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Koguma doesn’t usually drink this much at an after-party, and Maikeru never has to play the voice of reason, not with him. But then, nothing about tonight is business as usual. This isn’t just any celebration.
They’re the only two left at the izakaya: The entire restaurant has emptied with the rest of their party, and it’s so quiet that Maikeru can hear the dishwashers grumbling over all the work his peers left behind. Koguma reaches for his glass and Maikeru covers it with his palm before he can lift it, fingertips on the rim.
“You’ll miss the last train if you keep this up. And I’m not carrying you home if you pass out.”
Koguma has had his hair tucked behind his ear since the second drink, so Maikeru can see both his eyes while he glares over his glasses. “Will you relax? I’m not Kyoji.”
Maikeru’s being plenty relaxed, in his own humble opinion, but he knows that’s not the right thing to say. He’s still smiling, although the way their gazes are locked is too intense to count as lighthearted. So fine, he’s a little worried—sue him. Koguma’s been strange all evening, and Maikeru can’t help a little concern.
But he’s the first one to blink, so he withdraws his hand in defeat. “It’s getting late. You should settle the bill.”
“Me?” Koguma lifts his drink, but the glass only hovers at his lips. Maikeru will call that a win.
He leans clover, chin propped up on his palm. “Of course. We’re here to celebrate my promotion, aren’t we?” Although their master already footed most of the bill. It’s been nearly an hour since the rest of them left, and Maikeru isn’t paying a dime for everything they’ve drank since, that’s for sure.
As if in protest, Koguma finally tips the glass back. His cheeks are flushed as he wipes at his lips and slams it back down, empty. “And I’m still irritated with your story choice. This makes us even.” Maikeru laughs until Koguma kicks him from underneath the table. “When are you going to start taking this seriously?”
That’s more like what Maikeru is used to, coming from Koguma; His smile comes a little easier. “Do you want me to relax or not? It’s supposed to be a party. With how much you’ve been drinking, it doesn’t seem like you’re staying buttoned up, either.”
Koguma’s gaze drops to the table, and his hair slips back out from behind his ear. All at once they’re worlds away from each other. Maikeru knew it would happen when his promotion came: He just didn’t think it’d be so soon. But it’s only been a few hours, and Koguma can’t stand to look him in the eye.
“You know, this is more than a few years of separation in experience. Now that you’ve been promoted…” Beyond the curtain of his hair, Maikeru thinks he can see Koguma pouting. “... It changes everything.”
“Are you really getting all emotional on me now, teddy bear?” But Koguma doesn’t even react to the nickname, and Maikeru sighs. “You sound disappointed. If it bothers you that much, you can always try for Shin’uchi yourself.”
That does get a reaction, finally—Koguma bristles just at the idea. “Don’t even joke about that. Watching the test was stressful enough on its own.” He picks up his glass again for some liquid courage and seems almost surprised to find it empty.
Maikeru can’t help but feel the urge to tuck Koguma’s hair back behind his ear for him, just so he can look him in the eye again. He catches himself just as he starts to reach across the table, and his arm falls between them instead. There are certain lines even he knows better than to cross, and he’s held to them pretty well, after a decade of training side by side. It should be easier now that this distinction has been drawn, one Koguma won’t let him ignore. And yet.
“An…” Koguma seems to choke on the title, and for one horrific second, Maikeru is sure he’s going to throw up. But he looks back up at him, finally, with an unnerving steel in his eyes. “Maikeru. You’re going on ahead, and we won’t catch up for a while. You’re on your own. Doesn’t it scare you?”
But wasn’t that why Maikeru started performing in the first place? An art all his own. His fingers twitch into a fist while he fights to maintain his smile. “You shouldn’t be talking to me so casually, if you’re going to get that worked up about this stuff.”
Koguma has his face screwed up in a grimace, but he refuses to break his stare. “I’m older than you,” he points out, which they both know isn’t the part that matters. “You’ll have to forgive me. Just for tonight.”
He places both hands on the table, folded neatly together, before they disentangle and settle on top of Maikeru’s. Koguma’s fingers are all too warm against his own. Maikeru can’t decide if he minds it.
But he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t look away. “I wasn’t kicked out of the Arakawa school, was I? I’m not going anywhere.” Which isn’t what Koguma is talking about, and he knows that. He knows, too, that it doesn’t get any easier from here for either of them. There's work to be done under Shiguma Arakawa's name, and it has nothing to do with the way Maikeru's heart stumbles over itself when Koguma squeezes his hand.
They are in disagreement about one thing, though. “I’m not on my own, either. I’ve got you— all of you. So don’t talk like I’m going to disappear after a change in ranking.”
It’s much too quiet in the restaurant, and Maikeru is all too aware of how loudly he’s speaking. It’s more intimate than it should be, with just the two of them. Especially when Koguma lifts up Maikeru’s hand and cradles it between both of his own.
Koguma’s eyes are heavy on him. “... You will forgive me for tonight, won’t you?”
This time when Maikeru laughs, Koguma resists what they both know is the urge to kick him. He nods—he couldn’t care less if Koguma called him by name, not when it's just the two of them.
But it’s not just professional courtesy that Koguma is talking about. He raises Maikeru’s hand to his face and presses his lips against a knuckle, an act too solemn to consider a kiss. “I'm glad you made it this far. Just wait for me. Please.”
It’s straight out of a ninjo-banashi, and Maikeru wishes he could laugh at the sentimentality. But his throat starts to tighten when Koguma lets go of his hand and leaves his fingers cold.
“I will,” he says, with a performer's confidence. “However long it takes.”