Archive of Our Own

Confession

The confession comes with the closest thing to a kiss that Tetsujo can manage without killing himself, but for Dokuga it’s still too close. They’ve been beside each other since they were children and Tetsujo knows how dangerous he is. He knows how many ghosts Dokuga carries around in his mouth. He knows that he was still a kid with skinned knees and messy hair when he learned not to laugh. He knows.

And he does it anyway.

They’re just coming home from a day at work that’s exactly the same as every other day. The sky is overcast and Dokuga has his eyes on the sky, searching for the silver glimmer of the stars which peek through the gaps in the cloud cover. They’ve had a couple of beers with Nikaido and Kaiman and Dokuga can feel the pleasant buzz of the drinks, even if he couldn’t quite taste them. There’s a flush of red across Tetsujo’s cheeks and when he catches Dokuga looking at him he grins.

“What is it?” Dokuga says.

“You.”

Dokuga shrugs and looks back at the sky and then down at the sidewalk. It’s dark and the orange glow of streetlamps lights the way. Their apartment isn’t far, and it’s been more than a year now since they’ve been living there. It’s a tiny studio – just enough room for them to have a table and space still to spread out their futons – but it’s home. Hole is home, in a way that the world of magic users never was.

“What about me?” he asks.

“Remember when we first moved into our apartment?” Tetsujo’s arm brushes against his as he walks. “When we bought futons?”

He nods. When they’d first moved into this tiny studio apartment Tetsujo had suggested that they just get one bed and huddle together each night – it would be cheaper than buying two, and they could save money on their heating bills by keeping each other warm – but Dokuga had shut that down in an instant. Too dangerous, he’d said. What if I drool in my sleep?

That was what he’d said, but the truth is they’ve huddled together plenty of times over the years and Tetsujo’s never been hurt. When they were living on the streets as kids he’d wrap his face in a scarf and lie down next to Tetsujo, his back to him. When they were living on the streets after the battle with Hole he’d do the same, only minus the scarf because they didn’t even have that. He’d face away from Tetsujo and close his eyes and wait for the warm weight of his arms coming to wrap around his chest.

I can’t risk it. That was what he’d told himself at the time. The two of them had already lost so much, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone else.

“Well, I was thinking about that,” he continues.

“Thinking about it how?”

They’re back at the apartment now, climbing the stairs up to their front door. Dokuga pulls the key from his pocket and unlocks it. He pushes the door open and holds it for Tetsujo, then lets it close behind him before he turns the lock and puts on the chain. He leans back against the door. The apartment’s dark, the only light from the glow of the city outside.

“Thinking about how I wished we’d just bought a bed.”

“I told you why that was a bad idea,” Dokuga says. “You might—”

“Don’t,” Tetsujo interrupts him, stepping up in front of him and putting his hands on his arms. “Don’t tell me that I might get hurt. Don’t tell me that you’ll drool in your sleep.”

“But, I might—”

“You don’t drool in your sleep, Dokuga,” Tetsujo says. His arms slide up and he takes Dokuga’s face in his hands, his thumbs brushing his cheeks and his fingers just at the edges of his tattoos. “I’ve spent enough nights next to you to know that.”

Tetsujo’s face is inches from his and Dokuga’s heart is in his throat, and he thinks about how sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and misses Tetsujo’s arms around his chest, his breath hot on the back of his neck. About how sometimes he wonders if his embrace on those long, cold nights was the only thing that kept him alive for all those months.

“Tetsujo,” Dokuga says, his voice wavering just a little. “What are you trying to say?”

He thinks that he knows what he’s trying to say, but how can he ask it outright? What if he’s wrong? He’s not even sure what he wants. No—he is sure. Tetsujo still has his face in his hands and he wants to never stop feeling that warmth. That warmth from the touch of his skin and that warmth from his deep brown eye boring into his own. That warmth which comes from having someone by his side who knows him as well as he knows himself.

“You know what I’m trying to say,” Tetsujo murmurs.

Dokuga stares at him, infuriated, willing him to come out and say it, but he doesn’t need to. He leans in and kisses Dokuga, which is so risky and dangerous and stupid and yet it makes perfect sense. Tetsujo knows him. He knows that Dokuga would never let anything happen to him, and that’s why he knows that he can do it. Because he knows that Dokuga will keep his mouth closed, that he’ll hold his breath for the two seconds that Tetsujo’s lips brush against his before he pulls back, searching Dokuga’s face for his reaction.

It's not a real kiss, not truly. Their lips didn’t touch for more than a moment, and even then it was the faintest brush.

But the feelings that are surging through him are real enough. The butterflies in his stomach and the pounding of his heart. The shiver that runs up his spine and the electricity coursing through him, threatening to erupt.

Dokuga takes Tetsujo’s face in his hands and rests their foreheads together, closing his eyes and exhaling, his breath long and shaky.

“I know,” he says, and it comes out no louder than a whisper. “Me, too.”

And they don’t need to say anything else, because what more is there to say? They’ve fought together and bled together and mourned together. They’ve built a life together. Everything they’ve done – everything they do – they do it together.

Tetsujo pulls him into an embrace and Dokuga rests his chin on his shoulder. Tonight he’ll roll his futon out right next to Tetsujo’s and he’ll sleep facing away from him, his back to Tetsujo’s chest, and he’ll feel the weight of his arms around him and he’ll know that he’s home.  

Mask

Everyone wears a mask in the world of magic users. It’s strange to go without one. Even the weakest magic users wear masks, though theirs will be homemade rather than gifts from the devils. It’s a way to reinforce the hierarchy over there; if sorcerers can tell on sight how strong someone is by the quality of their mask, then they know who they can fight and they know who they can hunt.

In Hole, though, nobody wears masks. Kaiman and Nikaido have masks, but they don’t tend to wear them. Tetsujo’s long since stopped wearing his. The deep crimson samurai helmet sits on a shelf in the apartment, gathering dust. Dokuga takes it down sometimes and turns it over in his hands, feeling the weight of it. He runs his fingers over the metal and the leather, and he wipes it clean and puts it back.

Dokuga wears his own mask more often. Mostly just because it’s attached to the clothes he wears every day, and when it rains he pulls it up to keep his hair dry. Tetsujo likes to yank it down over his face and remind him of all the times they went flying together out to Hydra Forest. Or he likes to look into the big insect eyes of the mask and remind him of when he’d been hurt by Risu, and Dokuga had spent days spitting poison at termites for a pittance of a payment to buy healing smoke.

“Thank you,” Tetsujo says one of these times, when the mask’s pulled down against a light drizzle on the way to work. “For saving me that time.”

“Just that time,” Dokuga says, teasing.

“All the times.” Tetsujo leans in and kisses him through the thick, stiff fabric of the mask. It’s a kiss that Dokuga can’t feel, but he closes his eyes and appreciates it all the same.

The rain these days isn’t the same burning rain that they'd felt that first time when they came to Hole, back when they’d first met the boss. It’s a clean rain, gentle and pure. It’s water, not acid.

“You saved me plenty of times, too,” Dokuga says, and he’s thinking mostly of the Central Department Store, when Tetsujo had hauled his unconscious body along and refused to let him go, even though he could have done and nobody would have blamed him. Not that there had been anybody left to blame him.

“Come on,” Tetsujo says, even though he was the one who stopped in the middle of the street so that he could kiss him. “Let’s go to work.”

Dokuga has to pull his hood back down when they get to the restaurant, the long feathery antennae hanging down his back. He takes a surgical mask from a box of them they keep in the supply closet and loops it around his ears, which earns him a scoff from Kaiman. Neither he nor Nikaido have seen the results of his poison, and both of them think that he’s exaggerating how bad it can be.

He’d rather take their disbelief than their horror.

Dokuga carries the mop bucket out of the back door after he's cleaned the floors, kicking a cracked brick into place to prop it open behind him as he walks into the alley, the heavy bucket in his arms. He empties it into a drain near the dumpster and almost has a heart attack when Tetsujo’s hands wrap around him from behind.

“Hey,” Tetsujo says, pressing a kiss to the back of Dokuga’s neck.

“You made me jump,” says Dokuga. It’s been a few weeks since that night after work when Tetsujo had told him how he felt – or, rather, not told him – and every touch of his lips to his skin still feels like something out of a dream.

He twists around so that they’re facing each other, Tetsujo’s hands resting on the small of his back, and Tetsujo leans forward to kiss him through the mask.

These surgical masks are from the hospital. They were donated to the Hungry Bug by Doctor Vaux when he learned that Nikaido wasn’t kidding about one of her new employees being poisonous. They’re rated against all sorts of infections, Vaux has told them, but Dokuga still doesn’t want to push his luck and he keeps his mouth tightly closed the way he did when Tetsujo had kissed him that first time.

Tetsujo pulls back, grins at him, and then quickly kisses him on the tip of his nose.

“I wish I could kiss you properly,” Tetsujo says.

“We can’t have everything.”

Tetsujo picks up the empty bucket and carries it back inside for him. Tetsujo might wish for a proper kiss but Dokuga doesn’t mind what they have now. He doesn’t mind being kissed through the thick material of his moth mask or through the thin fabric of a surgical mask. He’s never been kissed anyway, not really, and this is more than enough for him.

He still makes Tetsujo go to the bathroom when he’s put the bucket down to splash his face with soapy water. He did the same thing after he’d brushed his lips against his. It only took one tiny bit of spit in a huge bowl of punch to bring down a dozen sorcerers at Shaitan’s party. Even with the surgical mask, he’d rather play it safe.

“No risk, no reward,” Tetsujo says when he comes out of the bathroom, grimacing when he licks his lips and tastes the soap.

“No risk altogether, please,” says Dokuga.

“What are you two on about?” Kaiman groans from the kitchen.

“Poison,” Tetsujo says, and he plants another kiss on Dokuga’s cheek. Dokuga feels himself flush red as Kaiman groans and mimes vomiting, but Tetsujo just laughs and squeezes Dokuga’s arm. He grabs a knife and gets to work chopping ingredients, and Dokuga heads off to clear tables.

It’s still raining when they walk home at the end of the day, still that light drizzle that feels more like walking through a cloud than like true rain. Dokuga pulls his hood up anyway and then when Tetsujo looks at him he pulls it all the way down over his face. When he moves his head he can feel the antennae move.

“Come here,” Tetsujo says, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him to face him.

Dokuga reaches out and cups Tetsujo’s face in his hands. His hair is slightly damp, and when it got wet this morning it dried with a slight wave to it, the ends curling up boyishly. The droplets are sitting in his hair now, shiny little beads of water against the inky black of his hair like stars in the sky. Dokuga thinks that he could look at his face forever, and when he does he sees him the way he saw him when he woke up after the battle in the Central Department Store, looking down at him with a smile on his face and blood smeared on his cheeks, bruised and battered and alive.

Tetsujo kisses him and even though Dokuga can’t feel it, he can feel it.

Plastic

“I got you guys something,” Nikaido says one day. She’s carrying a plastic shopping bag in each hand, both weighed down with food. Dokuga can see the tops of leeks sticking out of one of the bags and the plastic handles are stretching, threatening to break.

“What’s that, then?” Tetsujo asks. He’s sitting on one of the stools at the counter, drinking a steaming cup of coffee while Kaiman’s washing the dishes they used for breakfast. Dokuga’s wiping down the table, stretching out to give the surface one last swipe with his cloth before he tucks it into the pocket of his apron and watches Nikaido cross the restaurant to deposit the bags on the counter.

“Did you get me anything?” Kaiman asks.

“Nope,” says Nikaido, ignoring the mildly offended look which appears on Kaiman’s face. She roots through one of the bags, muttering under her breath, and then pulls out a box of plastic cling wrap. “Ta-da!” She says in a singsong voice, waving the box above her head before holding it out to Tetsujo. “Here you go.”

“Uh, thanks,” Tetsujo says, glancing sideways at Dokuga and raising his eyebrows. Dokuga shrugs. “This will be good for—uh, keeping leftovers fresh!”

“Tetsujo!” Nikaido groans, rolling her eyes as she starts to unpack the rest of the shopping. “I didn’t get you it for that.”

“What for, then?” Dokuga asks. She’d handed it to Tetsujo but she’d said you guys. It’s for both of them, presumably. Dokuga would have assumed leftovers, too. Maybe she’s sick of them complaining about their window, the one which lets in the cold. “We could put it over the crack in the window.” He suggests.

“You two are idiots,” Nikaido says. Dokuga catches Tetsujo’s eye and he shakes his head. Nikaido groans. “Put it over your face, Dokuga, and then you guys can kiss.”

Dokuga’s jaw drops open and Tetsujo snorts with laughter, though Dokuga can see his grip tighten around the box of plastic wrap. He looks over at Dokuga with wide eyes and Dokuga looks down at the floor, face hot with embarrassment.

“Nikaido!” Kaiman exclaims.

“What?” A blush creeps over Nikaido’s face. “I thought it was a good idea.”

“It is a good idea.” Tetsujo says, holding out the box like a sword and tapping Dokuga on the arm with it. Dokuga swats at it and he grins. “Thanks, Nikaido.”

She snatches the box back from him and shakes her head. “You can have this after work. I don’t want you messing around on the clock.”

“Typical,” Dokuga mutters under his breath, and he heads to the supply closet to get the broom.

Tetsujo swings the box at his side when they walk home after a long day. He’s holding it like it’s his sword, though it’s obviously a good deal shorter than his old katana was. His hand is wrapped around it, his grip still perfect even after spending so much time unarmed. He catches Dokuga watching him swing it, the graceful line of his arm extending fluidly down from the muscle of his shoulder all the way to the end of the box, and he smiles.

“Think it’ll work?” Tetsujo asks. He lifts the box and waggles it from side to side in a decidedly less swordlike manner. “It says extra thick on the box.”

“I don’t know,” says Dokuga, picturing the many times he’s stretched a length of plastic wrap from the roll in the restaurant over the top of a bowl and he’s put his finger right through it. “We’ll have to be careful.”

“We’re always careful,” says Tetsujo, and he bumps Dokuga with his shoulder. “But it’ll be worth a try.”

As soon as they get home, Tetsujo pulls out a length of the plastic and holds it up with a grin. Dokuga takes it from him and runs it under the tap, filling it like a balloon and holding it up to the light, inspecting it for leaks.

“Dokuga,” Tetsujo says.

He can’t see any. The plastic’s containing the water. He pokes it with the tip of a finger, testing the strength. It seems to hold, so he scrunches the edges to close it completely and squeezes, building the pressure inside the bubble until it feels like it could burst. He pokes it again.

“Dokuga,” Tetsujo repeats.

He presses a fingernail against the plastic and pushes. It still doesn’t break. Nikaido really must have splurged on this stuff; the plastic wrap she keeps in the restaurant is liable to rip if he so much as looks at it. He drops it into the sink and looks over at Tetsujo, who's standing with his arms folded and an eyebrow raised.

“Sorry,” he says. “I don’t think it will rip.”

“You’re too cautious.”

“I’m not too cautious,” Dokuga sighs. He tears another length of plastic and holds it up in front of his face, and it flutters when he breathes. “It only takes one fuck up, and—” he stops, because he can’t say it. One fuck up and Tetsujo will die. He thinks about that first kiss, when Tetsujo’s lips had barely brushed his and he hadn’t been satisfied that he was safe until he’d washed his face and rinsed his mouth out a dozen times.

“I know.” Tetsujo’s expression softens and he takes Dokuga’s face in his hands, looking at him through the plastic wrap. “I just—I want to do this.”

The plastic rustles and Tetsujo leans in. There’s a moment of panic that runs through Dokuga because it seems so wrong – so risky – for Tetsujo to be leaning into him like this, but he pushes down the worry and reminds himself that it won’t break. Tetsujo’s hands drops down to his waist and slide around his back, and Dokuga closes his eyes as their lips press together.

It’s better than the mask. He can feel the softness and the shape of his lips, the way he parts them slightly and tilts his head to fit himself against Dokuga. He can feel the warmth of Tetsujo’s mouth on his and he leans into him more, moving without thinking. His tongue presses against the plastic and he can feel Tetsujo’s on the other side, the heat of it, and he wishes that this plastic wasn’t here so that he could taste him.

You can’t taste anything, anyway, he tells himself. But even so, he still wishes.

After what feels somehow both like a second and a lifetime, Tetsujo pulls back from him, keeping his hands resting on Dokuga’s hips, and he looks at him with a smile. Dokuga lowers the plastic and crumples it up, making sure to keep the patch of it that’s damp with his saliva on the inside. There’s a flush across Tetsujo’s cheeks and his lips are reddened and slightly swollen.

“Well?” Tetsujo says with a grin, squeezing his hip. “How was that?”

Dokuga throws the crumpled ball of plastic over to the trash and misses. Tetsujo snorts with laughter and his grin widens when he watches him grab the box from the countertop and pull out another length of it.

“I want to do that again,” he says. He wants to feel the closest thing to the touch of his tongue that he’ll ever get to feel. He wants to feel it again and again until this box of plastic wrap is empty, and then he wants to ask Nikaido where she bought it from so that he can buy more.

Tetsujo’s fingers brush the hem of his hoodie and his hands slide up under his shirt to rest on his bare skin. He pulls him close, their bodies pressed together, and Dokuga lifts the plastic between them again, thinking – like just about everything else in this little life they’ve built together – that this is more than he ever could have asked for.

Candy

Dokuga doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth. He doesn’t have much of an anything tooth. Thanks to his poison, he can’t actually taste the food he puts in his mouth. He can discern textures; the fizz of a can of soda, or the crunch of gyoza that’s been crisped in the pan. He likes the refreshing coldness of a bottle of water straight out of the refrigerator, or the warming heat of soup on a rainy day. If the food’s spicy enough, he can even detect something that he thinks might be taste.

But he would never choose to eat candies, because mostly it feels pointless. They don’t taste nice to him and they have no nutritional value.

So, when Kaiman brings a box of candies in to work one day – he says that it was a present from a neighbour as a thanks for carrying something heavy for them – Dokuga waves him away without even looking to see what’s in there.

“Suit yourself,” says Kaiman, and offers it to Nikaido. She plucks something colourful and fizzy looking from the box and Dokuga gets back to work.

“Cute!” Tetsujo exclaims. Dokuga glances over and he’s rooting through the box. “I want this one!”

“Typical.” Kaiman mutters. He puts the box down in the kitchen and nods to it. “Eat as many as you want, guys.”

“That’s awfully generous of you, Kaiman,” Nikaido teases through a mouthful of candy.

“Hmph,” Kaiman snorts. “You’re making gyoza for lunch, right? I don’t want to ruin my appetite.”

Typical. Dokuga rolls his eyes and gets back to work.

As the morning goes on it becomes clear which candy Tetsujo’s chosen and why he made that choice. They’re love heart candies.

“Look,” he says, sidling up to him and opening the package to shake one into his hand. “Be mine.”

Dokuga squints at the short message on the pale, chalklike candy. “I’m already yours.”

Tetsujo’s grin widens. “Do you want this one?”

“I don’t like candy,” Dokuga says. “You eat them all.”

Tetsujo tosses it into his mouth and tucks the package into his pocket, ambling over to the kitchen with a smile on his face. He chops ingredients for a while and then turns his knife over to Kaiman so that he can take plates of food out to the customers. After a while he comes back over to Dokuga with another heart in hand.

“Always,” he says. Dokuga rolls his eyes. Nikaido shouts for him to come back to the kitchen.

The next time he comes over with his hand outstretched Dokuga smiles before he even looks down at the candy. Forever. He grabs a stack of dirty plates from a table and Tetsujo sticks his tongue out at him. He takes the plates to the kitchen, dumps them in the sink, and then goes back over to Tetsujo.

“I want one,” he says.

“Yeah?” Tetsujo raises his eyebrows in surprise but holds out the package.

Dokuga pulls out smile, shakes his head, and lets Tetsujo eat it without reading. The next one is the one he wants. He takes hold of it and turns it over in his fingers, feeling himself blushing already, even though he hasn’t shown it to Tetsujo yet.

“I have to go and wash those dishes,” Dokuga says, and he shoves the candy which says I love you into Tetsujo’s hand. He tries to brush past him to go and wash up but Tetsujo stuffs the package back into his pocket and grabs Dokuga by the wrist, lifting the candy to inspect it, blinking as if he’s not sure what he’s seeing.

“Dokuga,” he says slowly. “Do you mean that?”

Dokuga groans. He didn’t really think about what he was doing; he knew that there would be a heart in there with that message on it – he’s eaten them before, when he was a kid – and he knew that he had to give it to him. Tetsujo had taken the plunge to tell him how he felt that evening when they’d had something like a kiss, and Dokuga had to be the one to take the plunge this time. He can’t even look up at him, and he thinks that his face has probably turned as red as his tattoos.

“Dokuga,” Tetsujo says again. He lets go of his wrist and takes his chin in his thumb and forefinger instead, tilting his face to look at him. “Do you mean that?”

“I wouldn’t have given it to you if I didn’t. I need to go and wash those dishes.”

“Dokuga.” Tetsujo grins, a smile as bright as the sun in the sky. “I love you, too.”

“Eat your candy.”

Tetsujo puts it into his mouth, the grin not dropping from his face, and he pulls the package back out, letting go of Dokuga’s face so that he can empty the rest of them into the palm of his hand and push them around with the tip of a finger. He takes one and turns it around, showing it to him. Kiss me, it says.

“That’s what I want to do.”

“I know,” Dokuga sighs. “We can buy more cling wrap. I’m going to go and clean those dishes before Nikaido fires us.”

Thankfully, neither she nor Kaiman ask him why his face has turned the colour of beetroot when he walks over to the sink, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and plunging his hands into the hot and soapy water. Eventually the embarrassment fades and Dokuga realises that Tetsujo had said it back to him. Even though Dokuga hadn’t been able to say it aloud, even though he’d been so embarrassed that he couldn’t even look at him, he’d said it back. A smile tugs at his lips as he looks down at the cloudy water and scrubs at a stubborn bit of sauce on a plate.

He still feels like he’s floating through the clouds when Nikaido decides that it’s time for lunch. It’s like all those times he went flying out to Hydra Forest, catching the air currents and soaring high above the endless blanket of green trees. It feels like freedom. It feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. It feels like the guilt he hasn’t stopped carrying around with him since the battle, that pang in his heart, has lightened. Even if it’s only just a little.

After they’ve eaten, Kaiman and Tetsujo both go back to the box of candy for more. Kaiman chooses popping candy and Tetsujo takes out a lollipop. A red one.

Dokuga watches him open it. The wrapper crinkles when he tosses it into the trash, and he holds the stick between his thumb and forefinger as he places it on his tongue. Nikaido and Kaiman aren’t paying the slightest bit of attention, and when Tetsujo catches him watching he smirks, the stick poking out of the corner of his mouth when he closes his lips around it.

He tears his gaze away from Tetsujo and goes to grab the broom. The morning’s been busy and the floor is scattered with crumbs that need sweeping. He makes a quick circuit of the restaurant, pushing all the crumbs and bits of dropped food into a pile in the middle of the room while Tetsujo goes to take out the trash. When he comes back in he walks right over to Dokuga.

“Hey,” he says, and Dokuga leans on the broom handle. He raises his eyebrows and Tetsujo takes hold of the lollipop stick. He pulls it from his mouth, wet with saliva and shining in the light of the bulbs overhead, and holds it out to Dokuga.

There’s no point. He won’t be able to taste it, but when he opens his mouth to voice this thought, Tetsujo shoves the lollipop in there.

“Tetsujo,” Dokuga says, rolling his eyes. The lollipop tastes like nothing, just a syrupy stickiness from where Tetsujo’s had it in his mouth. “I can’t taste this.”

“I know,” says Tetsujo, turning to go back to the kitchen. “But, I had that in my mouth. So it’s a bit like we’re kissing.”

He shoots Dokuga a grin and gets back to work, and Dokuga stands there leaning on the broom, the lollipop in his mouth. It’s a bit like we’re kissing. Tetsujo’s tongue touched the lollipop and now the lollipop’s touching Dokuga’s tongue. He supposes that it is a little bit like a kiss. He rolls it around in his mouth, trying to discern anything from it other than stickiness, trying to see if there’s something in the taste of it that points to Tetsujo.

There’s nothing, of course.

But he still keeps it in his mouth until the candy’s all dissolved and there’s nothing left but the damp and slightly flattened stick, and he thinks that an indirect kiss is better than no kiss at all.  

Everywhere

They hadn’t even been working at the Hungry Bug for a whole week before Doctor Vaux tried to recruit them to the baseball team. Tetsujo was on board immediately, since he enjoys that kind of thing, but Dokuga held out for much longer. Now, though, more than a year later, his resolve has weakened and he’s been roped into playing for the Worms on multiple occasions.

This is one of those occasions.

He can’t remember who he’s supposed to be filling in for. Normally when they hold these games Dokuga just sits on the bench and watches vacantly, letting his mind wander. Now he’s in a borrowed uniform that’s too tight around the arms and the legs and too wide at the waist, wearing a cap that’s making his head itch. He knows enough about baseball to be able to play somewhat competently, and he also knows enough about his friends to know that the opposing team have no hope of winning. He barely even has to do anything. He stands in the fielding position which requires the least amount of work and watches Nikaido and Kaiman strike out half the team before they can even hit the ball. He watches Kasukabe and Jonson as a disturbing double act, catching just about every ball that comes their way. He watches Tetsujo fumble a ball because he misjudged where it was in the air, and it lands on his head before bouncing to the ground. Dokuga snorts with laughter at this and Tetsujo shoots him a venomous glare.

Then it’s their turn to bat, and again he doesn’t even need to be good. Nikaido and Kaiman are both incredible. Kasukabe is freakishly fast. Jonson is just freakish. Tetsujo’s as good as Kaiman, swinging that bat the way he swung a sword for so many years. Dokuga’s last up, and maybe his hit doesn’t have the same power that Tetsujo’s did, but he’s the fastest on the team and as soon as the bat leaves his hands he sprints for home.

They win. Easily.

Nikaido declares that everyone should come back to the Hungry Bug for beers and food, which sends up a raucous cheer among the Worms. They have to clear up the baseball equipment, though, and as the newest recruits to the team, that arduous task falls to Dokuga and Tetsujo. Really, it should be the other team doing this, but as soon as they lost the match they scarpered. Dokuga grumbles under his breath as he picks up discarded bats and Tetsujo hunts for balls in the grass.

“Catch, Dokuga!”

He whips his head around just in time to see the ball come flying at him, and he catches it in his bare hand. Tetsujo did not throw it gently and his palm stings from the impact. He drops it and winces.

“Asshole,” he mutters.

Tetsujo jogs over with an apologetic grin on his face and grabs Dokuga by the wrist, turning his hand over to inspect his slightly reddened palm. He brings it to his lips and kisses it. Dokuga rolls his eyes.

“That’s not going to make it better,” he lies, his skin tender against Tetsujo’s lips. “You don’t have healing magic.”

“Shh.” Tetsujo kisses his palm again, and then the back of his hand. There’s a grass stain over his knuckles and Tetsujo kisses that, too.

“We have to clear up,” says Dokuga, even though he dropped the bats he was holding when Tetsujo threw that ball at him.

“Shush, Dokuga.”

“No,” he says, stubborn.

Tetsujo grins and grabs his other wrist. Dokuga tries to yank himself free but Tetsujo’s always had more upper body strength than him – something that’s come from fighting with a sword for years – and his grip just tightens as his grin widens. Dokuga pulls back again, his foot catches in the grass, and when he falls backwards he pulls Tetsujo down with him.

They land hard, Dokuga wincing as his back thuds against the ground and Tetsujo lands on top of him. He props himself up over Dokuga and looks down at him with a sheepish smile, his hair messy where his baseball cap’s fallen off. The sun is shining down from up above and there’s hardly a cloud in the sky, and all of a sudden Dokuga is wrenched back in time to when he’d woken up in the aftermath of the battle, and the first thing he’d seen was Tetsujo’s face.

Dokuga brings his hands up and cups Tetsujo’s cheeks in his palms. He wants to pull him down into a kiss. A real kiss. He doesn’t. But Tetsujo leans down anyway and kisses him. Not quite on the lips. The corner of his mouth; Dokuga flinches and turns his head.

“Be careful,” he warns.

“I’m always careful.”

“No, you’re not,” says Dokuga, thinking of that first time.

Tetsujo shrugs and kisses him again, this time on the cheekbone. Then he moves to the edge of his jaw and kisses him there, and Dokuga lets his head loll to the side so that Tetsujo can press his lips to his neck. He lets his arms slide around his back and he closes his eyes. Even though it’s a warm day there’s a breeze in the air and he can smell the grass on the pitch. He smiles when Tetsujo’s mouth opens against his neck and his teeth press against his skin.

All of the others will be back at the restaurant by now. They’ll start wondering where they are. Or maybe they won’t. They’ll probably figure out what they’re up to. It was a decisive victory, so everyone will be celebrating. Dokuga’s hands slide down to rest on the small of Tetsujo’s back and he sighs when he feels him draw his skin up between his teeth and then feels the hot touch of his tongue. The sun is warming them and they both smell like dirt and grass and sweat.

Tetsujo pulls away from his neck and balances on his hands, looking down at him with a flush on his cheeks and a smile on his face.

“What?” Dokuga asks. He can feel himself getting flustered with Tetsujo propped over him like this, the sleeves tight around the muscles of his arms. He trails his fingers down them, feeling the smoothness of his skin. It’s so unlike his own, completely devoid of scars.

“Nothing,” Tetsujo says. He leans on one arm so that he can grab Dokuga’s wrist again, bringing his hand to his mouth and kissing the back of his hand. “I like looking at you.”

Dokuga snorts and rolls his eyes as if he wasn’t just thinking the exact same thing, staring up at him silhouetted against the sky. Tetsujo’s lips brush his knuckles.

“You look good in the baseball uniform,” he adds. “It suits you.”

“It doesn’t fit.”

“It still suits you.” Tetsujo lets go of his hand and leans down, kissing Dokuga on the jaw again, and then the cheek, the forehead, and the tip of his nose.

Dokuga smiles and he knows that if he was still capable of laughter, then this is when he would laugh. Tetsujo peppers his face with kisses, steering clear of his mouth, and Dokuga takes his face in his hands again and winds his fingers into his hair, combing through the tangles from running around the pitch and scoring home run after home run.

“HEY!”

Tetsujo pulls back with a start, pushing himself off Dokuga and then grabbing his arm to yank him to his feet. Dokuga scowls over at the entrance to the field, thinking that one of the others must have come back and found them lying like that in the grass, but when he looks over it seems that it’s just a gaggle of kids running past and shouting at one another, not paying the slightest bit of attention to what’s going on inside the former Torture Square.

“False alarm,” Tetsujo says with a shaky laugh.  

“Yeah,” Dokuga grumbles, glaring in the vague direction of the noise. Tetsujo brushes grass from his back and Dokuga grabs him by the waist and pulls him close. “Shall we go to the apartment before we go back to the restaurant?”

Tetsujo slides his arms around him and rests his forehead against his. “I suppose we can make a quick stop.” Then he pulls away and rests his hands on Dokuga’s shoulders, a serious expression on his face all of a sudden.

“What is it?” Dokuga asks.

“First,” Tetsujo says, his brows furrowed and a determined set to his jaw. “We need to clear up all the fucking baseball equipment. Still.”

Dokuga groans. “Shit,” he says.

Tetsujo pats him on the arm and jogs off to go and find the rest of the balls that have been scattered around. He supposes that there’s a silver lining to having to clear up the equipment: it means that he gets to watch Tetsujo run around in that uniform for a little bit longer.

Healing

The hospital’s been busy all week, Kaiman tells them one day, having bumped into a very exhausted Vaux on the way to work. There was some kind of accident nearby, though he doesn’t have the details. A traffic accident, maybe, or a sinkhole. Dokuga protests that those are two very different things, but Kaiman waves him off.

Nikaido wants to help, though. She decides to make a huge batch of food and box it up for the workers at the hospital to keep them energised for the day. It’s a nice sentiment, however it does mean that Dokuga and Tetsujo will have to lug the containers of food over there. She finds two cardboard boxes - one each to carry - and piles them with plastic containers of everything she can whip up in a hurry. Plenty of gyoza, of course, as well as rice and curry and some noodles which were left over from yesterday. She makes a quick stir fry from extra ingredients and adds that in as well.

Risu visited Hole and the Hungry Bug once just before he started in seriously on his devil exams, and he’d told them about when Nikaido became a devil. He’d told them about how she’d gone into a cooking frenzy, and that was how they’d ended up in the Central Department Store. Dokuga thinks that it must have been a bit like this, because she’s cooking up a frenzy now. Maybe there’s a little bit of residual devil still left in her.

“Okay,” she says when she’s done cooking, swiping a hand across her forehead. “Can you two take this over to the hospital? Take it right to Vaux’s ward.”

“Got it, boss,” Tetsujo says, giving her a mock salute. She swats at him.

Dokuga hefts one of the boxes in his arms and grimaces. It’s heavy and warm from the freshly cooked food, and he just knows that he’s going to be sweating by the time they get there.

“Why is Vaux so hard at work, anyway?” Tetsujo asks when they’re out of the restaurant, ambling down the street towards the hospital.

“What?” Dokuga scowls over the top of the box. “He’s a doctor.”

“Yeah, but his ward is for magic user victims.” Tetsujo shakes his head. “Why’s he doctoring for a traffic accident?”

“Or a sinkhole.”

“Or a sinkhole, yeah.”

“I don’t know. Maybe they were short on doctors at the other hospital. Maybe the accident was caused by magic.”

“I hope not.” Tetsujo shudders. “I don’t want to encounter sorcerers.”

“They have loads of those Hole statues at the hospital,” Dokuga says. Kaiman brought one to the Hungry Bug once, because he thought it was funny to make Dokuga, Tetsujo, and Nikaido all faint at once. They keep them at the hospital just in case any sorcerers decide to start trying their luck in this city again.

When they get to the hospital they take the elevator straight up to Vaux’s floor, and he spots them right away. He looks irritated at first that he’ll have to deal with them, but then he realises what it is that they’re carrying.

“Is that—” he says, walking quicky over to them. “Is that food?”

“Nikaido figured that you guys would need provisions,” explains Tetsujo. “Kaiman said something about a traffic accident, or a sinkhole.” He sets the box down on a nearby desk and shrugs. “He said you were busy.”

“A traffic accident or a sinkhole,” Vaux says, deadpan.

“It wasn’t either of those?” Dokuga sets his box down and shakes his arms, feeling the stiffness in his muscles.

“A boiler exploded in a building near here.”

“Woah!” Tetsujo’s eye widens. “How many people were killed?”

“Killed? None. A few injuries. I exaggerated to Kaiman.” Vaux gestures to the ward. Only three beds are occupied. “He asked me why I looked like shit, the asshole.”

“So you don’t need all that food.”

“No, we definitely need all that food.” There’s a glint in Vaux’s eyes as he peers into the box and starts pulling out containers, beckoning over a couple of people dressed in scrubs. “Tell Nikaido thanks, okay?”

Tetsujo promises that they will, and when they turn around to leave the elevator dings and someone steps out into the ward. Not just someone. A tall woman with silvery hair tied back in a bun, dressed immaculately in a skirt suit and carrying a cardboard box not much smaller than the ones they brought. Tetsujo’s jaw drops and Dokuga’s eyes widen. He tenses and his hand goes to his chest to grab one of his knives, his fingers closing over air because he doesn’t go around armed anymore. The woman’s crimson eyes land on the pair of them and a flicker of shock crosses her face before she smiles.

Noi.

Dokuga curses himself for thinking that they were safe here. He curses himself for that day not long after they’d first moved into their apartment when he’d walked past a shop selling weapons and thought to himself, I should buy some new knives, and then thought, no, I don’t need them anymore. He curses himself for being so stupid. So naïve.

Tetsujo’s hand has gone to his hip, the same automatic reflex as he reaches for his missing katana. Vaux hasn't noticed what's going on; he and the other doctors are rooting through the box of food and bickering with each other about who gets to eat what.

“Cross-Eyes,” says Noi, her voice bright and cheerful.

Of course she’s bright and cheerful. She could rip them to pieces without a second thought if she wanted to, and Dokuga suspects that she does want to.

“Uh, hey,” says Tetsujo. “What—what brings you here?”

Dokuga looks around. There’s a supply closet over at one side of the ward; he wonders if maybe there’ll be one of those Hole statues inside. It would make them faint, too, but maybe they could take Noi out and have just enough energy to crawl away. Or maybe he could grab it and Tetsujo could make a run for it, go and get Nikaido and Kaiman to come and drag his unconscious body out of here.

“Just dropping off smoke for the doc!” Noi says, hefting the box in her arms. It rattles when she does. “It’s a bit heavy, actually. I’m just gonna put this down.”

Dokuga steps back slowly and she passes by them, walking over to the desk and setting the box of smoke down next to the boxes of food. Vaux and the other doctors finally notice her then, and exchange greetings and offer their thanks for the smoke. One of the doctors points to a container of curry and asks if she wants some.

“Nah,” Noi says. “I’ve gotta get back. Thanks, though!”

Dokuga can feel his heart pounding in his chest and the nervous energy of the adrenaline coursing through him. His knees are slightly bent, keeping him ready to spring into a fight. He can feel all his old reflexes just beneath the surface. He wishes he had his fucking knives.

“You’re a bit twitchy,” Noi says with a frown, stopping in front of him and putting her hands on her hips. “Are you sick?”

“Si—sick?” Dokuga stammers. Speaking reminds him of the poison in his mouth and he wonders if he should spit at her. He’d be able to get her in the eyes if he spat now, but if he makes a move then she’ll certainly fight back, and she’ll be able to heal herself.

“Dokuga,” Tetsujo warns. He’s behind Noi, and if he were armed then he’d be able to take her head off with his sword. Or, he wouldn’t, and she’d tear him to pieces like she did at the boss’ apartment. But he’s holding his hands up and he doesn’t look ready for a fight, shaking his head.

“Yeah, you’ve gone all pale. Dokuga, is it?” Noi leans in close to him and looks him up and down.

“Dokuga,” Tetsujo says again, a little more firmly.

“Yeah, you don’t look so good!” Noi shakes her head and sighs, then she stands up straight, goes over to the box of smoke, and pulls out a small bottle of the stuff. “Here!” She says with a grin, holding it out to Tetsujo. “Give that to your buddy. He should perk up in a second or two, okay?”

“I, uh—thanks?” Tetsujo takes the smoke, a slender bottle that fits easily in the palm of his hand.

“You’re welcome!” Noi says. “Okay, now I really do have to go. Bye!” She waves to the doctors, claps Tetsujo on the shoulder, and heads back into the elevator.

Dokuga and Tetsujo stand there stock still, staring at each other, unable to comprehend what just happened. They just had an encounter with Noi and survived. Not only did they just have an encounter with Noi and survive, but she gave them smoke.

“What the fuck,” Dokuga says when he finally finds his voice, “was that?”

“Let’s go,” says Tetsujo.

Dokuga glances over to the doctors, once again preoccupied with their free lunch. He looks down at Tetsujo’s hand, still clutching the smoke. They’re probably going to need that at the hospital, he thinks. “But, what about—”

Tetsujo doesn’t let him speak, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him over to the elevator. It takes a moment to open when he presses the button – thankfully, it’s empty – and he yanks him inside and prods the close button over and over until the doors slide shut.

“Tetsujo,” Dokuga says, pulling his arm out of his grip the second that the elevator starts to go down. “Why did you grab me like that?”

Tetsujo doesn’t bother to answer him, and instead he surges forward and kisses him. One hand goes to his face and the other – with the bottle of smoke still clutched in it – rests on his hip. Dokuga yelps in surprise but he’s muffled by Tetsujo’s lips and without even thinking he opens his mouth beneath his, closing his eyes and letting Tetsujo’s tongue slide against his, a sensation so strange and so wonderful that he lets out an inadvertent moan, leaning back against the wall of the elevator and wrapping his arms around Tetsujo’s back and feeling nothing but the soft touch of his fingers brushing the edge of his tattoo and the wet heat of his tongue in his mouth.

It’s only when he pulls away that he realises what he’s done.

“Fuck—” Dokuga’s jaw drops open and he covers his mouth with his hands. “Tetsujo, I—” he stops and shakes his head. How could he have let this happen? He should have seen what Tetsujo was about to do. He should have pulled away the second his lips touched his.

Tetsujo shakes his head and staggers backwards. No, Dokuga thinks as he watches his arms shake, his hands fumble with the bottle of smoke—

The smoke.

Dokuga snatches it from him and yanks out the stopper, and he pours it into Tetsujo’s mouth. It swirls like something that isn’t quite a liquid and isn’t quite a gas, shimmering slightly in the bright lights of the elevator. Tetsujo squeezes his eyes shut and swallows and Dokuga wraps his arms around him, dropping the empty smoke bottle onto the floor with a clatter.

“I’m—” Tetsujo coughs, “I’m okay.”

“You idiot,” Dokuga says, his voice wavering. He can feel the sting of tears in his eyes and he rests his chin on Tetsujo’s shoulder. “You fucking idiot.”

“I had to, I—”

“You didn’t have to.” Dokuga closes his eyes before he can cry but a tear still manages to escape and trickle down his cheek. Tetsujo pulls away from him and takes his face in his hands.

“Hey,” he says, brushing the tear away with a thumb. “Don’t cry, Dokuga. Fuck, I’m fine.”

“You could’ve died,” Dokuga says, eyes still shut so that no more tears will fall. “You know how strong my poison is.”

“I didn’t die,” says Tetsujo. “Dokuga. Look at me?”

Dokuga opens his eyes but his vision is blurry. He shakes his head and Tetsujo brushes another tear from his cheek.

“I had to know what it was like,” he whispers. “As soon as Noi put that smoke in my hand, I had to know.”

It was risky. He could have died. Dokuga shakes his head again and exhales slowly. It was stupid and dangerous and yet, he gets it. Because he had to know what it was like as well. He closes his eyes again and brings a hand up to touch his lips; they’re damp with saliva and slightly swollen and he can still feel the sensation of Tetsujo’s lips opening against his and his tongue slipping into his mouth.

“I know,” he says, and he feels Tetsujo rest his forehead against his and he smiles. “I get it. Just—just don’t do that again.”

“Unless we get more smoke.”

Dokuga snorts and he wraps his arms around Tetsujo again, pulling him in close. He thinks that he can feel Tetsujo’s heart beating hard in his chest; or it might just be his own. Adrenaline is still pumping through his veins. Electricity is still coursing up his spine. “Yeah,” he says, “like that’s going to happen again.”

Tetsujo gives him a squeeze and then pulls back, taking his face in his hands and searching his face. “You never know,” he says with a smile. “Look at everything else we have that we thought we never would. A home—a real home. Good jobs. Safety—”

“Safety?”

“Yeah, Dokuga,” Tetsujo trails his fingers down his cheek to his chin. “She wasn’t gonna hurt us. She thought you were sick. She wanted to help you.”

“I guess,” sighs Dokuga. “It was just surprising.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“What is?”

“I’m saying—” Tetsujo presses a quick kiss to his cheek and grins at him, bright and sunny and full of light, that same smile he gave him when he opened his eyes after the battle and there he was, his friend, his partner, who had saved his life and stood by his side like always. “I’m saying,” he repeats, “that anything can happen.”