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“Hey, Kaoru,” Kojiro asks on a seemingly normal evening. “What’s your type?”
“Not you,” Kaoru lies immediately to hide his surprise at the question.
“Ha,” Kojiro says dryly. He pauses. “Anything else?”
Kaoru looks up from the spread of papers he has sprawled on Sia la Luce’s bar counters. Whenever he has paperwork regarding his own calligraphy business, he finds it’s always easier to do in the familiar habitat of Sia la Luce than his own admittedly lonely apartment, although he’d never admit that fact to Kojiro.
“Why are you asking?” Kaoru asks suspiciously.
Kojiro shrugs. “Just curious. You’ve never told me before, even in high school.” He grins awkwardly. “Although I have a pretty good idea what your type was in high school.”
Kaoru scowls. “That was an… unfortunate but temporary lapse in judgment,” he mutters regarding his utterly embarrassing schoolboy crush on Adam of all people—he wishes Kojiro would learn to let it go, because it’s a period Kaoru would much rather entirely forget about.
Kojiro raises his eyebrows. “So your type has changed, then.”
“I guess,” Kaoru says vaguely. He sets the pen he’s been twiddling in his fingers down on the counter. “Really, why is this information you need to know?”
“Is there any reason you wouldn’t want to tell me?” Kojiro answers with another question, blinking pointedly at Kaoru. Kaoru grimaces. He can’t exactly cite “privacy” as a pithy excuse, not when Kojiro already knows virtually every facet of Kaoru’s life already.
With a sigh, he starts collecting the spread out papers on the counter, if only to keep his hands busy and so he doesn’t have to look at Kojiro as he speaks. He could just lie, of course, but something about the weight of Kojiro’s eyes on him compels him to be at least mostly truthful, if not exactly specific.
“Tall,” he starts slowly. “Financially independent.”
When Kaoru’s further response doesn’t follow, Kojiro prods a bit more. “You just described basically all the salarymen in the country.”
“I’m thinking,” Kaoru snaps back. He places his papers, now in a neat stack, back onto the counter, then picks up his pen from before to keep his hands occupied. Staring at the ballpoint tip, Kaoru continues. “Patient,” he says, remembering Kojiro’s negotiation in clumsy French with the hotel staff in Paris when they had learned that their hotel had, in fact, not been booked at all for their trip just a few years ago, “and good under stress,” he adds, remembering his own frantic pacings when he had learned about what befell their overnight lodgings and Kojiro’s subsequent reassurances to keep Kaoru from spiraling any further. “Dependable,” he continues, his voice subconsciously growing softer when he remembers Kojiro’s constant presence by his bedside before he was able to be discharged and even after, “and…”
Kaoru trails off.
“And?” Kojiro asks quietly.
"...and kind," Kaoru murmurs, remembering Kojiro then, always making sure the amount of food in their bento boxes were equal, and remembering Kojiro now, his hand always gently brushing back Kaoru's bangs whenever he goes to redress Kaoru's injuries. When Kaoru finally manages to pull his eyes away from the pen in his hand to Kojiro, he finds Kojiro’s own gaze somewhat distant.
“Tall, financially independent,” Kojiro begins listing off absently after a pause, “patient, good under stress, dependable, and… kind?”
Kaoru flushes when he realizes the embarrassing honesty of his total answer and quickly turns his head to the side to cough into his fist. “I don’t know,” he says quickly. “Something like that.” He coughs again. "Might help if they were good at cooking, too," he can’t help but mutter only to himself, and luckily, Kojiro doesn't seem to overhear.
“Huh,” is Kojiro’s only response. “Well. That’s enlightening.”
Kaoru squints at him. “Is it really?”
Kojiro’s gaze finally refocuses. “Yeah,” he says, flashing a small smile at Kaoru. “Thanks for sharing.”
Kaoru fidgets in his seat. “You’re not planning on doing anything weird with that information, right?”
Kojiro’s only response is a wide grin, and Kaoru feels a horrible, horrible feeling pool in his gut.
“No promises!”
So Kaoru’s on edge, naturally, over the next few weeks, on guard for a change in Kojiro’s behavior—specifically, Kaoru expects quite a significant increase in the good-natured teasing regarding Kaoru’s love life (or lack of a love life), but to his surprise, Kojiro barely brings it up at all.
Actually, Kojiro’s not bringing much of anything up at all in their regular conversations, anymore. When Kaoru, exhausted after a day of insufferable clients, rants about his terrible work day during Sia la Luce’s after-hours while snacking on a plate of walnuts, all he gets in return is a sympathetic frown and meaningless verbal platitudes. Kaoru’s much more used to Kojiro’s equally biting remarks—usually, Kojiro always manages to point out how at least one of Kaoru’s frustrations is solely as a result of his own manner and not his clients, and although Kaoru always scowls at such a call-out, he can’t deny the unsolicited advice has ultimately been helpful in maintaining his professional relationships—so when Kojiro replies with a simple “that sucks” without even asking for further details, Kaoru is left stunned into silence. He leaves Sia la Luce early that night.
Even more bewildering, Kaoru realizes as weeks pass by, is Kojiro’s strange reluctance to complain—either about him or with him. Kaoru can’t remember the last time he’s gone this long without Kojiro dramatically retelling an incident with a terrible customer, and while he certainly has faith in the restaurant’s capabilities, he has to be a little suspicious at how perfectly service seems to be going at Sia la Luce. Either that, or Kojiro purposefully isn’t telling him about the restaurant’s events, and the mere thought makes something bitter rise on Kaoru’s tongue.
Kaoru’s never been one for casual conversation—the only reason he finds it so easy to talk for hours on end with Kojiro is because, well, he’s Kojiro. But now, with Kojiro oddly reticent in dialogue and speaking only in generic phrases even when he does deign to talk, Kaoru finds himself also shuttering away over time. It means that Sia la Luce, after its business hours, is filled with a stale sort of silence instead of their typical bickering, and the effect isn’t lost on either of them. Kaoru expresses his distaste in the change in mood by leaving earlier and earlier every night, and while Kojiro remains stubborn in his inexplicable and sparsely-broken silence, Kaoru can tell by the uneasy expression on his face that the silence is suffocating him, too—it’s incredibly stupid, Kaoru thinks, that Kojiro can express such discomfort when he’s the cause of it in the first place.
It’s during such an insufferable silence that Kaoru realizes what’s been bothering him about the whole situation in the first place.
“Why don’t you fight with me anymore?” Kaoru blurts out. Kojiro startles at the sudden question. It’s after a long pause that he answers, and Kaoru can see in the furrow in his brows that he’s thinking carefully about the words that come out of his mouth.
“Do you… want me to? Fight with you?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Kaoru exhales in frustration. “Just…” Kaoru trails off.
“Kaoru?” Kojiro prods when Kaoru remains silent. “Is everything oka—”
“Why don’t you fight with me anymore?” Kaoru repeats. “Have I gotten too boring for you, too, now?”
Kojiro inhales sharply. “That’s not—”
“Because that’s what it feels like,” Kaoru interrupts. “It feels like it’s too much work for you to talk to me anymore, it feels like it’s too much work for you to listen to me anymore—what other reason would you have for walking around on eggshells around me?”
Kojiro’s expression turns pained. “I didn’t—”
Kaoru’s not finished. “I get it,” he mutters. “I get it,” he repeats louder. “I’m not interesting like I was in high school. All I wear are traditional clothes,” he begins to list off, gesturing at his current ensemble, “I got rid of the piercings, I don’t have a—a tattoo, or anything,” he continues, gesturing to Kojiro’s shoulder, even though it’s currently covered by his uniforms, “I’m just—” His hand drops. “I’m just Kaoru.”
“You’re Kaoru,” Kojiro agrees. “There’s nothing just about it.”
Kaoru scoffs in disbelief. “You don’t have to—”
It’s Kojiro’s turn to interrupt Kaoru. “How can the most interesting person I know be just anything?” he asks earnestly, and Kaoru’s eyes widen. “You’re brilliant,” he starts listing off on his fingers, “who else could have built themself an AI girlfriend—” He coughs. “I mean, assistant. You’re talented—calligraphy and skating and otherwise. You’re thoughtful, even if you think you aren’t—I’ve seen you around Reki and Miya and Langa. You’re… beautiful,” Kojiro adds quietly. “You’re so many things, Kaoru, and I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t.”
Kaoru’s mouth, which had fallen open sometime during Kojiro’s impassioned speech, slowly closes. His face must be a terribly unflattering shade of red, he thinks, but luckily or unluckily, there’s no reflective surface nearby with which to check.
“You’re not boring, Kaoru,” Kojiro says softly. “You never were, and you never will be, at least to me. Piercings or not.” He pauses. “Although, I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to you putting them back on—” he tries to add, and Kaoru leans over to slap him on the shoulder.
“Absolutely not,” Kaoru mutters, but his face is still too flushed for his words to come off as any real warning. “You…” He pauses and purses his lips. “Okay. I believe you.” Kojiro brightens, but Kaoru puts a hand up before he can get too ahead of himself. “But why weren’t you… why have you been so weird recently?”
Kojiro shrinks into himself. “Ah, that’s, uh. It’s a little embarrassing.”
Kaoru raises an eyebrow. “Try me.”
With an awkward laugh, Kojiro taps his fingers against the counter. “You know that conversation we had a while ago? About your type?” Kaoru narrows his eyes. He nods. “You said your type was tall, financially independent, patient, good under stress, dependable, and kind.”
Kaoru stares at him. “You remembered that?”
Kojiro gives him a sheepish grin. “Well, I—” He clears his throat. “I wanted to make sure I fit all the boxes, you know,” he rushes out quickly. He’s not meeting Kaoru’s eyes. “And, you know, you said. Kind. I didn’t think—well, I wasn’t sure if calling you a four-eyed nerd was really… fulfilling that part.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize how much we bickered with each other when we talked, but I didn’t…” He frowns. “Well, none of that is really kind, is it?”
"But it's you," Kaoru blurts out stupidly. "My type. It's—you. It's always been you."
Kojiro stares at him like he’s grown another head. “Huh?”
“Of course you’re kind, you dumb gorilla,” Kaoru continues without thinking. “Look at everything you do for me, for the kids, for your family, for your staff. Just because you tease me a bit doesn’t mean—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated noise. “Of course you’re kind.” He pauses. “And dependable and good under stress and patient and financially independent—you have your own restaurant, for god’s sake.” He coughs. “And you’re tall, I guess,” he adds lamely.
Kojiro blinks rapidly. He points a finger at himself. “Me,” he says incredulously. “I’m your type.”
“Regrettably,” Kaoru mutters. “You’re lucky ‘smart’ isn’t on that list.”
“Not everyone’s got circuitry embedded in their brain like you,” Kojiro teases, and Kaoru has to fight hard to stop the smile from spreading on his face at the familiarity of the banter. He fails terribly. “Awh, cute.”
“Who are you calling cute,” Kaoru hisses. He sniffs, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Now, when’s the date?”
“The date?”
“The date you’re taking me out on, of course.” Kaoru blinks at Kojiro expectantly, and Kojiro breaks out into a loud laugh.
“I think you should take me out.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I guess we’ve got the stakes for our next beef, then.”
“You’re on.”