Work Text:
I want to do with you
what spring does to the cherry trees.
Pablo Neruda, "Poema XIV"
1.
Haruki sniffled in an attempt to clear the dregs of the teary fit that had briefly overcome him. This earned him a somewhat crumpled handkerchief, which its owner proffered with both hands and a contrite expression, as if acknowledging responsibility for it being needed. He could have used his own, but he accepted Akihiko's with suppressed amusement, finding this new solicitousness as endearing as it was strange.
They said little as they made their way back to his apartment. Katydids were singing all around them, hidden in the greenery that lined the riverbank they were walking on, and snippets of other people's conversations occasionally filtered down from the buildings on their left. Akihiko, who'd started out a few paces behind, was now next to him, still radiating tentativeness.
This was my idea, Haruki reminded himself. He's coming back to my place because I asked him to.
He stole yet another sidelong glance at Akihiko, who didn't look any different: the same piercing-studded handsomeness, the same close-cropped hair, the same easy stride. And they'd walked this same path together before, hadn't they? But the last ten minutes—surely that stunning confession, and his own dazed acquiescence to it, hadn't been much longer than ten minutes—made everything feel unreal. Like a spring haze.
The sweetness of the shock that had crashed over him moments ago was wearing off, leaving a low current of jitters in its wake. He shook his head, trying to refute it; felt Akihiko look at him in surprise, and gave him a weak smile. Akihiko returned it with equal embarrassment, and his nerves abated.
A sudden sharp breeze rustled the blossom-laden branches of the trees on their right, and then Haruki yelped, reaching up to his face. A warm hand closed around his left wrist.
"You OK?" Akihiko said, stopping them.
"Yeah," he said, blinking furiously. "I'm fine."
"What, sakura got in your eyes?" The hand on his wrist let go, reaching up. He felt a soft touch on his head, and then Akihiko was holding out a tiny piece of pink in his palm.
"In your hair, too," he said, quirking up the ring at the left corner of his mouth.
A memory surfaced: there'd been a day, when Akihiko had skipped lecture for the class they'd taken together, where he'd happened to sit next to one of his various admirers, who'd declared to the long-suffering friend beside her that she had determined to get the same type of mouth piercing because it was just too sexy. As if it was the lip ring, not Akihiko himself, that was the source of said sexiness; as if acquiring a mere accessory would increase her chances of being noticed by him.
Haruki had cringed on her behalf, but he'd also understood that impulse. It was natural to want to have things in common with someone you liked, wasn't it? He'd just never been under the illusion that he was capable of imitating anything about Kaji Akihiko. Who, he now realized, was speaking again.
"It's your season, isn't it? Even the flowers find you attractive."
You damn flirt. Haruki looked straight ahead, unable to stop the heat rising in his face.
He hadn't been subjected to such remarks for months, the kind he knew were calibrated to fluster, and he felt vaguely put out at being reminded that Akihiko, newly cautious or not, could still give him butterflies like this. If only, he thought, if only he'd been the kind of person who had comebacks. Instead he opted to begin walking again, in the most dignified silence he could muster, while remaining acutely aware of the steady gaze following him.
*
"I'm home," Haruki announced to the dark entryway. He'd made a habit of saying everyday greetings aloud, despite living on his own. Ever since he'd first moved to Tokyo it had grounded him, following the discovery that he missed his parents and sisters more than he'd expected, to continue speaking the words that had been part of their everyday life.
The first month he'd taken Akihiko in had initially been almost unbearable, but they'd settled into a semblance of normalcy after a couple of weeks. Despite the farce of their cohabitation, eventually he'd grown habituated enough to enjoy having someone around to respond: welcome back, I'm heading out, see you later. Akihiko's departure, as abrupt as his arrival, had taken a weight off his chest; at the same time, he couldn't deny missing the better parts of his presence, and the occasional false sense that they'd been living together because they'd wanted to.
Here they were, now. He switched on the light, holding the door open for Akihiko to come in, and perched on the edge of the entryway step to remove his shoes. Then, realizing that Akihiko was still standing, he glanced up in puzzlement.
"Aren't you going to take your shoes off? Shut the door too, please."
"Haruki," Akihiko began, his voice unaccountably serious.
He blinked, feeling himself tense.
"So…" Akihiko paused, grimaced, and pressed on. "Is it really, uh, OK for me to be here?"
"Huh?" Haruki said, blanking. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Akihiko sighed gustily. He unslung his violin case, carefully leaning it against the shoe cupboard, and squatted down so they were at eye level.
"I should probably make sure, because you seem antsy...look, just now you said yes to dating me, right?"
Dating. The word still sounded incredible. He nodded, fighting the urge to hide his face.
"Honestly, I'd hate it if you changed your mind," Akihiko said in a low voice, clasping his hands before him. "But I know this is really sudden. If you need some time to process things first, I'll leave you in peace tonight—I just wanted to walk you home, either way."
And there it was again, the solicitude that seemed to have displaced the ironic banter so frequently wielded by the old Akihiko. His gaze fell on those large, elegant hands, remembering how they had trembled on the grass, and he swallowed.
They couldn't take anything back, could they? Whatever lay ahead, he'd just have to see for himself. Maybe he was, in fact, right to believe that someone working so hard to turn over a new leaf could be trusted. Maybe none of this, including their music, would need to fall apart. He wasn't sure he would have reached those conclusions on his own, but Mafuyu—and he recalled the boy's serene face on the train to the concert; how confident he'd been, both in Akihiko's evolution and Haruki's need to witness it. In his head he heard again the last plangent notes he'd caught of Akihiko's violin solo, and Mafuyu's crooning, a voice knowing beyond its years: it's going to be all right.
All right, then. Maybe he could believe in younger people who were living their lives with such bright intent. Because he wanted to, if nothing else; it stunned him how much he wanted to.
"Stay over."
"Haruki—"
"Stay over," he insisted, hoping he'd hidden the catch in his voice by making it louder than necessary.
Reaching out, he grasped Akihiko's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "You don't look like you want to leave, either."
Akihiko exhaled, clearing his throat. He gave Haruki a soft, wry smile, and sat down beside him to untie his shoes.
2.
Haruki had offered him a drink and first use of the bath, but he'd refused both, not wanting to be treated like a guest. At which Haruki had merely nodded and said, "I'll go in first, then," disappearing into his room before Akihiko could say anything more.
When he heard the bathroom door click shut, he went to the kitchen area and ran himself a glass of water from the tap. As he emptied it he gazed around the living space, which didn't appear any different since his previous occupancy. An urge to smoke assailed him, so he unlatched the glass door to the balcony and slid it open. Leaning on the railing, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag.
He'd missed this spot, too; Haruki's apartment was far enough from the urban core of this Tokyo-adjacent city that the glimmer of stars overhead was visible. As recently as a few days ago, in the functional box of a place he now called home, he'd thought of this balcony, and of when it might be possible to stand here again, Haruki by his side, their arms almost brushing as the thin grey plumes exiting their mouths dissipated into the night air.
Don't mess this up, he reminded himself. One cigarette became two, and then three. Haruki had left his own ashtray on the balcony ledge, but he opted for stubbing out his smokes into the pocket ashtray he'd begun carrying around.
He'd just seated himself at the dining table after coming back in—the sofa seemed presumptuous, somehow, especially considering how it had served as the platform on which he'd ripped up the facade of their former friendship—when the bathroom door opened. Haruki entered the living room wearing sweatpants and one of his oversized sleeping shirts, his hair tucked into a towel turban.
Akihiko attempted to speak, but his heart had flipped over.
Took you long enough, his conscience sniffed. He'd seen Haruki like this plenty of times, when he'd been allowed to live here, but it had never struck him so hard before. Haruki usually blow-dried his hair, but he used the towel turban when Akihiko was waiting his turn for the bathroom. He tied it so neatly Akihiko had once jokingly suggested he do a demonstration segment for one of his hairstyling video gigs; as with his old braids or updos, the combination with a goatee made it inexplicably arresting.
Now he wondered at how dense, how fucking preoccupied with his own self-inflicted curses he'd been, that he'd needed so much time to properly appreciate just how adorable this man was. He'd always known that as fact; now he felt it as the insistence of truth.
He was staring, and he'd been seen. A frisson jolted through him as their eyes met, and he said a silent prayer of thanks to any divinities listening that Nakayama Haruki still cared about him enough to look away first, the color in his cheeks deepening.
"I left pajamas and your toothbrush outside the bath," Haruki said, clearing his throat. "Take your time."
"Yeah," he nodded. As Haruki walked past, heading for the kitchen, he caught hold of his hand, making him jump.
"Wh-what?"
"Haruki-san," he said with perfect seriousness. "Thank you."
"You—" Haruki spluttered. "Stop that! When have you ever used polite language for real with me?"
"Well, you are older, after all," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "No? I know I've never been properly respectful, but—"
"Akihiko," Haruki said pleadingly. "Seriously, just be normal."
"Normal how?"
"How you actually want to behave, not how you think you should! You're being so weird!"
"Roger," he said, tightening his grip on Haruki's fingers. "I actually want to kiss you now, though." Pausing, he peered up at his new boyfriend's face, where pink had flamed into scarlet. "May I?"
"After...after your bath," Haruki managed, his voice about a third of an octave higher than usual. He jerked his hand away, glaring at the grin this response elicited, and made a beeline for the kitchen sink.
Akihiko stood up, padding over to the bathroom on optimistic feet. Before he went in, he let his eyes linger on Haruki waiting for the kettle to boil, the towel now slung around his shoulders. His cropped hair, still damp, screened the side of his face in limp, dark-gold strands; his ears, Akihiko saw, were still flushed.
*
While soaking in the tub, he mentally replayed the conversation he'd had about a week ago with Uenoyama, which now seemed like a harbinger of the current situation.
Uenoyama, it turned out, had been made to show up at the university, on his older sibling's orders, to deliver some art supplies she'd forgotten to bring for an evening workshop. Akihiko had just finished attending a late-afternoon music theory seminar when he'd gotten a message explaining this, followed by another asking whether he was also at the school, and free, and if so, did he want to grab a drink. The very fact of Uenoyama messaging him to just hang out was so bizarre it had instantly indicated that Something was Up: he'd said yes, giving in to curiosity, and sauntered out to meet him.
They'd settled themselves on a bench near the vending machine, cans of black coffee warm in their hands, when Uenoyama had blurted out, after sucking in a preparatory breath: Mafuyu says you're in love with Haruki-san.
He'd frozen.
Then he'd inwardly shrugged, conceding defeat with a tinge of annoyed admiration. It was something he'd been aware would implicate the rest of their band at some point. And he knew all too well that Mafuyu's dreamy exterior belied the keenness of his observational powers. In any case, it wasn't like he'd been trying to hide anything. Had Mafuyu ever tried to ask him directly, he thought he'd even have been open about Ugetsu, or at least the basic situation at the time (and he saved for another day the question of how much Mafuyu knew about that whole affair—probably too much, curse him and that ass of a violinist.)
…Is that so, he'd said, taking a long sip of his coffee.
Please don't act all innocent, Uenoyama had said ominously, the furrow between his brows deepening. What's with that pause? And you're totally giving off sus vibes.
Am not, he'd offered, sounding unconvincing even to himself.
Rrgh. Uenoyama had gripped his can, sloshing coffee out onto its rim. Kaji-san, seriously, how could you!
Me? He'd raised a brow. You're one to talk, aren't you, Mr. We're-Dating-Now-Please-Forgive-Us? You and that vocalist of yours? I haven't even tried saying anything to Haruki yet.
SO IT IS TRUE. The bass register of Uenoyama's moan, he'd thought, channeled a disgruntled whale.
Well?
Well what, he'd said coolly. Do you have a problem with my feelings?
Panic had suffused Uenoyama's expression. I don't mean it like that! I'm sorry—
Good, he'd said, giving him a nudge to show he was teasing. Then what's the issue?
Uh, our band, obviously? S-sure, I don't have any right to say this, but…but, I thought Mafuyu and I were going to be the only ones!
Hah, he'd gibed, sharpening the edge of his grin. Hate to burst your bubble, but for starters, Haruki and I go back a lot longer than the two of you.
Uenoyama had trained a death glare on him. Sure, Haruki-san's apparently been into you since forever, if Mafuyu's right, and he probably is, however the hell he knows that—but he also says you didn't like Haruki-san back until recently! Care to explain?
So what if that's also true?
The calmness of his response had seemed to deflate the ire of his companion, whose shoulders slumped.
Kaji-san…not to sound arrogant, but are you actually serious? Even if you've dated for real—
Uenoyama, he'd said, gently cutting him off. I admit I haven't always seen Haruki that way, but now I'm at least as serious about him as you are about Mafuyu. I have a decent sense of what Mafuyu means to you, I think…
He'd clicked his tongue stud against his teeth as he considered what else to say, a habit he knew Haruki disapproved of.
And it might sound hard to believe, but I won't let this affect our music, whatever happens with Haruki. I promise. I'm serious about that, too.
Silence fell between them. He'd thought about reaching for a cigarette, but then his companion heaved another exaggerated sigh, crumpling his empty can as he got up to dispose of it.
Sometimes I feel like I owe pretty much everything that's going well right now to Haruki-san, Uenoyama had said pensively, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. For putting the band together in the first place. And how he supports all of us.
Yeah, he'd agreed, eyeing their guitarist with new respect.
But maybe I've been taking him for granted, Uenoyama had said, shooting him a pointed look. I also feel like I might not be the only one.
Hah, he'd said again, this time without heat. I don't do that anymore. Or I'm trying not to, anyway.
Fine, then, Uenoyama had grudgingly returned. He clearly wasn't going to be gruntled any time soon, but his gaze had softened.
Having gruffly accepted the conciliatory offer of a ride home, he'd grimly announced, while handing back the spare helmet: I can't vouch for Mafuyu, but I won't say anything to Haruki-san, at least…I hope you know what you're doing.
Just wait till his lordship finds out what I've gone and done now.
He bit back a snort as he sank further into the heated water and scooped up a handful, splashing it over his face; it was clouded and silkily fragrant, thanks to the high-grade bath salts made from some famous store in Haruki's hometown. Haruki, he knew, reserved their use for occasional treats. Knowing they would both smell of this scent tonight made him giddy.
"You're the best," he said aloud, his voice echoing off the steamy walls. "You really are."
3.
Haruki sat up on the sofa and took another series of belly breaths. The playlist of downtempo songs on his phone piping through his headphones was helping, but the thought of actually saying what he was preparing to say kept him knotted up.
Initially he'd toyed with waiting for Akihiko on his bed, but had canned that idea as quickly as it had come up. During his bath, as he'd tried to fully absorb Akihiko's return to this space, the memory of their first disastrous excursion along those lines had insisted on resurfacing. This had been unexpected: he'd leaned into the idea that, since he'd ultimately made it a consensual act, it wasn't worth taking offence over.
So he was fine. He wasn't angry, or upset.
He wasn't, but.
He wasn't, but part of him still felt raw.
Their first endeavor at friendship had been a charade in some ways, marred by the flirting he'd refused to acknowledge being on the receiving end of. He hadn't wanted to put himself out there, or to risk doing anything that might be an excuse for Akihiko to withdraw, even as the loneliness of his yearning accumulated.
He'd sensed that Akihiko was playing a game, as the too-casual touches grew more frequent and the throwaway comments progressively loaded. He'd wondered if he should object—Yatake had certainly thought so—but he hadn't been able to bring himself to put a stop to any of it. So he'd just pretended harder.
An addiction, he thought wryly. You know it's bad for you, but.
He'd just counted on it remaining a game, one that would end at Akihiko's discretion. He hadn't counted on its premises being shattered that night—and all these months, he hadn't let himself dwell on how that night had started; how its course had broken his heart; how he'd fought to convince himself that it had ended acceptably, at least in terms of bodily intercourse.
There had been no other way to find a new normal in living with Akihiko. There had been no other way to continue being bandmates, especially during the time when he'd wondered whether or not they could ever be friends again. That had been the case despite his recognition of Akihiko's attempts, even piecemeal ones, to repair the worst of the damage he'd inflicted.
And he'd realized, while staring at the ceiling above the tub, that even if they'd moved on from that to cultivate what felt like a genuine rapport now, levelling up to dating would be different.
When his oldest sister had informed him, about a year ago, that she was going to be a single parent, he'd asked her why, and demurred in the next second. It didn't matter why, ultimately, as long as it was the right decision for her.
I don't mind you asking. She'd smiled, though it was a shadow of her usual sunniness. It's kind of complicated, but…
She'd continued, rubbing her pregnant belly: One of the big things was, sleeping with someone isn't communication. It's not a substitute for talking. People use words for a reason, right? In the end, there was just so much he didn't want to tell me.
He'd nodded earnestly, which got his hair ruffled.
Don't worry if that doesn't make sense, his sister had said, patting his shoulder.
It makes sense now, he silently thought in her direction.
The sound of the bathroom door opening filtered through the ambient mode of his music. He braced himself, taking the headphones off as Akihiko came over to join him on the sofa. It wasn't at all fair, he silently bemoaned, how good this man made even old clothes look. Though he'd mostly come to accept that there wasn't any point in wishing for things to be fair when they concerned Akihiko, or his feelings for him.
"You kept my old toothbrush," Akihiko eventually said. "Why? You should have just thrown it away."
"Mm...do you need to ask?"
"Maybe not." Akihiko gave him a lopsided smile, one that strongly suggested he'd been betting on Haruki not throwing it away. "Just saying, you didn't have to keep it. Weren't you happy to get rid of a moocher?"
"I, well..."
He was fiddling with his thumbs, and Akihiko had spotted him.
"Something on your mind?"
"Um," he ventured. "Can we talk?"
"Sure," Akihiko said, a wary note creeping into his voice.
Haruki took a deep breath.
"So…"
"So."
"At this point," he said slowly, "I know your ex is a famous violinist."
"Huh?" Akihiko exploded. "Why bring him up? What's he got to do with anything?"
"Let me finish," Haruki said patiently. Akihiko desisted, though his brows remained tightly knit.
"But I don't know anything about what he's like. Or what made you break up with him, either. However, I do know he was a big part of your life. For a long time. Even when things were bad. And...I guess you probably still care about him as a person, too. That's fine. I can understand that much."
Akihiko opened his mouth, as if to interject, and shut it again when Haruki shook his head.
"What I'm trying to say is, you don't have to keep anything a secret." He paused, biting his lip. "In fact, I'll need you to be honest with me if we're serious about dating. Sure, I'm only me—I mean, I know I might not be able to get everything that goes on in your head, or your heart, or your music, especially with the violin, but I'd still like you to share. Just, just so I can listen—I'm not trying to force you to tell me anything you're not ready to, of course, but just—"
He broke off the tumble of words, swallowing furiously.
"Never say again that there wouldn't be any point in talking to me," he choked out, powerless to stop his voice from giving way. "Ever."
His vision dissolved into a hot blur as Akihiko's arms closed around him like a vise for the second time that night.
"Is that still eating at you?" he said hoarsely, nuzzling Haruki's head. "That awful thing I said? That was shitty of me, like everything else I did that night—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I was such an asshole. Do you want to punch me? Will you let me make it up to you? Please."
"Just let me know about stuff from now on," Haruki croaked at length, sniffling into the shirt below his face. "Got it?"
"Anything you want. I'll be real with you, I swear. No curveballs."
"I should record you saying this," he said, unable to resist a smile.
"Haruki, listen."
Akihiko shifted so he could take Haruki's face in his hands, stroking away the traces of tears with his thumbs.
"Yell at me when you need to, OK? No need to hold back. I mean, I'll try my best not to piss you off anymore, but sometimes I think those high schoolers in our band might be more mature than me—don't laugh, I'm being serious."
"It's true you're a lot of work sometimes," Haruki said, smiling again. He felt giddy with relief, as if the last couple of minutes had unraveled most of the knots inside him. "So are those two, though."
"Good to know," Akihiko said dryly. He drew a finger over Haruki's cheek, tracing it down the curve of his jaw.
"Look...you're a miracle to me, and it's not that I think I deserve you, but—"
"Aki," Haruki heard himself murmur, over the pounding of his heart.
At the height of his old crush he'd occasionally indulged in the fantasy of being able to say Akihiko's name like that; how sweet its shortened form would sound, the intimacy this would entail. Now he leaned in, hooking his arms around Akihiko's broad shoulders as their mouths found each other.
He started out tentatively, cautious about pressing too hard on the lip piercing, a concern that Akihiko soon demonstrated was unnecessary. His other worries, too, melted away; Akihiko smelled like home, tonight, and every caress seemed to soothe a spot still tender from the last time they'd tried this, freeing him to sink into the sensations of their bodies. It wasn't something he'd expected to experience again for the foreseeable future: the pleasure that welled up from letting yourself want someone more than anything else in the world, and from being shown that they wanted you in return.
Akihiko closed the remaining space between them, slipping one hand through his hair and the other under his shirt, and gently leaned him back against the cushions.
*
Akihiko woke up first, making good on his new habit of early rising. On encountering the pale morning light filtering through the unfamiliar curtains, he shut his eyes in a moment of disorientation. Certainty returned as he registered the lack of a pillow under his head, the solid warmth under his arm, and the quiet sound of someone else's breathing.
Re-opening his eyes, he focused on the sleeping face beside him, a smile he knew was big and silly and possibly more than a little bit smug spreading across his own. It wasn't a dream, then. Haruki had actually said yes to him.
The old him, he suspected, would have squirmed in denial of how this could be possible. He'd inhabited a space where, in conclusion, being in love with someone who you didn't quarrel with every other day, and who you hadn't already broken up with, was something that happened to other people. He felt for that younger self, wishing he could go back in time and reassure him, maybe with a hug, that it wasn't always going to be like that.
Eventually you'll stop feeling like there's a knife in your heart half the time. You're going to want to grow up. Grow out of the rut you're in. Transform. Because in college you're going to meet someone else who'll change your life. Eventually you'll see he's everything you never knew you needed. He's going to teach you about a kind of love that isn't just heaven and hell and a pain you get numb to in between. One that grows stronger with practice and support, that becomes something that brings you constant joy. Like music. Which he's going to give back to you, too, the way you first knew it. Only even better.
His first conversation with Haruki in that lecture hall had taken him aback. The guy with the amazing hair, he'd privately christened him, on noticing his presence at the start of term: said hair was no longer than a bob, but it was thick and lustrous, with a beautiful natural wave. Really, it looked good enough to touch. He shaved off most of his own so he wouldn't have to bother about it, while Ugetsu relied on him to refill the shampoo and didn't know where he'd left his comb half the time. This guy was probably the envy of most women, and maybe even for men who dreamed of consistent facial hair: his tiny goatee, a couple of shades lighter than his head, was trim and equally well-kept.
That day, he'd spotted the empty seat next to Amazing Hair on entering the hall and occupied it without much thought. No harm in discreetly enjoying the view, he'd figured. He found the way his long fingers tucked stray strands behind his ears rather appealing, and the rest of him was also easy enough on the eyes. That was all, though. In the first place, he hadn't even planned to attend lecture that morning; he'd just left Ugetsu's house early, following yet another fight, and he needed to kill time prior to his studio booking. And he certainly hadn't thought there would be any reason to talk, especially since he intended to leave the second that class ended.
So when Amazing Hair had suddenly turned to him minutes after he'd passed the printouts, cheeks faintly pink, and hesitantly asked, pointing to his drum case, is that a snare, he'd simply stared. Outside of the music department, he hadn't yet met anyone at school who knew the proper names of any of his new set of instruments. And Amazing Hair was now saying (with rapidity, his cheeks significantly pinker than before) something about wanting to form a band, erm, would you be at all interested, maybe we could talk after class? That is, assuming you're not already committed or you're busy, no problem if so, totally, but anyway, I play the bass…
Bass, he'd echoed blankly. Then, noticing the tall case behind Amazing Hair that was slightly larger than a guitar, he'd finally put the pieces together.
Why not, he'd shrugged to himself. What was there to lose, really? Any extra distraction from the messy void of his current life would be welcome. And he'd also been thinking that it would be good to practice drumming with another instrument, for any genre of music. A bassist made perfect sense.
When he'd nodded and introduced himself, Amazing Hair lit up like he'd been handed a million dollars.
Cute, he'd thought, amused and vaguely moved. He couldn't remember ever having made his own parents look like that, or even Ugetsu—but he'd shut that line of thought down so it wouldn't go any further.
My name's Nakayama, but everyone calls me Haruki, Amazing Hair had said, his smile like sunshine. Can't wait to play music with you.
His reverie ended as Haruki stirred, his lashes flickering. Akihiko smoothed away the tousled hair covering his face and leaned down.
"Haru," he breathed, skimming his lips across his ear. "Morning."
Haruki stiffened, his eyes flying open to meet Akihiko's unperturbed gaze. Akihiko propped his chin on his palm and watched with interest as he re-processed the events of the previous night, including their mutual state of undress.
"Morning," Haruki mumbled at last, the colorful welter of emotions on his face having largely subsided.
Just as well, Akihiko thought, that he hadn't bothered with locating any of their clothes.
"So what are you up to today?" he asked, as casually as possible.
"Gon' have lunch with Take-chan later, that's all," Haruki said through a yawn, squinting at the clock on the wall.
"Hmm."
Haruki trained a considering look onto him.
"Should I ask for a rain check?"
"Didn't Take-chan tell you that controlling boyfriends are bad news?"
"Aki—"
He sat up, arranging himself into a cross-legged position.
"I would be profoundly grateful if you were to see fit to reschedule your appointment with Yatake-sempai," he said solemnly, bobbing his head.
Haruki puffed with a laugh.
"Sure, but you're going to call Take-chan that next time you see him just to freak him out, aren't you."
"You know me too well," he said, grinning, and pulled Haruki in, starting his plans for the rest of the morning with a long kiss.
These must be the colors of returning
the leaves darkened now but staying on
into the bronzed morning...
W. S. Merwin, "Into October"