Work Text:
[ High School ]
His first year of high school passes by without incident, filled with homework (that he doesn’t always do), lunch with his friends, afternoon activities with the music club, and exchanging letters with his dear brother who opted to study abroad in America.
His second year of high school, Riku’s life is turned upside down by a stoic boy who walks into the music club on the first day of meeting, declaring his intent to join in a serious voice, filled with determination.
As it turns out, he can sing, and Riku is taken.
Absolutely taken by this serious kouhai who rarely smiles, who arrives to activities exactly ten minutes before start, who Riku isn’t actually sure cares for him in the way he levels his cold gaze on Riku and chides him with “Nanase-san this” and “Nanase-san that” for a better part of the year.
Riku is contemplating his misfortune some months later, that one of the very few kouhais he regularly interacts would dislike him as such when he bumps into said kouhai, who merely looks startled.
“Ah, Iori! Sorry for not watching where I was going…” Riku trails off uncertainly, tugging at the collar of his shirt while shifting from foot to foot.
“You should really watch where you are going otherwise you pose a danger to others, Nanase-san,” Iori chides, as Riku expected, but continues. “Why are you in this area, Nanase-san, aren’t the second year classes on the floor above?”
“Oh...one of the advisors called me into her office to discuss my recent test scores...which weren’t great, and I might have to take make-up exams on the day of the musical performance if I don’t manage to do well on the next set of exams,” Riku rambles, letting his gaze drop as he feels his face flush with heat, perfectly aware that this could further ruin what he’s sure is Iori’s already not-so-fantastic opinion of him.
“...I’m sure I could help you study, or least assist you in improving your study habits,” Iori comments, and Riku straightens so fast he’s momentarily dizzy.
“Would you, really?” He sparkles at Iori, so delighted at the prospect of being able to spend time with the younger that he doesn’t notice the way Iori flusters as Riku catches his kouhai in a brief hug before practically sprinting up the stairs back to his own classroom.
Tutoring goes about as well as Riku figured. Iori is a strict teacher, even regulating Riku’s breaks during the time that they study together, and is meticulous in checking what he can, even if he doesn’t necessarily understand all the material Riku’s classes cover, and scolds Riku over all of his apparently dismal habits which had included sleeping in class and not always finishing his homework.
---
Riku bolts from his class the moment they’re dismissed, practically sliding down the stairs, and bounces outside of the first year classrooms, ambushing Iori as the younger walks out and proudly displays his passing test scores.
He’s graced with a gentle smile and Riku thinks that, just possibly, that is even better than the marks he’s just received.
---
His third year of high school, Riku is shocked speechless when his ever serious kouhai faces him with shaking hands and voice uncertain, so unlike their first meeting, and confesses to him.
When Riku doesn’t respond, isn’t able to respond right away, he takes note of how Iori’s shoulders draw tight and he begins to straighten, and Riku suddenly lurches forward as if the bonds holding him back had been cut all at once, and pulls Iori to him, crushing their mouths together in a messy kiss.
[In Between]
Riku’s graduation from high school brings less stress than Iori would have expected. As it turns out, Riku opts to attend a relatively local university to pursue an education in music and picks up posting videos of his musical ventures online, and Iori visits on weekends after he’s finished with cram school.
Often, Iori just heads straight to the practice rooms, a path he’s come to know, and if Iori were to be asked, he would likely admit he doesn’t know how to get anywhere around the area except the music building and Riku’s dorm.
And to Iori, he doesn’t need to get anywhere else, not when he can spend lazy Saturday afternoons sitting side by side, shoulder to shoulder, next to Riku at the piano, eyes closed and listening contently as soft melodies flow from the keys. When the piano occasionally stops, Iori turns his head to be met with gentle kisses, fingers fluttering down his arm to lace their fingers together just briefly before they return to the piano and Iori obliges, letting his voice melt with Riku’s.
---
November.
But as much as Iori would like these afternoons to never end, they become less frequent as his own school life picks up with impending examinations, for both school and university, until they stop altogether for a good two and a half months.
January.
The next time he manages to catch a train out to visit Riku, Iori doesn’t manage to do much more than let himself melt into the other’s arms, letting Riku’s soft murmuring wash over him until Iori is ready to slowly divulge what weighs on his mind.
“How were your exams?” Riku questions, still holding Iori’s slumped figure against him.
Iori closes his eyes, relishing in the feel of Riku’s shoulder under his cheek and the reverberations of Riku’s voice, “Alright. I’ve heard back from most that I tested for.”
“And?” Is the gentle prompting and Iori only turns his head further in against Riku until his nose is pressed against the base of Riku’s neck, taking note of how the other shivers at the light contact, “I have been accepted to Tohoku University…”
“Isn’t that a good thing…?” RIku trails off uncertainly, gently pulling Iori away from him so they’re facing each other, though Iori keeps his gaze averted.
“It is. Tohoku is currently ranked fifth in the country…”
“Wait really!? That’s really good Iori, you’re accepting their offer, right?”
“Tohoku University is in Miyagi, Nanase-san.”
“Oh...that’s...far—” is the hesitant reply, “But you’re accepting the offer, right?”
“Nanase-san, you’re upset,” Iori answers flatly as he finally turns to Riku, avoiding the question asked of him.
“I’m not upset! Yeah, I’ll miss you, but you’re the one not answering me,” Riku responds instantly, his voice edging towards the tone Iori recognizes as one of his least favorite combinations of upset and angry, “You can’t be thinking of me first anymore.”
And as the words leave Riku’s mouth, Iori feels a chill run through his body, mind running through the conversations he’d had with Riku in the time he was unable to visit, wondering if, where, anything had gone wrong, any indication that Riku had no intentions of keeping what they were, “Nanase-san, I—”
But before he can finish his train of thought or get his words out, Riku is suddenly the only thing Iori sees as he feels gentle hands pull his face up so he has no choice but to meet loving eyes. “Iori, don’t overthink this. There’s no way you can reject Tohoku University’s offer...Besides. We made it through these past couple of months, and there are other ways to stay in touch. It’ll be ok. Time is nothing, not when I have you in my heart.”
[College]
In the end, Iori is glad he accepts Tohoku’s offer. His classes are rigorous but the opportunities are plentiful, and he finds himself more often passing out once he hits his pillow at night rather than actually falling asleep, the library becoming the first place people check if they’re looking for him.
However, no matter how busy his schedule is, Riku discovers ways to worm his way into Iori’s daily life, whether it be brief text messages, littered with emoticons and often incoherent yelling about something that happened that day or such, or their weekly (sometimes more, sometimes less) calls.
Iori would never admit it, but he looks forward to Riku’s calls, relishing in the sound of the voice chirping hello as Iori picks up the call, and closes his eyes just to hear the inflections of Riku’s voice as the older cheerily describes everything that has happened in the time they last talked, with minimal input on Iori’s part. Sometimes Riku bothers Iori about this or that on a new song he had been working on— a counter-harmony here, awkward lyrics there— and those times present a different tone to Riku’s voice, serious and contemplative, and Iori would ever be able to choose one over the other.
Hearing Riku’s voice is one thing, but being able to see him, even through grainy webcam quality, is another. Often, they sit in silence over video call, Iori doing schoolwork or studying, Riku lost in a train of musical thought, but it brings some semblance of company, being able to see the other present, and when they bid each other goodnight, Riku presses his fingers against his lips, then to the screen, never having to prompt Iori to return in kind as Iori obliges willingly, as it is the best way for him to say he misses Riku without having to properly vocalise the emotion.
Occasionally, Iori falls asleep on Riku when they’re on call, and he wakes up to see an ended call, his laptop still open next to him, and an unread text message, containing a string of emoji with a brief good morning message, sent with the knowledge that Iori would check his phone upon waking. Iori never quite knows how to respond to these messages, quietly saving them to his phone before continuing with his usual morning routine, wondering how he can make it up to Riku despite knowing the other would protest this train of thought.
---
Iori steps off the train, accepting his brother’s hug easily as he lets the reality of his exam completion sink in, and that he’s finally returning home after his first session of university.
Within minutes of returning home, and dropping his bags off, Iori is already pulling his shoes back on, not having bothered with taking his coat off, and Mitsuki merely gives him a knowing smile, looping Iori’s scarf back around his neck properly.
“You didn’t tell him your exams were finishing a day early, did you?”
Iori shoots Mitsuki what he’s well aware is a failure of a withering glare, “Of course not, and you better not have either.”
He’s met with a dramatic eye-roll and a shove to the back as his older brother shoves him out of the store, “Who do you think I am? And don’t forget to be back by store closing— Mom wants to go out for dinner tonight!”
Iori addresses this with a brief nod before he’s rushing down the street, cutting corners and through well memorized passageways, only slowing as he walks up the stairway to a cozy apartment complex, and coming to a complete stop in front of door he’s come to know well.
He takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous, suddenly doubting his decision, and knocks before he can dwell on it further. He hears the pitter-patter of footsteps rapidly approaching and a pause as whoever behind the door checks the watchglass, only for the door to fly open, and Iori barely has times to put his arms out to catch Riku as the musician rushes out, straight at Iori, causing them both to stumble backwards into the wall of the hallway.
And Iori is overwhelmed, so lost in Riku’s arms looped tightly around Iori’s neck, red hair tickling Iori’s cheek, that Iori almost doesn’t catch the tears welling in wide eyes.
“Nanase-san,” he starts in panic, “I’m sorry— I should have warned you that I was stopping by, I—” but he’s cut off as Riku angrily wipes his tears away and pulls Iori down to press desperate kisses against his mouth and tell Iori off for trying to apologize while also attempting to express how much he’s missed Iori.
“...You still suck at kissing,” Is the only response Iori can formulate, but kisses Riku again anyway.
[ Future ]
“Nanase-san, breakfast is ready.”
Irritated grumbling noises are the only thing that drift out from the open bedroom door, and Iori gives a slight sigh, tugging off the apron that had been protecting his work clothes before walking down the short hall. The apartment is far from large, but it’s spacy enough for two, light and airy during the summer months and cozy enough when snow starts to fall.
He stops and leans against the doorframe, letting warmth from the sunlight filtering through the window seep through his clothes as he takes in the lump of blankets on the bed, tufts of red hair sticking out the only indicator that Riku is curled up inside.
“Nanase-san,” he tries again, though his voice is devoid of irritation, “It’s time to get up. Breakfast is ready and I have to leave soon.”
Riku makes a particular little whining noise before a hand slips out from the bundle and gestures in the general direction of Iori’s voice. Iori can’t help but smile, taking the few steps closer so that he’s sitting at the edge of the bed. When the hand grasps expectantly, having heard Iori’s footsteps, Iori caves, twining his fingers with those of the outstretched hand, his voice gentle as he tries once more, “Nanase-san, I have to leave soon…”
This time, the lump shuffles so what Iori presumes is Riku’s head and torso are settled on his lap and Iori sighs again, peeling back layers of blanket to find the stay-at-home Youtuber and musician squinting past the sudden bright light up at him. He gives a little laugh at the look on Riku’s face and the state of his hair, dropping a light kiss on Riku’s forehead before unceremoniously ripping the blankets off of Riku, who promptly protests by pressing his face into Iori’s stomach, arms looping around his waist but making a disgruntled noise when Iori’s belt digs into his face.
Iori pries Riku off of him, and this time Riku follows, albeit at a slower pace. When Iori returns to the stove to get a plate ready for Riku, he feels arms wrap around him from behind, feels a chin hook over his shoulder as Riku tiptoes, leaning against him contentedly. But before Iori can ask what Riku is doing, he feels the other grasp at Iori’s hands, thin fingers tracing along Iori’s knuckles and joints, running a light line down his wrist before returning to tangle their fingers together so Riku can pull their entwined hands up, pressing a kiss against the back of Iori’s hands, murmuring softly, “Your hands are really pretty, y’know.”
Iori flushes, struggling to shake Riku loose, caught between relief and disappointment when Riku relinquishes his hold willingly, “N-Nanase-san!? What brought that on— I was getting your breakfast ready—” he stammers out, and Riku shrugs, nudging Iori out of the way so he can serve himself breakfast.
“Felt like it...and go finish getting ready, you have to leave for work soon, right?”
And with that Riku starts humming, completely ignoring Iori and Iori blinks once, twice, at Riku before realizing he really does need to get ready lest he be late, which be setting a terrible example, considering he was the recently appointed manager at the law firm he worked at.
By the time Iori is back out and undoing the lock at the door, Riku is practically inhaling the plate of food before him, and Iori can’t help a disapproving frown. “Nanase-san...please don’t rush your meals like that….you might choke.”
Riku only responds with a pout before standing and walking over to Iori, tugging Iori’s tie into place, hands working to loosen and readjust the knot, and Iori finds himself holding his breath when he realizes just how close Riku is, how he can feel the brush of Riku’s knuckles against his neck, and wonders if he will ever get over this feeling of being rendered unable to speak or think.
When Riku finally takes a step back, Iori feels the breath he had been holding rush out, and Riku looks almost smug as he wishes Iori a good day at work when Iori is stepping out of the apartment. Taking in the expression on Riku’s face, Iori schools his own into one of neutral nonchalance as he turns back, pulling Riku towards him and deadpans, “I forgot something—” and kisses Riku before he’s walking out again.
The moment the door closes behind him, Iori staggers, leaning against the wall outside for support, one hand pressed against his face as he mutters, “What a cute person…”
---
Sometimes, a lot of the time, Iori finds himself working over time, and while neither he nor Riku enjoy it, it’s something he can’t avoid. As long as those who work under him are hard at work, buried in legal documents and reference materials, Iori can’t leave, and he wouldn’t even if he could, feeling an obligation, a responsibility to them all.
So he stays.
And gets a lot of text messages.
The work is not particularly hard, but it’s tedious and requires his concentration, only allowing him to send him brief replies every so often back to Riku, and when Iori works late nights, he’s somewhat relieved when Riku stops responding, because it generally means he’s distracted himself or gone to sleep.
So the one time Iori returns to find Riku asleep on the couch with the TV playing reruns of Magical Kokona in the background, and the AC still running, he can’t help but be overcome with worry. Worry that dispels any notion of exhaustion from every fibre of his being as he hovers over Riku, taking in the tremors that run through his boyfriend’s body and propels him to just short of a run to yank the comforter from their bed and return to cover Riku.
He crouches next to the sofa, watching with relief as the slight shaking comes to a stop before he stands again, this time heading to the kitchen to heat a mug of milk with honey, something he knows Riku is particularly fond of, no matter the occasion.
But Iori has to stop. Stop for just a moment, a mug with cat ears sticking from one side of the rim in one hand, the other stuck on the handle of the microwave door as the sight of the neatly made-up plate of food sitting in the appliance sinks in. And he can’t help the rush of affection that floods his chest as he pulls it out and sets about covering it while the mug heats.
He brings the warmed mug back to the living room, gently shaking Riku’s shoulder, and the other stirs, bringing a hand up from under the blanket to rub at his eyes, blinking a few times before a sleepy smile spreads across his face and Iori struggles to keep his composure as he leans down to press a kiss against Riku’s forehead before prompting Riku to sit up.
Riku complies willingly, reaching for the mug in Iori’s hands once he realizes its contents, mumbling about how it’s cold.
“Do you want another blanket? I know we have a couple more in the storage cabinet, or I can make you a proper mug of tea—”
“Iori,” Riku cuts Iori off, looking somewhere between fond and exasperated as he lifts one edge of the blanket, “Just come in with me.”
Iori promptly shuts his mouth, his brain taking a moment to catch up before he falls resolutely silent and slips onto the couch and under the edge of to blanket Riku has lifted. As soon as Iori is settled, Riku promptly shuffles so he’s curled up against Iori, his legs across Iori’s lap as he uses the younger of the two to keep himself sitting upright so he can sip at his drink contentedly.
They settle into comfortable silence, Iori idly watching Kokona over Riku’s head as Riku sets his empty mug down on the coffee table before settling back against Iori’s chest to join him in watching the old reruns. Iori lets his fingers comb gently through mussed strands of hair, listening for any further hitches in Riku’s breathing, and only shifting when he notices Riku beginning to doze off again.
“Nanase-san,” Iori murmurs against Riku’s hair, “let’s get your properly settled into bed.”
“Don’t wanna…” is the sleepy reply directed into Iori’s shirt, and Iori sighs, pressing gentle kisses down the side of Riku’s head and along his jaw when Riku tilts his head away in a vague attempt at getting Iori to leave him be. “Fine, fine,” he grumbles out, slipping out of Iori’s grasp, taking the comforter with him so it’s wrapped around him like a cloak, trudging to their bedroom and promptly falling face first into the bed, leaving Iori to sigh and tug Riku properly into place.
By the time Iori returns from getting ready for bed, Riku is sleeping peacefully, one hand curled lightly and outstretched to Iori’s side of the bed, and when Iori moves it out of the way so he can settle under the covers, the hand tightens around Iori’s, and the owner shifts in his sleep so he’s curled next to Iori, and Iori merely drapes his arm across the sleeping figure, tucking the head of red hair under his chin as his own eyes close and he promptly drifts off to sleep, in both exhaustion and comfort.
---
It’s times like this that Iori sometimes marvels at how far they’ve come, as individuals, and together.
Times like this, with Riku sitting cross-legged in front of Iori and Iori’s fingers gently parsing through Riku’s hair, washing it for Riku at the other’s insistence when they’re in the bath together. He takes note when Riku leans just a little further into his touch, when soft content noises slip from Riku’s lips, and the irritated grumble that follows when he’s hit with a sudden spray of warm water.
Times like this, when Iori is sitting at his desk, hunched over papers he’d brought home, becoming increasingly frustrated, and Riku comes to stand behind Iori. When Riku leans over to peer at Iori’s work before disappearing from his peripheral vision again, only for Iori to feel fingers lightly parting his hair at the back of his neck, for Iori to feel slight movement and a small breath before soft kisses are pressed against his exposed skin, causing him to set his pen down to close his eyes, taking in the gentle touches. Gentle touches that are followed by Riku slipping his arms around Iori, hugging him tightly with his forehead resting atop Iori’s head, quiet “I love you”s mumbled into his hair.
But there’s also times he feels fifteen again and overwhelmed by the living embodiment of the sun that greeted him with such enthusiasm in the music room, Iori had had no idea how to respond.
Times when Iori will be doing work or cooking, and Riku appears seemingly out of nowhere, hands settling on Iori’s waist from behind, and suddenly Riku’s lips trail from just behind Iori’s ear, down underside of his jaw, and following the slope of his neck to nip at the junction of his neck and shoulder and Iori can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine and the heat that spreads across his face.
“N-Nanase-san...what are you doing,” he questions, only to receive noncommittal hums as he feels shifting again so arms are wrapped around his waist.
The sudden “Your reactions are cute” murmured against his neck has Iori struggling to pull himself from Riku’s grasp, his face most definitely red. It has him turning in indignation only to be tugged closer so Riku can kiss Iori properly, stepping together until the edge of the counter is cutting into Iori’s back, and Iori can feel the press of Riku’s hand, his palm and every fingertip, through the material of his shirt.
Iori admittedly forgets about his previous task as Riku’s mouth gently works against his own, his mind going simultaneously blank while over-thinking as Riku’s fingers run along the edge of Iori’s belt and—
“Nanase-san...Nanase-san!— dinner— I was cooking dinner!”
And Riku bursts into peals of laughter as he doubles over in his amusement.
---
But things aren’t always happy and perfect. There are moments where Iori feels like his heart is on the brink of being torn to pieces, where he’s so overcome with thoughts so poisonous he can feel them bleeding into every happy memory and thought he possesses.
Realizations that there are better options Riku could have pursued, people that could have been making Riku happier, people who could be more present in their lover’s life, those who would know how to make their other half happy after being with them for almost a decade, and these realizations hurt physically pain him.
While he has always tended to internalize these wretched thoughts and feelings, sometimes he slips, and sometimes he regrets it.
“Why would you say that.”
Riku’s voice is flat, his eyes steely, his posture stiff.
“Because I hurt you. Because you could do so much better than me,” Iori tries so hard to keep his voice neutral, and yet, despite his best efforts, desperation seeps into his voice, and he has to clench his fists to fight when he feels his hands beginning to shake.
“Stop! Stop it! You don’t!” Riku’s voice escalates, in both anger and volume as he suddenly crossing the room to Iori, clutching at Iori’s shirt and crying into his neck, and Iori can only stand, frozen. “Don’t make it sound as though I made the wrong choice. I’ve never loved anyone but you, so please...please stop thinking like this.”
And Iori cracks.
Sinks to the floor as tears run down his face, gathering Riku in his arms, half using Riku to support himself, half clutching Riku to him, whispering sorry over and over, that no, he doesn’t want to think like this, and he only cries harder as he feels hands move to his back and arms hesitantly tightening around him where they stay for hours.
---
“Iori! Sing with me~” Riku crows, tugging at Iori’s hand as they do the evening’s dishes together, their friends having just left.
Iori sighs and slips his hand from Riku’s, picking up the dish that had been so carelessly abandoned, “I’d much rather listen to you, Nanase-san.”
Riku pouts but turns back to rinsing the dishes Iori hands him, mumbling, “But Iori, your voice is really nice too…”
And quieter, “I fell in love with your voice first, you know.”
Iori doesn’t manage to give a response, but the smile on Riku’s face says he understands.
---
Iori is twenty-four when he begins his plans and preparations.
Everything must be just so, and he goes through so many drafts, so many steps, Iori’s not sure he’s ever done something with such elaborate detailing. But to ensure everything is perfect, he would do it a thousand times over.
Iori is twenty-five when he steps through the door of the apartment he has called his home since he graduated from university, a slim box weighing heavily in his pocket.
“Nanase-san, I’m home. Are you ready to go, our reservation is at seven.”
“Hold on a sec, I’m almost ready,” a cheerful voice chirps from the bedroom, and not a minute later Riku bounces out and towards Iori, and Iori is taken aback as always by the contrast of Riku’s usual self, soft and comfortable to how he is like this, sleek in black and white.
Iori is twenty-five and his boyfriend is twenty-six when they walk through the elegant doors of one of the best restaurants in Tokyo.
Things don’t seem quite right, Iori hesitating when he thinks he recognizes someone, wondering if this will be what ruins almost nine months of careful planning. But he’s distracted when the waiter arrives, setting the menus in front of the two, voice smoothly detailing the specials to them, but Iori can only nod in response, not processing the reality of his plans falling into place.
Iori is twenty-five when he finally gathers the courage to propose to the only man he has ever loved.
But as Iori had thought, things are off. Things start shifting rapidly in the wrong direction, and Iori feels the beginnings of panic and dread settling into his stomach.
Their meal is delayed once, their waiter apologizing in terse tones. Riku is fidgety, glancing at his phone more often than he would normally, and Iori mind kicks into overdrive, wondering what could be wrong, what he could have possibly overlooked.
Iori is twenty-five when suddenly everything is moving too fast, their waiter appearing and suddenly gone with their half empty plates, and familiar faces are in his peripheral vision, and by the time he manages to gather enough of his wits to look towards Riku, his boyfriend of eight years is kneeling on one knee before him, a band of gold resting on the velvet bed of a box so similar to the one in his pocket.
And in the background, Iori registers that his brother is there, smiling. Riku’s brother is there, smirking. Their old friends and colleagues are there, waiting with bated breath while Riku’s proposal very nearly passes right over Iori’s head.
“Iori….Iori?” Riku’s voice calling his name forces him to focus again, staring numbly down at his hand clasped gently in Riku’s. “Iori...so...is that a no?” And then there’s a nervous smile filtering across Riku’s face and Iori can only pull Riku up so they’re both standing, pressing his forehead against the other’s, whispering back,
“Of course it’s a yes. It’ll always be yes, in this time or the next.”
---
Surprisingly, or not, very little changes.
Some shitty romance drama is flickering on the TV, and Iori is settled comfortably into the corner of the sofa, Riku tucked into his side, gaze fixed on the screen, and the only sound besides the dramatic proclamations from the actors is their quiet breathing in the still of the night.
Iori watches, with some strange sense of deja vu, and before he can fully process it himself—
“Iori, are you crying?”
“....N..No,” Iori murmurs, and he’s met with Riku’s soft laughter and gentle hands brushing his tears away, and Iori merely closes his eyes, leaning just a bit into Riku’s touch. Because no matter how much time has passed, Iori thinks that even if nothing changed, or even if his world did a complete 180, it would all be irrelevant, so long as he could stay like this, at Riku’s side through time.