigh was static as he muttered, “I don’t know if we’re gonna make it out of this airport in time.” There’d been no hello or everything’s fine and somehow it was still the most civil greeting they had ever shared. “I don’t- fuck, even if they clear the next plane for Japan, we still might not make it until after midnight.”
Yuki had hummed, shifting his shoulder a little higher to adjust the pressure holding the phone to his ear as he reached across the stove to turn down the heat a little, lest he burn breakfast again. “It doesn’t matter,” he told Kyo, not unkindly as he’d stirred the concoction he hoped was edible while the sounds of Machi stirring had echoed down the hall. “Whatever time you land, after midnight or before, today or tomorrow, we’ll be there.”
Kyo had made a scoffing sound in his throat, a harsh electronic noise over the distance, as if he was still the boy of rough edges and endless shouting that Yuki had barely known during their childhood, and complained, “you say that like it’s easy.”
“It is easy,” Yuki had told him dryly, rolling his eyes and hoping that his tone conveyed that expression clear as day. “You only have one person to get on a plane. Last time I checked that frankly ridiculous group chat Momiji made, I have seven people to corral to the airport to pick you two up.”
There’d been a pause on Kyo’s end of the call, a low mutter Yuki couldn’t understand that vaguely resembled counting, before the other man had asked, “seven? What, is Machi not coming? I thought you said she wasn’t going back to her stuck up mom this year.”
Finally the off-balance feeling had crept in, lapping at his ankles like the slow rise of the tides. How odd, for that to be the thing Kyo latched onto – how odd to remember Yuki had mentioned Machi would be home at the apartment for the holidays, like an olive branch the other man likely hadn’t meant to extend. Yuki had paused, long enough for their breakfast to start to gurgle worryingly and for Machi herself to stumble out of their bedroom, down the hall, and lean against his back.
“Machi doesn’t count as someone I have to corral,” Yuki had finally said, too long of a pause to be anything but awkward. Kyo had made a short, sharp noise like a smothered laugh while Machi had simply tucked her arms around his waist from behind and murmured awful, you’re awful, who are you talking to, is it Haru? against his shoulder.
“Yeah, well, maybe you’ll luck out and everyone will be on their best behavior for Tohru,” Kyo had answered. He sounded distracted, the white noise of the airport around them rising up through the receiver, and the next time he spoke it was only to say, “shit, Tohru’s starting to wake up again. I gotta get some food in her and see if I can’t get an update on our flight.”
“Text someone if you manage to get on a plane that takes off today,” Yuki had said in response. It hadn’t exactly been a farewell, but neither had Kyo’s grunt just before he ended the call.
And that had been that, for the moment. Machi had shifted with him as he’d plucked the phone from between his ear and shoulder, swaying as he’d leaned over to drop it back on the counter, and only laughed at him a little when the edges of breakfast were, indeed, a little overcooked. Hours later Kyo had sent him a message, one that had simply said see your ass in the airport at one am.
“It’s so odd,” Machi had said when the message came in, leaning over his shoulder as he snorted and tapped out a quick see your scrawny ass there too, asshole.
“What’s so odd,” he’d replied absently as he’d backed out of his chat with Kyo to find Momiji’s hellish group chat, the name of which was onigiri defense squad assemble!!!!! for reasons Yuki had never cared enough to ask about.
“You and Kyo,” Machi had answered, the words so simple in her mouth, unburdened by the history she didn’t know or understand. She’d pillowed her cheek on his shoulder, humming in the back of her throat as she’d closed her eyes in thought. “You two talk like you’re always ready to fight, but it feels more like a habit than anything else. Honestly, sometimes it seems like you get along with him more than Haru or Ayame.”
Yuki had paused, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone long enough that it went black with inactivity. In the reflection of the darkened glass he watched himself blink, once, twice, and then three times, the dark strands of Machi's hair tickling against his throat.
"If I ever truly get along with that idiot, you're duty bound to kill me," he'd said, unable to explain - anything about the situation or the feelings tangled around it. At seventeen he’d sworn through gritted teeth that he’d never forgive Kyo if he hurt Tohru, but now, three and a half years later, he can’t help but know Machi’s more right than wrong.
In the year since Yuki first learned about the cat’s fate Yuki’s perception of Kyo had shifted. He doesn’t know how to explain it, especially to someone who still doesn’t know the truth of the Sohma family history, the truth of the broken curse, but it sat in his chest all the same.
Despite everything they'd been, despite everything they’d ever thrown at each other as they’d all but tried to gouge out one another's eyes - back when they’d been just two boys bound by the same curse and yet kept miles apart by their own misguided hatred and Akito playing God. Despite all of that and more the truth was now that out of everyone who had ever known him, Kyo felt like the least damning company outside of Machi and Torhu.
Machi had made a low noise in her throat that had brought him out of his own thoughts, the noise nowhere near an agreement, and then muttered, “you two can only pretend that you get along for Tohru for so long. Sooner or later someone’s gonna notice you don’t actually mind talking to him.”
“Well,” Yuki had said, leaning his head sideways as he reopened his phone and tapped his thumbs against the screen to type out kyo and torhu are landing at one am, is everyone still interested in picking them up with me? He’d hummed a little in the break of his own sentence, tried not to wince as the chat app told him several people are typing…, and then, as cheerfully as he could manage, concluded, “with my family’s observational skills in consideration, we might be dead before that happens.”
Machi had only groaned, twitching against his shoulder as she’d shook her head side to side, and murmured, “you’re so awful, how did anyone ever think you were prince-like in high school?”
Yuki had loved her for that, just a little. But that hadn’t been a new development in the slightest.)
The room around them smiles, almost as one. Everyone has their own smile for it, but Yuki knows all the same that it’s the smile they have for Tohru and no one else.
Kyo’s is quiet, loving, and private. Uotani and Hanajima’s are like mirrored images, gentle, amused, and fond. Momiji’s is bright enough that it’s hard to spot how bittersweet it still is, even for someone who knows what to look for. Rin’s smile makes her look like she’s going to cry, which Yuki would probably find amusing at literally any other moment, while Kisa’s is large enough to eclipse the grudging twitch Hiro’s lips give, likely against his will.
Haru’s smile is soft, but comes with an eyebrow wiggle that Yuki finds embarrassing to acknowledge, so he doesn’t.
“Poor Tohru,” Momiji says in a hush, playing idly with the cards in his hands. “She was so worried that you two wouldn’t make it in time. I’m glad you guys finally got to come home!”
Kyo snorts, barely a breath, more sound than anything else. It doesn’t even look like his shoulders bounce, like they usually do when he snorts. He’s probably holding still so that Tohru sleeps on, for which Yuki doesn’t envy him – his shoulders are likely killing him, especially after so long in airports and on a plane.
“Understatement, but yeah,” Kyo mutters, eyes rolling even as his voice drips with what should be a disgusting amount of fondness. Yuki pretends that his own lips don’t twitch in amusement, which seems to go unnoticed by everyone but Machi, who rolls her own eyes quietly. Kyo continues in a hush, lifting his other shoulder in a shrug again as he says, “at one point she was babbling about boats, or bridges, or driving – I’m still not sure which. I almost suggested just staying in the States and trying to come back over this summer instead, but I figured she’d kick my ass before I finished the first sentence, so I didn’t bother.”
There’s the sputtering collective sound of laughter at that, loud even as everyone audible tries to keep it quiet. The idea of Tohru kicking anyone’s ass is hilarious, but even so Yuki knows Kyo isn’t exaggerating in the slightest. Tohru is a fighter, through and through, and though most everyone in this room has years of training on her, Yuki’s sure she could put all of them on their asses if she really wanted to.
Because, despite everything – her scrawny frame, the gaping grief in her that she always tries to hide, her inability to see the bad in people even when they throw it in her face – despite it all, Tohru has always been tough as hell and more stubborn than anyone else Yuki’s ever met.
(Tough enough to chase after Kyo when he transformed. Tough enough to drag Yuki’s head out of his self-loathing ass and make him realize he wanted to push himself to be better. Tough enough even to meet Akito with kindness, even after seeing firsthand the damage that had been wrought by the head of the household’s hands.
Maybe that’s why it had been such a shock to see her in the hospital, her tiny frame swamped by her hospital gown, her eyes murky with tears.
When she’s requested to not see Kyo, something in Yuki had snapped. He’d wanted to kill the idiot, for whatever he’d done to her, for whatever heartbreak he’d caused that had finally pierced through Tohru’s tough shell and shattered her so completely. He’d nearly tried, likely would’ve succeeded too, but then the stupid bastard had looked so pitiful that he hadn’t been able to do much more than kick him and yell.
And now they’re both curled up in his living room, healthy and whole, Kyo’s voice soft and aching as he murmurs she’d kick my ass and Yuki is reminded that he’s not the only one who recognizes how tough Tohru truly is.)
“Momiji, I believe it’s your turn,” Hanajima breathes out, drawing attention away from Kyo and Tohru. She gestures to the pile of cards on the table, her delicate black lace gloves completely at odd with the pockmarked hand-me-down table Yuki and Machi had gotten when they’d moved in, and sure enough it seems at some point the woman had played a card on top of Uotani’s, leaving the turn up to Momiji.
Immediately the gangly blonde starts whining again, dramatics cranked back up to ten like nothing had interrupted him. Rin leans forward to whisper something to Kyo, who tries to slap her away half heartedly with a short, it’s not gonna be useful advice by the time it’s my turn anyway, fuck off. Kisa laughs, the sound turning into a yawn that she covers with her hands, and Haru leans over once more to tug the blanket up to her shoulders, completely ignoring Hiro as the boy tries to bite him.
“So lively,” Machi murmurs, shifting so that she can lean against Yuki’s side. She’s just tired enough, apparently, to be comfortable resting her head on his shoulder, which makes him hide a smile as he ducks down to look at his cards.
“So annoying, I think you mean,” he whispers back. His girlfriend bites back a noise, likely a scoff, and Yuki hums back in response.
-
With the arrival of the sun finally cresting over the horizon Yuki finds their apartment once again filled with the promise of hours and hours of peace and quiet.
Mostly, of course, because all of the noise has moved outside.
“Momiji,” Yuki calls, as loudly as he dares. The street he and Machi live on is still suffering the effects of having more than three Sohmas on it, which means raised voices and absolute tomfoolery. It’s too early in the morning or – as Yuki can’t help but see it – too damn late at night to put up with it. But there’s nothing to be done about it, because everyone knows Hiro gets even more cranky and unbearable when he hasn’t slept or when he’s forced to spend time with any of the family that isn’t Rin or Kisa.
Considering the boy’s spent the last six hours in the presence of a third of the former zodiac generation and probably hasn’t slept since the night before he’s crankier than ever and keyed up to a level Yuki hadn’t even imagined possible before tonight. The three-legged argument Hiro’s having with a cackling Uotani and a smirking Hatsuharu is loud and ringing, enough to pull the attention of every neighbor out to witness the sunrise for at least three blocks.
“Momiji,” Yuki calls again, slightly louder this time. The blonde boy is just standing there, staring next to Machi, who’s watching this all happen from a few feet away with the same baffled and oddly intrigues expression she gives most public Sohma arguments.
“Yeah,” Momiji answers, tipping his head to one side. His eyes are half lidded, though Yuki isn’t sure if that’s from lack of sleep or contentment. He’s leaning towards contentment, judging by the smile tugging at the boy’s lips.
“Make sure those four get home, please,” Yuki orders. He points at the shouting Hiro, the smirking Haru, and the already dozing Kisa currently curled under Haru’s arm to make his statement as clear as possible. Rin, the fourth in the group Yuki had meant to include, seems to be trying to will herself warmer as she huddles in between Hanajima and Uotani. There’s a bright blue beanie Yuki knows can’t be Rin’s jammed over her hair, very obviously hand-knit and hideous. Yuki can’t fathom who might have given it to her, but she keeps touching the edges of it occasionally like it’s something precious.
“You don’t have to tuck them in,” Yuki adds after a moment, unable to keep himself from teasing, “but make sure Haru doesn’t get you lost and Hiro doesn’t accidentally walk himself into traffic, okay?”
Nearby someone snorts. Yuki probably shouldn’t be surprised to find that when he turns his head it’s Kyo, Tohru propped up with her face against his chest, but he is.
“Like that kid’s quiet enough to get run over,” Kyo drawls, rolling his eyes. “Damn car’ll probably hear him complaining from all the way down the street and serve way before they see him.”
Yuki wants to blame it on the sleep deprivation, but he knows that’s not why he barks out a laugh at Kyo’s comment. It bursts out of him, sharp and rough, and warms his chest as his shoulders shake with the force of it.
“Probably,” he agrees. He pretends he can’t see the way Kyo turns his head just a little to give him a surprise, wide eyed look, the same way he’s pretending he can’t see Machi turn and look at him pointedly.
(The same way he’s pretending Hiro didn’t stop in his tracks, mouth hanging open, from where he’d been storming over to pick a fight with Kyo for his comment. Or Haru, who has his phone out in one hand, likely recording this mess to show Hatori later.
Momiji’s cheshire grin is harder to pretend away, but that’s because the boy only obeys social niceties and norms when it suits him, much like the laws of physics.)
Kyo makes a noise in his throat that isn’t quite to the same level of aversion that it once was and then sighs. “Good luck with that load of lunatics,” he mutters to the younger boy, gesturing with his chin at the Haru-Kisa-Hiro trio. Kyo shifts Tohru against his chest with his hands on her hips, glancing down at her like he’s contemplating just picking her up, and like she can hear what he’s thinking she snuffles against his jacket and whispers his name.
Watching Kyo’s face soften in that moment is a familiar ache. It’s not longing, not truly, but an echo of what he’d tried to make himself crave. Watching them makes his chest ache, but it also fills him with a warm liquid kind of contentment he didn’t know was possible. He smiles slightly, watching the furrow in between Kyo’s eyebrows disappear as the other man peers down at the slumped form of Tohru, and looks away.
Momiji’s the one he notices first, smiling like Yuki is, though he thinks the ache the other boy feels might be larger and more genuine than his own. It’s well known among the former zodiac how easy it is to find yourself at least a little bit in love with Tohru Honda and so it’s an easy thing to recognize in each other. But still, underneath the longing and eclipsing the edge of sadness Yuki can read on the blonde’s face, he finds joy in Momiji’s expression too – joy, and peace, and uncomplicated love.
Looking away from Momiji, Yuki finds his gaze turning toward Machi instead. She’s turned toward him already, frowning slightly as she watches him, eyebrows bent with something like concern or curiosity. Machi’s never asked too many questions about Yuki’s odd relationships, both to his family and to Tohru, and even now he sees that curiosity fade away, leaving behind only concern.
One day he’ll find the words to explain everything in full. They’re still building what they can together, still growing and learning and healing. One day he will be able to explain exactly how Tohru saved him, again and again, and how she did the same for the rest of the family as well. But for now Yuki just smiles and holds out a hand toward his girlfriend, wiggling his fingers at her teasingly when she arches an eyebrow at him and bites her lip.
With a huff Machi shuffles over and takes his hand. Yuki thinks about kissing her knuckles, both to tease and reassure, but doesn’t. She’s suffered enough at the hands of the Sohmas for one day, he figures, and so he just squeezes her hand in his and turns back to their sleepy gathering of idiots.
“Christ,” Yuki hears Kyo whisper, the word trembling with a hint of fond laughter as the other man ducks his head and presses his lips to the crown of Tohru’s. “I really am gonna have to carry you home, aren’t I?”
Tohru snuffles again, eyelashes fluttering for a second as she grumbles something that sounds like I could carry you home, I did it once, remember, but the words are so slurred and quiet Yuki can’t quite tell if they’re his imagination or not. Kyo laughs though, a full-bodied genuine laugh, the kind Yuki had once only heard at a distance, so he thinks the words probably hadn’t been his imagination after all.
“Jeez, okay,” Kyo laughs, shaking his head. His hair, a little longer than it’d been in high school, flops around his face, making him look boyish and free as he grins down at the woman in his arms. Yuki watches as Kyo picks up his head and searches through their crowd, the other man’s chin jutting out as he calls, “oi, Yankee! Come grab our bags, will you? I’m about to have my hands full over here.”
Uotani turns her head and levels a distinctly unimpressed look Kyo’s way, one that makes Momiji laugh and Haru whistle around a grin. “What makes you think I wanna carry your damn bag, carrot top?”
Kyo shows some considerable growth by only rising to the other’s bait for a tiny hissy fit instead of a full blown tantrum. His face twists up, fingers clenching around the edges of Tohru’s jacket, before he reins himself in enough to only have half a snarl in his voice when he spits, “you wanna crash on the floor of my dad’s dojo, you’re gonna carry a damn bag, okay? You can carry Tohru’s for all I fuckin’ care, just come over here and take one!”
It’s like high school all over again. Uotani’s face screws up as she rises to the same bait she set out, hands balling into fists as her eyes narrow into shred slits. Yuki thinks she’s likely about to blow, her patience shortened considerably, both from lack of sleep and from her stomach growling for the last twenty minutes before sunrise, but he’s not dumb enough to say so.
(In fact he’s smart enough to tug Machi a step away from everyone else, out of the blast radius. Machi follows the movement with a shake of her head and a muttered, terrible, awful, so mean that makes Yuki bite back on a laugh.)
Luckily before the first fist-fight of the year can break out Uotani’s girlfriend chooses that moment to pipe up. Yuki is endlessly relieved for Hanajima’s timing, since he can feel the curious and judgmental stares of his neighbors through the curtains of their apartments like a weight against the back of his neck.
“I will take Tohru’s bag and carry it through whatever trials and dangers we may find on our journey,” Hanajima intones ominously. Yuki can almost feel the silent way Machi turns her head to look at him and he shrugs, smiling at her out of the corner of his eye. Hanajima is Hanajima – Yuki stopped questioning her behavior for his own sanity long ago. “Please, bestow upon me this honor-“
Kyo lolls his head back to look up at the sky and groans, a noise that would be theatric on any other Sohma and instead comes out completely genuine on him. “Take the fuckin’ bag, Hana,” the man begs quietly, shaking his head up at the pinking sky above them. Yuki thinks it might be a sign of how tired Kyo actually is that he’s slipped up and used Tohru’s nickname for the girl and not some variation of you damn witch, especially with the way his voice softens around the name with an almost-fondness Kyo would likely rather die than admit feeling towards Tohru’s friends. Yuki is in the middle of wondering if Kyo even realizes he’d said it when the other man turns his head their way and adds, “hey, Yuki. If Uo refuses to grab my bag can I come pick it up later?”
Yuki blinks. Everyone in a twenty-foot radius who knows the barebones of their history blinks. Even Machi, who knows even less of the barebones and was only slightly aware of their strained relationship in high school, blinks.
It’d probably be stupid and a little insensitive to say you said my name, because Kyo’s said his name before. Yuki’s almost sure the other man’s said his name before, almost sure it was even in his presence. But still – still Yuki blinks and he stares.
“Uh,” Yuki says dumbly, after Machi squeezes his hand hard enough to hurt. “Um, sure, yeah. Of course.”
Machi’s grip on his hand gets even tighter. Yuki is still too thrown to squeeze back, but he appreciates the anchor nonetheless.
Kyo stares at him for a moment, eyebrows furrowing once more, and then blinks as if he’s belatedly realizing what he had just asked and of whom. He opens his mouth, likely to backtrack or ruin it, but doesn’t get the chance in the end.
“I’ll take it,” Rin interrupts flatly. She shuffles away from where she’s been tucked against Uotani, eyes narrowing as she marches over. She looks judgmental and grumpy, which isn’t unusual, but she also looks like she’s laughing at them with her eyes, which is. Yuki hadn’t thought Rin had a sense of humor until only recently, which is a thought that is sure to get his ass kicked if he accidentally says it out loud.
Kyo turns his head to stare at Rin so fast that Tohru sways against his chest, his whole face scrunched in confusion. He opens his mouth, once more this time to ask why the hell Rin wants to crash at Kazuma’s dojo, but Uotani beats him to the punch.
“Rin’s crashing with us at your dad’s place, carrot top,” Uotani announces proudly, arms crossing over her chest and chin jutting upward. “Hana already ran it past the old man and he said it was fine. You got a problem with that?”
Kyo makes a face, like he has multiple problems before him, but he’s not actually stupid enough to mention any of them. Instead he just tips his head down, nose pressed against Tohru’s mused hair, and mutters, “for fuck’s sake, can you guys stop texting my dad? It’s fucking weird.”
Hanajima sways into Uotani’s side in the space Rin had vacated and simply says, “no.” She says it so serenely, a smile curling her lips – Yuki’s likely supposed to find it gentle and comforting, but instead he can only read a threat in the curve of those lips, in the glint of her dark eyes. “Your father is an excellent conversationalist. I will not rob myself the joy of speaking with him.”
Another unexpected laugh bursts out of him as Kyo turns green and groans like he’s going to be sick. He lifts his head to glare weakly at first Hanajima and then Yuki while Rin stops just shy of shoulder checking the man, her stop abrupt enough that Kyo almost jumps. Rin snorts at him, the corner of her lip curling as she leans over to grab the handle of one suitcase before snagging the other as well, likely to roll it over to Hanajima.
“Why do you hang out with these two again,” Kyo asks Rin, despair clear in his voice while his face scrunches up in the kind of judgment that would have had Yuki lunging for his throat years ago. Kyo’s barely a step away from whining like a brat, a tone of voice Yuki knows well, having listened to it for years even before they’ve lived in the same house. Yuki’s just tired enough to marvel at the fact that it’s an almost endearing and amusing combination instead of an annoying one.
Almost, but not quite. (Yet.)
“Lesbian solidarity,” Uotani answers for Rin, sharp knife-like smile gracing her lips once more. Her words are cocky and bold, which has always been one of the quickest ways to goad Kyo into a fight. Yuki thinks she might be doing it just to keep them both awake right now. “You got a problem with that, Kyon-Kyon?”
Kyo blinks at first Rin and then Uotani for a long moment, face still scrunched in judgment, before he sighs out a breath that bounces Tohru against his chest. “I am too fucking tired for this shit,” the other man mutters, head once again tipping back toward the sky. Louder he adds, “I don’t have a fucking problem with lesbians, you goddamn bitch, but I do have a problem with your shitty attitude.” Haru makes an ooh noise in the background, entirely too amused as the ex-boyfriend of one of the lesbians currently present. Yuki once again contemplates whether or not Haru has any survival instincts left in him. Kyo continues like he can’t hear Haru, which Yuki knows is the best way to deal with him. “Stop breathing down my neck and get walking already or Shishou’s gonna get up and try to make us breakfast before we get there.”
Piece said, Kyo starts to bend slightly, shifting his arms around Tohru in a way that looks fluid and practiced, and then hoists her up into his arms in a bridal carry without further delay.
“Good luck with your gaggle of idiots,” Kyo grunts, nodding toward the Sohmas heading back to the compound. Momiji laughs, even as Haru makes both wounded noises and kissy faces, even as Hiro once again starts yelling that he’s not an idiot. Turning his head as he passes Yuki and Machi, Kyo pauses and adds, “Tohru’s gonna feel pretty guilty about passing out like this after you guys came to pick us up. If you ain’t got any plans for dinner swing by the dojo, alright? Shishou’s place can handle a few more, if you guys can handle the noise.”
Even under the guise of something to sooth Tohru’s future guilt, the offer is a peace offer given more freely than Yuki ever dreamt possible. He blinks, caught off guard once more, and this time he’s the one to squeeze Machi’s hand first.
Machi squeezes back, her grip tight and sure.
“We’ll see,” Yuki says. His throat suddenly feels so dry, his tongue so incredibly heavy, but the words still come out and that’s what matters.
-
Three years prior - barely two months after they graduate high school - they are certainly the noisiest gaggle of idiots in the airport.
Yuki doesn’t know it at the time, but this will continue to be the theme with their group over the years. This is the first time he’s ever stepped foot in an airport, so everything about it is unfamiliar – the noise, the hustle and bustle all around them, even the shape of the building.
He doesn’t like it. He can’t imagine standing in line, handing over his paperwork, and then shuffling through the security devices he can barely see over the crowd. Yuki has no way to conceptualize what comes after the security station and he doesn’t even want to.
He has no earthly idea why this is what Tohru and Kyo want to do, voluntarily leaving the country like this. Kyo’s stupidity must be rubbing off on Tohru, there’s just no other reason for her deciding that this was how she wanted to spend the first couple of years out of high school.
Yuki’s distaste must be showing on his face, which he only knows because Haru keeps laughing at him. Momiji keeps trying to laugh at him, but he’s got too many tears crowding his eyes to make the expression work right. Both boys shuffle over to stand on either side of him, Haru clapping a hand to his shoulder while Momiji slurps a milkshake-coffee-thing from the only coffee shop on this side of the airport.
“It’s an airport, Yuki,” Haru intones gravely, with the gravity of someone imparting secret, ancient knowledge. “Not a firing squad. You’ll live through this no problem.”
Yuki barely keeps from grimacing. He can’t help but feel like a man on death’s row anyway, despite the fact that he’s not even the one getting on a plane. It just feels so final, standing there as Kyo and Tohru comes back from checking their bags.
Tohru’s got tears in her eyes. She’s had tears in her eyes every time someone’s seen her for the past week, apparently, but no one mentions that. The stupid cat’s got both their carry-on bags slung over his shoulder and an expression slapped across his face like he also doesn’t want to be here, a hundred feet or so from the start of the line for security, with most of the people they’ve known for the last ten years crammed into the same ten-foot space.
“All checked in,” Hatori asks quietly. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his button up, a concession to the early summer sunshine that’s beating through the wall of windows to their left. He’s always look put together, almost to an uncomfortable degree, but recently it’s like there’s something loosened up inside his chest. When he smiles at the pair before them Yuki can’t help but look away. It’s a welcome change, Hatori going soft and rumpled like a discarded tie, but an awkward one all the same.
Tohru’s tears get worse. “We - we are,” she sputters, just as quietly. She’s trying to smile, but it’s all wobbly and wrong. Yuki had dreamed for years of crawling as far from the Sohma estate as he could and still, somehow, leaving the country had never occurred to him. Now it just seems too far to go, like they’re not just trying to escape the echo of the curse, but everything and everyone else as well.
But Tohru’s been stubborn to a fault, always been headstrong enough to be baffling, more spirit sometimes than sense. “Our journey starts soon,” she declares in a shout, the same shaky brave she’s sported when she’d tried to pump herself up for that haunted house in the mall all those years ago. “But we won’t forget you! We - we will be back before you know it! Right, Kyo?”
Kyo’s face is so soft Yuki almost wants to be sick. He’s got his chin tucked down to his chest, eyes peering down at the girl beside him. His lips are curled into a smile that’s so sweet that looking at it feels like a toothache.
Haru gags next to Yuki, while Momiji whines hush, it’s cute! Uotani opens her mouth, likely to catcall the two lovebirds about to leave the country, only to be stopped by Hanajima, who knocks into Uotani’s side and clasps her hands in front of her chest to intone ah, young love. Kazuma, standing off to one side with them, chokes on a laugh while Kisa and Ritsu clutch each other and try to hide their tears.
Hiro and Rin both stand on the opposite side from Uotani, Hanajima, and Kazuma, looking like the feelings flying around are in danger of giving them hives. Yuki almost wants to be standing with them.
Almost, but not quite.
But Kyo isn’t paying attention to any of them. He reaches out, fingers brushing Tohru’s hiar until he can tuck a strand of it behind her ear, and murmurs, “yeah, that’s right. If we can’t make New year’s we’ll be back in the spring for graduation.”
At the mention of their (deep in the future) upcoming graduation Momiji and Haru both perk up. It’s almost comical how proud they seem of themselves, especially when Yuki knows neither have any grades to brag about. Tohru claps her hands together and gushes, barely seeming to breathe as she opens up her arms and says, “graduation! We wouldn’t miss it, we wouldn’t -“
It’s all noise after that. Momiji launches himself at Tohru in a way that makes his coffee-milkshake-thing slosh dangerously and Tohru clings to him like she’s trying to make up for all the hugs they couldn’t have until recently, plus all the hugs they won’t be able to have with her gone. Chaos erupts as Kisa and Ritsu dissolve into sniffles and sobs, which makes Hiro shriek as he realizes what’s happening. Uotani is saying something loudly about crybabies with glittering eyes, while Hanajima lifts a hand to her face like she’s some kind of proud but heartbroken parent at drop-off for the first day of kindergarten. Rin takes two large steps back from everyone, looking ready to bolt, but her eyes are bright and sharp, so Yuki doesn’t think she’s immune to the grief-like feeling swarming them all at the imminent departure about to happen.
Hatori watches everything with a smile, hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks. Kazuma sweeps forward to pull Kyo into a hug and Yuki finds himself shuffling out of the direct line of nonsense until he’s shoulder to shoulder with the former dragon of the zodiac, sensing the only safe harbor around is Hatori.
“Stop making that face,” Hatori mutters after a moment, ruining the safe harbor Yuki thought he had. Kisa has somehow been wedged into Tohru’s arms along with Momiji so now all three of them are sprawled across the floor in heaving sobs. Ritsu is flailing in the space over their heads, shrieking about Tohru’s changed their lives. Haru is actively filming this on his phone, which has Yuki cringing. If he finds himself tagged in this on the Facebook account Haru made him, he’ll scream.
“What face,” Yuki mutters back. If his voice comes out tight and a little sullen, well – he’s not going to acknowledge that, even if faced with an actual firing squad.
Hatori’s smile grows, stretching into an oddly peaceful expression. Most of his smiles that Yuki knows are sardonic or sad, but this one is just – just vaguely lopsided and content. It’s a sharp reminder that Ritsu is right – Tohru changed their lives, saving not just Yuki or Kyo, but everyone in the zodiac.
(Or at least, everyone who wanted to be saved and inspired to change. There’s at least one bastard he can think of who’s chosen to remain the worst, but most everyone else has done their best to be better, to heal.
And it’s all thanks to Tohru Honda in the end.)
“The one that’s supposed to hide what you’re feeling,” Hatori answered, his words like a slap to the face for all they’re calm and as nonjudgmental as possible. “It’s not a bad thing, that you’ll miss her.”
Yuki can’t help but jerk in place at that, head whipping around so that he can stare up at Hatori. His mouth is hanging open, he’s almost sure, but he can’t find it in him to close it. Kyo, somewhere to their left, is starting the long and ugly process of prying Momiji and Kisa from Tohru, griping loudly that Tohru has other people to say goodbye to and that Momiji’s done this three times this week, how the hell do you even have teras left, you noise rabbit, but it’s like it’s happening on a TV across the room somewhere. Yuki barely registers it past embarrassing, noisy, want-to-be-a-part-of-it-but-can’t.
“Of course it’s not a bad thing,” Yuki finally answers, sharper than he means to, shoving his arms crossed over his chest. “But that doesn’t mean I want to have to do it either, you know.”
Hatori, for some unfathomable reason, laughs. It’s not a loud laugh or a particularly emotive one, but it happens all the same.
Yuki thinks oddly and all of a sudden that it might be the first time he’s ever heard the man laugh.
“Aren’t you the one that moved out first,” Hatori asks, almost gently. He seems oddly amused, but in the least patronizing way possible. Yuki wasn’t aware that there was a least patronizing way possible to be amused, but apparently there is. Still, though, Yuki almost snaps back something rude, just out of spite.
But he doesn’t. Instead he breathes in through his nose and thinks of his apartment, thinks of Machi, thinks of their mutual mess and how nice it is to come home to.
“I moved across town,” he answers eventually, voice as even as he can make it, “not out of the country. I just don’t know why that stupid cat couldn’t have picked somewhere closer to train.”
The corner of Hatori’s mouth ticks up, changing his smile into something that’s almost a grin. It’s annoying, but still easier to look at than Haru descending on Tohru with his usual faux-deadpan nonsense.
“Yuki,” Hatori says, voice quieting even further. He’s still almost grinning, but for the first time the older man turns to look at Yuki head on. Yuki’s never been able to see a difference in his eyes, though he knows one was damaged years ago, but he can’t help but wonder if that wasn’t because of the hair that was always hanging in front of it. Hatori’s hair is different today, he notices abruptly. Bangs brushed aside like this, Yuki can see how the sunlight reflects differently in his eyes. It’s strange and uncomfortable and utterly honest, so much so that Yuki can’t imagine what must have changed for Hatori to stop hiding it.
Hatori’s smile-grin grows, like he can imagine what Yuki is thinking. And then, out of nowhere, Hatori tells him “Tohru was the one to pick the States, you know. Kyo is simply going with her.”
Yuki has a moment to think that smashing a brick to the side of his head might have been kinder. It also might have stunned him less than this revelation. Hatori arches one eyebrow, watching Yuki react as if he has all day to stand here and wait for a response.
And then, before Yuki can figure out how to respond at all, Kyo’s voice breaks through the white noise around them, shouting, “you idiots have been saying goodbye all week! Let her say goodbye to someone else for a goddamn second!”
“I believe that’s your cue,” Hatori says dryly. Yuki blinks, too stunned to process what’s being said to him. Hatori nods, like Yuki’s brain blue-screening isn’t his fault, and continues, “everyone else has made their visits in the last few weeks to the dojo to say goodbye. You’re the only one, I believe, to show up today without doing such a thing.”
There’s no judgment in this statement, no secret hidden meaning in Hatori’s tone – he says it like that’s all there is to it and not at all like a pit has opened up in Yuki’s gut. The older man gestures forward, reaching out with the other hand to accept the bundle of blubbering snort and shaken beverage that is Momiji, and Yuki-
Yuki is suddenly face to face with Tohru, who’s staring at him with wide, teary eyes.
Over her shoulder Kyo looks at him, catching his eyes, his face stamped with an unmoving expression that’s quiet and unreadable. Yuki has never known what was going on in the stupid cat’s head, but at this moment he’s so out of his depth he can’t even begin to make a guess.
The only one, I believe, to show up today without doing such a thing.
(Yuki’s been avoiding facing the truth, because making progress in general doesn’t mean he doesn’t backslide in certain moments and run away. He’s pretty sure that’s allowed, almost positive he’s read that in some self-help therapy book at the bookstore while he was wandering around with Machi, but even if it’s allowed, it feels shitty to do because-
Because there’s one thing he wants to run away from, more than anything he’s wanted to run away from since moving out of Shigure’s house, it’s this.
Tohru leaving.
And yet here he is, stuck facing it all the same.)
“Oi, Yankee,” Kyo calls suddenly, his voice somehow loud enough to echo even in this cavernous room with a thousand different conversations being held all around them. He’s still looking at Yuki over Tohru’s shoulder with that unmoving expression even as he calls out to Uotani, which makes Yuki want to punch him. His hands curl into fists at his side and something flashes over Kyo’s face, there and gone, before the man continues, yelling, “I’ve got a goddamn bone to pick with you before we go, you blonde bitch.”
“Oh yeah, carrot top,” Uotani snarls, abandoning Hanajima’s side to stomp their way. Yuki doesn’t know what Kyo thinks he’s doing, but the other boy gives him a nod, subtle and shallow, before turning to start a ridiculous and loud argument with his girlfriend’s best friend out of nowhere. Hanajima stays planted next to Kazuma, eyes dark, mouth pressed into a line as she stares at Yuki like she knows what’s hidden in his head.
It makes him nervous, because half the time he isn’t even sure what’s hidden in his head. But then again it’s always made him nervous and oddly the familiarity of it ends up being weirdly soothing.
“Um,” a quiet voice says in front of him. It wobbles, watery but sweet, the tone even more familiar than the off-putting feeling he gets when Hanajima looks at him. Yuki smothers a flinch, not quite startled but not quite calm, unwilling to make the girl in front of him feel worse about this than she already obviously does. “Yuki?”
Yuki drops his chin and turns his head to look at Tohru. He looks at her and realizes that for all he’s seen her today, he doesn’t think he’s looked at her, really looked at her, in ages. She’s standing closer to him than she was before, the braid her hair was in mused and slipping free over her shoulder. She’s got her lower lip caught between her teeth and her hands are clutched in front of her, twisting her fingers together in uncomfortable looking knots. She’s dressed in a simple long skirt and a t-shirt, but she’s got a jacket tied around her waist, even though it’s projected to be warmer in the United States where they’re going than it is here in Japan.
It's not a jacket Tohru would have bought for herself, Yuki realizes. It’s red, sporty, the sleeves long enough to double knot around her waist. Not Tohru’s, but not unfamiliar to him either, which means -
Which means it’s Kyo’s. Likely the other boy tied it around her waist as well, considering how secure the knot of the sleeves looks around her hips.
Once that would’ve pissed Yuki off, like any reminder of Kyo Sohma simply existing in the same space as himself did. But for some reason, in this crowded messy building, on the edge of saying goodbye to the girl who saved him with no way of knowing when next he’d see her, Yuki doesn’t mind the sight of it. Instead, for the first time, he feels his shoulders drop in relief, reassured by this physical proof that wherever Tohru goes, she won’t be alone.
Yuki inhales, deep and slow, and then breathes it out. Letting the coiled up ugly thing inside him sink back down below the surface. He smiles, not bothering to try to make it cheerful and bright, knowing that masking what he’s feeling now would just upset Tohru more. “Yes, Tohru,” he answers, hoping that despite their weeks apart, despite the fact that he hasn’t visited, Tohru can still see through him as clearly as ever.
Tohru’s lip trembles, obvious even still trapped between her teeth. Her eyes glisten, tears building on her lower lash line in a way that turns the color somehow both darker and brighter. “I - I -,” she tries to speak, voice breaking even further, face screwing up as she tries not to cry.
He shouldn’t – Machi would scold him if he was here, mutter awful, terrible, so cruel in his ear – but he can’t help but laugh a little, the sound rumbling out from his chest as he reaches forward, fingers curling around the end of her braid and tugging lightly.
Because now that he’s looking at Tohru, truly looking at her instead pretending that if he doesn’t look at her then she won’t be able to leave, he recognizes the ribbon tying her braid together.
“New Year’s and graduation are both a long way off,” he finds himself saying, the words coming out soft and musing. He rubs his thumb along the edge of the ribbon, like he’s done so long ago when he first gave it to her, before murmuring gently, “so I suppose it’s a good thing you still have this, hm? That way, as long as you do, it’s like the distance doesn’t matter that much. Right, Tohru?”
Tohru makes a little hiccupping noise as her tears bubble over, her mouth falling open as her hands fly up to cover it. She’s crying and nodding, frantically trying to speak, and Yuki finds he can’t help but shake his head, more at himself than at the crying girl in front of him. I should’ve trusted you more, he thinks to himself, warmth curling in his chest as he steps forward and tugs Tohru into his arms. Even though the curse has been broken for a while now, this hug is one of the few he’s bothered to initiate, and he knows Tohru knows as much as she stumbles into him willingly, arms wrapping lightning quick around his chest so that she can curl her fingers into the back of his shirt and hide her face in his chest.
“I - I - you’ll - Yuki,” Tohru sobs, her whole frame trembling with the force of her emotions. Yuki ducks his head down, pressing his face against the top of her head and closing his eyes against the sight of their gaggle of onlookers staring at them in varying degrees of shock and curiosity. He hums a little in the back of his throat, both to acknowledge and soothe, and then, very carefully, squeezes his arms around her.
“I know,” he promises, knowing somehow exactly what she wants to tell him. I’ll always be here for you and you’ll always be my friend and I care about you and I’m proud of you – all of it and more, he’s sure she would say if she could stop crying long enough to talk. And while once he might have needed to hear the words to believe them, now he finds that this is more than enough for him. “I know, Tohru, it’s okay. I’ll be here when you get back. And if you need me, I’m only a phone call away. I’ll even fly out to kick some sense into that stupid cat for you, if you need, okay? So don’t cry, it’s okay, it’s okay -“
Tohru’s sobs slowly turn into sniffles, her face wetting the front of his shirt in a way he’s sure that he’d mind if it was anyone else but Tohru or Machi. It takes her a little while longer for the sniffles to turn into deep, almost even breaths, but when they do Yuki loosens his hold around her body and draws back, just enough to see her face.
And there, beneath the tear tracks and blotchy red spots her sobbing has brought on, is the patented Tohru Honda smile, like the sun breaking through the clouds.
“There you are,” Yuki whispers, smiling back at her, the corner of his mouth twitching with joy as she beams up at him even brighter.
Tohru laughs, the sound still watery but stronger and lighter than any he’s heard her make today. “Here I am,” she agrees, smiling up at him so widely it almost scrunches her eyes shut. Yuki contemplates dropping a kiss to the crown of her head, partially out of affection and partially to irritate Kyo, but before he can decide Tohru leans forward once more and whispers against his shirt, “I’m going to miss you, Yuki.”
The warmth in his chest grows, the edges of it aching in a way that makes his head spin. He ducks his face down once more, tightening his arms around Tohru’s body in a brief squeeze, and whispers back, “me too, Tohru. Me too.”
Somewhere in the airport a clock gong sounds, three long notes just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the crowds around them. Yuki swallows and pulls back once more, finding it harder than he’d like to admit to loosen his arms a second time and then let Tohru go.
Tohru sniffles again, tears once more clouding her eyes, and so Yuki does the only thing he can do, the first thing he thinks of, turning his head and calling out, “oi, stupid cat!”
Kyo’s off to the side, argument with Uotani either lost or abandoned, staring at them with an expression much softer than Yuki thinks he means to be wearing. That expression hardens almost immediately when Yuki calls out to him, eyes narrowing and jaw clenching as his shoulders roll back. Yuki isn’t aiming to fight him, here in this public location with Tohru still sniffling next to him, but for a second he considers it, just to once again be on familiar ground.
And then, instead, he tosses Kyo a grin and says, “guess we’ll be seeing you at New Year’s then, huh?”
Kyo bristles for a moment, looking like he’s going to rise to the bait Yuki’s dangling in front of his face, and then a miracle happens-
Kyo’s body goes lax and he snorts, rolling his eyes and tossing hair out of his eyes as he bites back, “yeah, sure, you damn rat. If you’re so damn eager about it you can be in charge of picking us up, idiot.”
A shocked laugh bubbles in the back of his throat, but Yuki forces it down. “If you really want to walk home from the airport, sure, I’ll pick you up,” he drawls, shaking his head at Kyo’s goddamn gall. He graces Tohru with another grin, reaching forward to ruffle a hand atop her already mused hair and delighting in her laugh. “Now go on already or you might get stuck in security and miss your plane.”
Kyo shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he reaches out to reel Tohru into his side, and drags her, gently, off. Yuki watches them go, biting his lip to keep from making a face when Hatori shuffles forward and claps a hand gently to his shoulder.
“Come on,” the older man murmurs quietly, smiling when Yuki looks at him. “I’ll buy you lot lunch before I drop you back off.”
“Even us, old man,” Uotani asks, arching an eyebrow up and cocking one hip out.
Hatori, shockingly, laughs. He shoots a glance over at Kazuma, who shoots him a lopsided grin back, and then simply says, “as long as everyone doesn’t mind either walking or getting extremely cozy in the car, everyone’s invited.”
“Cozy sounds nice,” Hanajima agrees serenely, and that’s that.
-
Yuki and Machi stand outside, watching the ambling forms of everyone as they split down the street in two different directions.
It’s cold, but not snowing. Yuki wishes it would, but it probably won’t snow for another few weeks and even then it’s not likely to stick. But watching the sunrise like this has its charms as well, the quiet sinking and settling back in around them like a familiar, comforting blanket.
Machi leans against Yuki’s arm, her hand still clasped in his. Soon he can’t hear Hiro yelling or Uotani trying to goad Kyo into another fight. Soon it’s just the two of them and the first day of the year, stretching out in front of them as the sun climbs steadily through the sky.
“Do you want to accept the offer,” Machi asks eventually, no judgment or expectation in her voice. Yuki doesn’t know how she’s not shivering, but then again fall and winter are the seasons that suit her best. Yuki still remembers running up to her as she waited outside the train station back in high school, her coat hanging open around her school uniform. The thought almost makes him laugh.
“The offer? What, for dinner?” This time Yuki does laugh, shoulders shaking as his free hand comes up to rake through his hair. “Haven’t you had enough Sohma chaos for the year yet?”
Machi purses her lips and doesn’t answer immediately. This is something Yuki likes about her – the way she mulls over her responses and spits them out without thinking with equal frequency. This question is a mull-over one, whereas the one where he’d originally asked do you mind if everyone comes over for new years had garnered him an instantaneous and thoughtless have you lost your mind?!
“I like the chaos,” she says eventually, the words measured and honest. This isn’t surprising, since Yuki had guessed as much, but it does make him snort. “I do,” she insists, elbowing him gently where they still stand, holding hands. “Even if it is - a lot, after a while. But I’m not asking for me, I’m asking for you. If you don’t want to go just say so.”
Yuki laughs again, even though he knows Machi is being serious. He squeezes her hand, grinning when she squeezes back and ducks her head a little, as if to hide the way her cheeks go pink as she blushes. “I don’t know,” he admits, honest and knowing that it’s an unhelpful kind of honesty. “It sounds exhausting. Exhausting enough that I’m not sure Tohru’s cooking is worth it.”
Machi grimaces a little and rolls her eyes. “But,” she hedges, like she can hear the unspoken part of that sentence.
But, Yuki acknowledges internally, I think I want to go anyway.
Yuki shakes his head, the chilly morning wind tossing his hair in his face as he does. He has to reach up, rake it out of his face again, and it prompts him to nudge his girlfriend, so that they can start moving back inside now that the sun is up and their guests are gone. “Was there anything you wanted to do with our day,” he asks instead.
Machi narrows her eyes at him, but doesn’t immediately call him out on not answering the question. Instead she simply says, “Kakeru’s likely to show up at our door if we stay in.”
Now it’s Yuki’s turn to grimace, which makes Machi choke on a noise that’s almost a laugh. “On second thought,” he mutters, ignoring the almost smug tilt of Machi’s head as she tilts it up toward him, “the dojo for dinner doesn’t sound too bad.”
“I wondered which fate you found worse,” Machi scoffs, twisting to pull him with a little more speed toward the stairs to their floor.
The words are soft enough to be teasing, her eyes warm and understanding. She’s only ever asked once what Kakeru had done to piss Yuki off enough to practically cut ties with him and it’d been the closest to explaining what Tohru means to him that Yuki’s gotten so far. His explanation probably hadn’t made much sense, but Machi had just snorted and muttered sounds like him at the end of it, like she’d understood. She hadn’t pushed for a reconciliation yet and Yuki doesn’t think she ever will, which he appreciates more than he can put into words.
(Part of him knows that if he mentions it to Tohru, dropping it into a conversation offhand how offended he’d been on her behalf at Kakeru’s careless I think I hate her, then she wouldn’t understand.
She’d tell him to forget about it. She’d fuss, and worry, and hover until she was sure he knew she didn’t care what his friend thought of her.
Machi wasn’t like that. She wasn’t nearly as forgiving as Tohru was, wasn’t nearly as willing to cheerfully apologize for rocking the boat, even when she didn’t mean to.
Yuki had loved those traits in Tohru once and still does,, but sometimes it was nice, hearing that he didn’t have to let go of this grudge. That he could dig in his heels and be as petty as he liked, because this was something that mattered to him.
“Kakeru’s an idiot,” Machi had said that day, quiet but firm. She’d been messing with a pile of discarded mail on the coffee table at the time, making them more and more disorganized by the second. Yuki had occasionally been plucking one at random to double check if it was important and if it wasn’t, he’d shred it in his hands and toss the pieces into Machi’s lap like loose confetti. “He’ll apologize eventually, though he likely won’t mean it. But there’s no reason you should forgive him, if you don’t want to.”
It’d been so simple, so straight forward. Machi hadn’t been able to apply that logic to her own family yet – even with Kakeru, she let him get away with needling her when all she wanted to do was tell him to shut up. But she’d offered it to Yuki easily, the same way she’d once said I thought you might be anxious, trapped in the dark.
Machi is so different, from Tohru, from anyone Yuki had gotten to know before. And he loves that about her, among many, many other things.)
“Come on, you awful bully,” Machi says, still pulling him along as they reach the bottom of the stairs. “We can snack and then sleep. Kakeru’ll have family obligations until two, probably, so we’ll have to be gone by then if you want to avoid him.”
Laughter bubbles in Yuki’s chest, bleeding up into his throat, warm and buoying, but he swallows it down. Surging forward he ducks his head, pressing a lightning quick kiss to the corner of Machi’s mouth before pulling back with a grin.
“I love you,” he tells her, as simply and easily as she’d spoken earlier. Part of him can’t believe this is the first time he’s said such a thing in the new year, but the rest of him is too busy admiring how quickly her cheeks flood red with heat, until she’s sputtering and trying to smack at his arm with her free hand.
“I - Yuki,” she squeaks. Like a mouse, Yuki thinks, and this time he doesn’t bite back his laughter. It rings, loud and joyful all the way around them, until it echoes down the stairs to the dance across the same spots their friends had stood earlier.
“Come on,” he laughs. He’s teasing her now, shamelessly, delightedly, stepping forward to rush them up the stairs even as she smacks her free hand against his shoulder again and again. Her other hand is still clamped tight in his, through no doing of his own, so he knows she isn’t upset with him, merely flustered. Yuki would probably need a crowbar to get free of his girlfriend right now, but he doesn’t want one, not in the slightest. He’s perfectly happy where he is, thank you very much. “I’ll set an alarm for eleven. With any luck I can text someone over at the dojo to save us some lunch.”
Machi sputters, spitting out, “who’d agree to save you lunch with an attitude like this,” but she squeezes his fingers in hers and dashes up the stairs beside him, their footsteps thunderous in the quiet, her cheeks pink the whole way back inside.
(Machi’s already curled up under the covers when Yuki picks up his phone nearly an hour later.
hey, he texts, does the dinner invitation extend to lunch?
The response comes much quicker than Yuki expects.
you picked our asses up at 1am on new years, fucking rat. you really think I’m gonna tell you that you’re not allowed to come to lunch?
Yuki laughs, entirely without meaning to. Machi makes an inquisitive noise, face already smushed against a crooked pillow, blanket pulled up over her ears. In the slight space between hair, blanket, and pillow, Yuki watches one eye slit open to look at him.
“Lunch,” she asks, voice thick with the promise of sleep.
His phone screen lights up again. tohru and shishou apparently made plans behind my back to a temple trip this afternoon, so you and machi better dress warm. i didn’t pack enough jackets to keep everyone from whining and your ass will be the first left out in the cold if you forget one.
“We’ve been approved for lunch,” Yuki announces quietly, even as a quick glance tells him that eye has since slid closed. He types back a quick only an idiot wouldn’t dress warm for the first day of the year, stupid cat, and doesn’t bother to tell himself he’s not smiling. He plugs his phone into the charger, sets it aside on their wobbly bedside table, and then climbs into bed. The second he’s vaguely horizontal Machi worms her way over to him, tucking herself under his chin like a half-asleep heat leech.
Feeling sleep tug at his senses too, he adds, “Kyo says we’re going to a temple in the afternoon as well, so we’ll have to dress warm.”
Machi makes a noise, something passably close to Kyo does, huh without actual words. Yuki snorts against the top of his girlfriend’s head, hiding a smile in her hair.
Maybe, he thinks as he starts to fall asleep, life isn’t so bad like this.
He falls asleep, wondering if he should bring a spare jacket for Kyo, since there’s almost no chance that someone doesn’t steal the other man’s halfway up to the temple.
This life isn’t what he had imagined for himself, in the scant seconds he’d dared to imagine anything at all growing up. But it’s better.
Endlessly, utterly better, for all the reasons he couldn’t have expected or dreamed.)