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Michael Kaiser makes it a point not to second-guess the good things that happen in his life. Or the bad things, for that matter. At least, that’s what he’s working on in therapy; it isn’t going well.
There’s a knock at the door that just doesn’t subside. He’s trying to sleep off the noise—and the pain throbbing in his jaw—but it just doesn’t happen. For a moment, the knocking stops, only for Kaiser’s phone to ring. Yoichi, it reads plainly. He groans and crawls across his bed to reach it. He clicks decline and the knocking at his door starts up again. Kaiser shoves an ear into his pillow, letting a deep scowl grow on his face.
“Kaiser!” Yoichi shouts, muffled by the door and overwhelmed by his pounding fists. “I know you’re in there! Pick up the phone! Better yet, let me in!”
A grumble sits in the back of his throat as he strains to reach his phone. It agitates the soreness in his jaw but he can’t help that it slips out. “Be quiet,” he texts, “you’re bothering the neighbors.”
Yoichi’s ruckus pauses and resumes as a text comes in. “Come out here and tell me that yourself, you coward.”
The pain and the noise are the perfect storm for the migraine growing in his head. If he can’t throttle Yoichi, he sure as hell would throttle himself. He’s already losing his mind as it is but he can’t do anything about the pain. He’s made a promise with himself not to take more medicine than the doctor said. But he can do something about the noise, so he drags his feet across the floor, toward the commotion, and flicks the lock open. Kaiser skulks away to his bed as the clamor finally ceases and the door opens.
“Finally…!” Yoichi sighs, shutting the door behind him. “You’re so difficult! Why couldn’t you have just picked up or opened the door?”
“Shouldn’t you be at practice?” Kaiser retorts, turning away to get chug water in the kitchen. He wipes stray drops from his chin, ignoring the sting of his brash wipes.
“Yeah? And what about you?”
“I called it in. I bet you didn’t.”
Kaiser hears Yoichi’s steps approaching. He stays steadfastly facing away. “I said I had an appointment.”
He sighs to get under his skin. “How would everyone feel about you lying to get out of practice?”
“It’s not lying!” Yoichi protests. “I’m here! An appointment with you!”
“My secretary didn’t write down any appointments for today, so come back another time. Or don’t.” His shoulder bumps into Yoichi’s as he brushes past him but makes no effort to apologize; it wasn’t forceful and, seeing as Yoichi’s intruded in his space, there’s no need to apologize.
A frustrated grumble escapes Yoichi. “You’re such an ass, you know? You weren’t answering my calls or my texts! You never miss practice so I need to know why you skipped.”
He brushes him off. “It’s not your issue, Yoichi.”
“Why the hell isn’t it my problem?”
“I didn’t show up for practice. I told the people who needed to know that I wouldn’t be there.”
“Yeah, my teammate didn’t show up for practice,” he agrees. “But my boyfriend didn’t go to work and won’t answer me. That’s my problem! So tell me why you called off!”
“Boyfriend…” he mutters. It’s all his voice can really manage right now. It’s a laughable notion that not even a month of faux dating, generic kissing, and tentative connection convinces Yoichi that he has some kind of sway in his life. He doesn’t have much relationship experience—he can’t deceive himself into not acknowledging that—but Kaiser still doesn’t think some label like being boyfriends means he has to say certain things. “Just leave, Yoichi. It’s a private matter.”
“Mhm,” he hums, thoroughly unconvinced. “You don’t seem sick. Are you hurt?” Yoichi asks, suddenly losing the impatient gravel previously in his voice. He speaks and it’s soft, quiet, contemplative—it reads as worried and Kaiser isn’t interested.
“Not sick, not hurt,” he lies. “You can see yourself out, right? It’s the same door you entered through,” Kaiser informs him plainly, retreating to his bedroom and locking the door.
“Did you just lock me out?” Yoichi realizes on the other side. “God, you’re so annoying!”
“Then leave.”
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he persists after a brief silence. “Like, physically, emotionally, mentally?”
“What are you? My therapist?”
“I pity your therapist,” he hears mumbled on the other side. The noise settles.
That massive gulp of water seems to be doing something for the pain in his head but the one in his jaw and mouth flares up. It’s like a fire erupted and, unlike other pains, gritting his teeth doesn’t help him bear it. Kaiser decides now is a good enough time to take more pain medicine before he tries to pass out and rest. With a furrowed brow, he reaches for the bottle. He sighs. Resigned, he collapses onto his bed knowing that the empty bottle tossed across the room will be useless to him. But, a pinch in the nerves in his mouth tells him he needs to get more in the kitchen. Dulled by the pain, Kaiser is slow to realize that Yoichi hasn’t left the house. He rushedly unlocks the door and tumbles into the living area to stop Yoichi, only to find him with a crease on his forehead as he examines his medicine.
Kaiser strides over and rips it out of his hands. His breath is shallow and unsteady; he forces it into submission in front of Yoichi.
He looks at Kaiser. His expression is almost vacant if not for the terribly obvious signs of distress in his ever-so-honest eyes. “Hey, what’s that for?” He makes a subtle gesture toward the bottle, one that Kaiser takes as a threat to grab it from him; he shields it in his chest. “Are you doping?”
“You’re so stupid, Yoichi!” Kaiser bites. Bewildered by his obliviousness, he thinks there’s still some merit to idiocy. After all, they don’t need to talk about this.
“No.” Yoichi shakes his head and looks up at Kaiser with that unwaveringly determined expression, one that Kaiser is no stranger to. “No, I know you’re not doping,” he reaffirms—as if that’s something a person can just trust in. As if his trust in Kaiser is so strong that he knows. No, of course, Kaiser isn’t doping, but, at this moment, he wishes Yoichi thought that of him. A lie would be easier to admit. “You wouldn’t do that,” Yoichi continues, “so what is that?” He points. “What’s in there?”
“Medicine,” he replies tersely.
“What kind? Why do you need to take it?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because I’ve never seen you take medicine. Not even over-the-counter stuff for pain or allergies.”
“Are you watching me that intently, Yoichi?” he goads.
“Shut up!” He strides toward him. The same fist he used to open his door is glued to his collar, demanding entrance once more into a place much more personal than his residence. “Tell me, you perfect emperor,” he growls, “why you weren’t at practice and what the medicine’s for.”
Kaiser starts to reply but the pain returns for a second and the words die in his throat.
“Your mask is slipping,” Yoichi tells him. His free hand—the one that doesn’t wrinkle his shirt and suffocate him—reaches up, gliding a gentle thumb near his eye. “Never seen you without eyeliner before,” Yoichi realizes in a quiet mutter.
I had surgery this morning. My mouth hurts and I think I have a migraine. I didn’t show because I was put under and had my teeth pulled out. I’m taking medicine because I’m in too much pain not to.
But saying that much is too much. Instead, he says nothing at all and watches as Yoichi pulls away from him. He’s moving in slow motion and Kaiser knows he has the strength to pull him back, to stop him. But, it’s one thing to know and it’s another to act.
“Yoichi—“ is all his cracking voice can manage.
He watches Yoichi turn his back to him and there’s a subsequent dryness in Kaiser’s mouth. His only relief is that he stops walking when he’s in the kitchen. He returns to Kaiser with a glass of water and a hand prying open Kaiser’s stiff hand. Kaiser lets him, for one reason or another, so Yoichi puts the water in Kaiser’s hand and the bottle of pills in the other.
Kaiser stares.
“You need it, right?” Yoichi says. “I don’t know medicine in German that well,” he admits, “but they’re pain meds, right?”
He stares at him for a little longer with his salvation in his hands, unmoving. He hardly registers the question but there’s a faint nod that pervades his reverie.
“You seemed okay yesterday,” Yoichi declares. “Did something happen last night? Or earlier today?”
His response dies in his throat. There’s an excited and superficial part of him saying that it’s fine to tell Yoichi, maybe even good. But, what lies in Kaiser, what encompasses his being is something much more profound and much more wary.
It remembers every time another person has been kind and backstabbed him; it recalls the betrayal of relying on someone undeserving; it knows the grief of trust and how it births bitter self-reliance. So, he shrugs Yoichi off. “Nothing,” Kaiser gasps, filling the shallow exhale with deceptive confidence.
It’s clear that he doesn’t believe it. It’s also clear that such a lie riles up Yoichi. Except, he just frowns and gestures to the water and medicine, urging him to take it.
Kaiser thinks he shouldn’t drink the water. He could probably take the pills without it. That aside, there’s a prickly feeling that this water isn’t clean. Only, he knows it is. He watched Yoichi get it from his tap after picking up a glass from his cabinet. Kaiser wants to trust it, to trust him. He thinks it might be his only act of courage today, a shaking hand bringing the glass of water to his lips.
He wipes his mouth after swallowing the medicine and he sees Yoichi smile. Kind of. It disappears when he slides around him, placing his hands squarely on his shoulders as he pats Kaiser and coaxes him forward.
Kaiser checks behind his shoulder constantly as he’s led to his bedroom.
By the time his back hits his mattress, the pain has marginally subsided and Yoichi is on top of him. His gaze is persistent—unnerving even—but Kaiser doesn’t do anything about it.
“You won’t tell me what you need the medicine for or why you’ve been here when you’re supposed to be at practice but I know something’s wrong.” His voice is nonchalant but he’s easily betrayed by the hesitant twinge of his hands on either side of Kaiser. His voice finds its place, grounded and certain. “You obviously need rest, time to recuperate.” He gets off the bed and pulls the sheets over Kaiser.
Once again, he watches as Yoichi begins to walk away. He does his best not to sound too much one way or another when he asks, “Where are you going?”
The corner of his lips twitches upward but he settles it, saying, “I’ll be around. Someone needs to look after you.”
Kaiser scowls.
Yoichi smiles, approaching once again. “It’s either that or you get yourself killed with your stubbornness and negligence. I bet you haven’t eaten all day.” He pokes his cheek to prove a point.
Kaiser hisses and Yoichi freezes.
“Oh! I—I didn’t mean to—! I’ll just go now, alright? Get you something to eat and you can just rest!” Yoichi rambles, trying to excuse himself hastily.
Only, he’s promptly stopped and a yelp slips out of his mouth. Kaiser’s hand, firm despite his condition, pulls Yoichi back to him. Gathering his senses, Yoichi opens his eyes and blinks once.
“What was that for?”
Kaiser says nothing but he shifts them both to make room for Yoichi.
“Hey,” Yoichi says more quietly, centimeters away from Kaiser, “you need rest. I need to do something for you.”
“It’s fine.”
His silence, given everything, is as much of an agreement as Kaiser will get. He settles in, draping his arms over Yoichi in an unspoken demand not to move and not to leave.
If Yoichi takes this all to mean that Kaiser is fussy and needy when he’s sick or in pain, that’s fine. It’ll have to be fine because telling Yoichi that Kaiser despises the thought of someone awake around him while he’s asleep just isn’t going to happen. He doesn’t care if Yoichi’s going to get him soup and water, pick up his prescription, or get him a hot pack. There’s a reason why, after sharing a bed, Yoichi is the last one to wake up. Kaiser can charm him, over and over, saying that he likes to kiss him awake with food on the table. Yoichi doesn’t need to know that waking up early is easy when sharing a bed with someone thumps your heart and doesn’t allow you to close your eyes.
The last thing Kaiser wants is to see a person looming over him when he wakes up.
Only, today, their roles are flipped.
Sweet, defenseless, little, head-empty Yoichi never has problems falling asleep. He’s conked out in the middle of team dinners with a drink in his hand. He’s snoozed in the locker room after a grueling game as he unties his shoes. He’s collapsed on Kaiser’s couch for an afternoon nap seconds after entering his apartment. Yoichi can fall asleep anywhere as long as he’s tired enough—the operative word being tired.
Now, it’s midday and he’s been coaxed into bed. From how long he was at practice, there’s simply no way Yoichi could be tired enough to sleep. Kaiser, exhaling through his nose, realizes that as Yoichi squirms in his arms for the nth time.
But, he realizes another thing with Yoichi’s hair tickling his jaw and his foot shoved between his ankles: Kaiser has vastly overestimated himself. He’s weak, he now knows, because Yoichi’s arm hangs over his side limply but warmly, and the lingering scent of his deodorant and sweat clings to Kaiser. His heartbeat is next to his and his breath mixes with his own. It’s next to Yoichi that the exhaustion on his doorstep is finally introduced to rest.
So, he falls asleep.
It’s only when he wakes up that recognizes he slept before Yoichi did. He wonders, in that time in between, what he’s done, what he’s done to him. Kaiser looks over and sees Yoichi asleep right where he left him. He’s snuggled into the crook of Kaiser’s arms and, when he shifts in his sleep, Kaiser catches a dopey little look on Yoichi’s face. It’s serene and honest—defenseless; Kaiser thinks he shouldn’t be so careless, lest someone take advantage.
Blame it on the grogginess and the subtle throb in his mouth: Kaiser stiffly pats Yoichi’s back to wake him, warning, “You’re going to mess up your sleep schedule if you keep sleeping.”
Yoichi just snores and Kaiser notices the drool dripping from his mouth.
He tries again, reaching down to grab his cheek. Pinching it, he declares, “You said you were getting me food. What happened to that, Yoichi?”
Somehow, that does it. Yoichi rouses slightly, nuzzling his forehead into Kaiser’s thigh. “You’re so demanding…!” he mutters.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who barged in here. Take responsibility for your actions.”
He just grumbles.
“You’re going to ruin your sleep schedule.”
Yoichi lifts his head, revealing lethargic eyes that magnetize to Kaiser’s. “What time is it?”
Kaiser looks to his side. “It’s been over three hours.”
“Agh!” Yoichi yelps, toppling out of the bed. “Ah, I didn’t mean to sleep for that long! Are you hungry now? You must be.”
He just shrugs. “I bet you haven’t eaten either.”
“Not since breakfast, no.” He gets up and straightens his clothes. Turning the doorknob, he says, “You probably have some leftovers.”
Usually, that would be correct but Kaiser was entirely too aware that he would be having surgery today. So, he made sure not to have leftovers in case they hurt too much to eat and went bad. Knowing this, he follows Yoichi out of the bedroom looking for something he can eat.
In the kitchen, Yoichi rattles the bottle of pills. “Need more yet?”
He shakes his head, ignoring the pain that he awoke to. He doesn’t need to be out of it in front of another person. Instead, he finds food for Yoichi while Yoichi lists all the foods Kaiser might be able to eat.
He’s five items down his imaginary list when Yoichi sighs. “Why are you so difficult?”
He opens his mouth.
He holds up his hand. “Shut up, that was a rhetorical question. I don’t want to know. You’re getting a free pass because you’re sick or whatever.”
“Benevolent Yoichi strikes again,” he goads, smiling.
“Right, since being cooperative is impossible for you. I mean—“ he punches in a phone number with a furrowed brow, “—you manage with the team! After all these years, I mean!”
“This isn’t football,” Kaiser says shortly.
“If it’s not soccer, there’s no point in getting along and being nice?” Yoichi scoffs. “Well, it’s not like I expected anything else from Michael Kaiser…” The dial changes and he raises the phone to his ear, turning away to order soup.
As they wait for the food to arrive, Yoichi tasks himself with redoing Kaiser’s messy hair, all the while teasing him about his tired, imperfect appearance. Kaiser brings up Yoichi’s snoring and drooling as he puts together Yoichi’s late lunch. Yoichi doesn’t seem to care much. He can’t seem to get over looking at Kaiser without red makeup around his eyes. There’s something about being in his raw, haggard form that makes Kaiser’s skin crawl but he’s startlingly compliant sitting with Yoichi’s hands in his hair.
The truth is that Kaiser has survived. And, he’ll do it again. No amount of acrid salt rinses and Yoichi’s clumsy care will change that. His therapist likes to remind him of that as if he doesn’t know on some level. His therapist says a lot of things about the pains of his childhood and the trust in his adulthood. Sometimes, it’s in one ear and out the other. On occasion, however, he sits with a scowl and crossed arms.
Now, as Yoichi spills soup trying to blow on it, Kaiser’s arms are crossed. He’s never been more sure of anything than he is that Yoichi doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. But, Kaiser can’t help his apprehension because he’s thought that way before and ended up as the wounded fool. The only difference now is that Kaiser—watching Yoichi giggle over an off-handed comment by Kaiser—wishes that Yoichi would prove him wrong. He thinks, between the throb in his jaw and the erraticism of his heart, that Yoichi’s probably the only one who can settle his uneasiness.
Kaiser ruffles Yoichi’s hair as he takes the spoon to feed himself, hoping that he’s ready for the challenge.