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Kazuma received Naruhodo’s letter two months after Naruhodo had written it and read it in an April afternoon in his rented room; the air slightly damp from the season’s natural tendencies. In the parchment, it detailed the usual: greetings, how he’d been, what he’d been doing, and the little things one would only find in the crevices of one’s heart — that was, if they were looking for it, anyway. Otherwise, they’d sit there, slowly collecting dust, hidden in the shadows of a place you know by the back of your palm that you’d fool yourself into thinking there was nothing else to be discovered. It was from the way Naruhodo chose his words that Kazuma believed this was the case.
It was only until now, as I pen this, that I realised I must’ve been feeling the same type of misplacement all those years ago — when I thought I had lost you, and was desperately trying to thread everything together. I know that you’re alive, Asogi — and I still can’t wrap my head around something that’s borderline miraculous, but nevertheless, I find myself missing you.
At first, I thought to myself: “it’s only a matter of distance, isn’t it?” But, as much as that’s true, several facts can coincide with each other: it’s a matter of distance and of the heart.
Kazuma could make out a smudge on the paper’s margins — an imprint of Naruhodo’s hand as he reached out to dip his pen into his ink bottle, only for his palm to stain, Kazuma could imagine. He ran a thumb against the proof that sometimes things never change. A matter of distance and of the heart. Kazuma read again — let the words echo in his mind a little long after he was done, trying to turn them over in his hand like they were tangible.
For one, I can’t help but be aware of the eventual gap that’ll be between us once I send out a seasonal letter to you. Or perhaps, whenever I finish writing out a reply, I’ll always worry that it might not reach you at the moment you need it the most or perhaps forget about it. I know that these are surface level worries, but I have them, anyway.
Second, there’s only so much you could do with these parchments; I could never see the way your lips curl around syllables, for instance. And if you choose to close your heart, even if it’s obvious it pains you, I could never reach into you and pull what’s been causing that hurt.
Naruhodo admits it himself in the next line: It’s a selfish desire. And yet, despite it all, I can’t help but only feel more drawn to it.
Kazuma traced a finger across the slightly blotched starting line of Naruhodo’s kanji:「心.」With Naruhodo’s penmanship, Kazuma could argue that its state added more depth to his letter than if he were to write it neatly; a thing enclosed with a too-thick roof with its insides looking like it’s slightly spilling over. Kazuma let out a laugh — yes, an unintentional reflection of the author. Maybe his letters did the same to him, and what was on the parchment was simply the rawest, most undiluted form of him he didn’t know he could be.
He wondered if Naruhodo thought about his correspondence the same way he did — tried to trace his words the same way Kazuma did with the thought that if he did it enough, then the action would sear the other’s presence in him. Perhaps even try to hold the parchment for as long or as frequently as he could out of the same desire that drove Kazuma to trace over Naruhodo’s penmanship time and time again, having its contents memorised by the time the next one arrives.
Kazuma did the same with this one as well: Naruhodo had asked him how his recent case was, and how the rest of his London friends were doing. Kazuma wrote, Thankfully, we weeded out the true perpetrator. I still don’t know how you managed with Sholmes-san crawling about on the crime scenes during your stay, so for him, I say that he’s in good health. The same statement applies to the rest of them. Spring has that effect, perhaps. Even the dullest of men like Lord van Zieks are glowing.
In Japan, Naruhodo’s life as an upcoming lawyer is both exhilarating and a handful, though the past few months have slowed down in the office — I can’t stress this more than enough, but I’m extremely grateful that Susato-san is with me. What Kazuma enjoyed about poring over Naruhodo’s letters was that the more he did so, the more there were patterns he uncovered; the slump in clients Naruhodo’s office experienced every once in a while and Susato’s regular enthusiasm, for instance.
If Kauma could ignore the date in the corner, then he could make himself believe he was right there beside Naruhodo, experiencing ennui, frustration, and joy beneath Japan’s clear skies. He was glad that England and Japan’s weather hemisphere’s were similar because as Naruhodo wrote about the blossoming sakura, Kazuma could look to the nearby park and understand that spring has, indeed, come. And in line with blossoming, Naruhodo had written about how his recent case had concluded — something about a theft that unfurled into something bigger.
My defendant was declared “not guilty”, which I’m thankful for, but they should really stop fooling me and the prosecution into thinking that it would be a so-called simple case. Kazuma laughed at that when he read it at first and continued to laugh whenever he thought of it. Naruhodo might wear a look similar to the one he had on him whenever exam seasons were over, and he would go to a restaurant nearby with Susato and his client, if it called for it.
That was what Kazuma imagined — working from the threadings he remembered from a time both vivid and illusive. Maybe things were different now, and Naruhodo opted to go back to the office straight away to catch some rest, and the restaurants were reserved for Susato and any of his friends nearby instead. Not that Kazuma could notice from the sea separating them.
The more Kazuma thought about it, the more in line Naruhodo and him seem to be these days; Kazuma sending a letter to him talking about peculiarities only for Naruhodo to reply that he was planning on writing about the same subjects as him. The only difference in this parchment was that Kazuma didn’t write about their distance, and Naruhodo seemed to have got to that subject before he did. A part of Kazuma considered this and concluded that they were perhaps, standing next to each other now.
But, the one thing in Naruhodo’s letter that Kazuma traced over the most was the paragraph right after his theory:
It’s fitting for me to think about this, now that I’m here because what I wanted to tell you was that I’m getting busier by the day. With what, exactly? I’ll only say that the physical distance between us will shorten any moment now. Perhaps you should wait for me at the dock in early May, partner.
Kazuma wasn’t the one who would normally do this, and yet he kept the folded parchment in his coin pouch for the sake of feeling Naruhodo’s presence everywhere he went. The parchment weighed little to nothing, yes, but Kazuma made it a point to do so. He had heard about a tradition within British couples once — where the couple exchanged keepsakes of the other; a locket with a portrait of the lover with a lock of hair hidden within the brooch for the sake of remembrance and so on.
Perhaps he had the same sentiment when he did so with Naruhodo’s letter. And, here was another sentiment that occurred to him these days — yes, he wished Naruhodo did the same with his responses. It was his decision on whether he should disclose it to Naruhodo in his next one. Though, Kazuma had a feeling it might show in his penmanship or on his face once Naruhodo saw him, like that ever so smudged「心」 Naruhodo wrote.
Spring was still in full swing when April drew to a close and the beginnings of May came into the picture. Towards the latter half of April, Kazuma had been busy with van Zieks’ busywork — going through documents, running from place to place and so on. Nothing much changed in his schedule save for a new routine he picked up once May came around — that was, going to the dock, waiting for a while and people watching the groups that came and went in the morning. By the time the third came around, he recognised groups of sailors hauling cargo through their uniform alone.
“Did you go to the sea today?” van Zieks said, one day after Kazuma had been doing his routine for a while. Kazuma had just received the materials he was supposed to go through for the day.
“Yes. Why so?”
“The scent’s been wearing off on you,” van Zieks continued. “In fact, I have been wondering why on earth the ocean has been following you every time you come into my office.”
“I didn’t take a quick dive, mind.” Kazuma huffed.
“No, of course not,” van Zieks shook his head. “Though, it makes me wonder why wait there, when you can very well note the arrival of the next ship.”
Kazuma kept his mouth shut at this. He said nothing of note to van Zieks, and yet he had already assumed that he was waiting for someone. By the time Kazuma sat at his desk and organised the papers, he looked down at himself. The places you often wait at always stick to you. So, maybe he took a bit of the ocean’s salty breeze as he combed through the crowd with his eyes; a fruitless, yet sentimental task. There was a time, once, where he wondered whether time could slow down to the point he could look away from a flower still in bloom and come back to its closed bud. It was now that Kazuma concluded that it, indeed, can.
Then again, van Zieks was right — why go there, when Kazuma could easily do as he suggested? Kazuma tried to peer in his own heart at this; tried to imagine Naruhodo’s steady gaze as he picked him apart, bit by bit, using the already exposed cracks on Kazuma’s self to get a lead. Though, by the end, Kazuma was only left with loose thread and a restless heart. If he were to write to Naruhodo about this and never send the parchment, would that help? Kazuma’s hand stilled at this; he was around halfway done filing through the documents when that thought occurred to him.
Perhaps.
By the time the day came to a close, it was only when Kazuma opened his coin pouch to pay the cabman that he remembered his own theory he had yet to test. Folded against the cheap leather insides of the pouch, sat Naruhodo’s letter — a handful of lines from it staring back at him. When Kazuma handed the driver his pay, his eyes were still on the paper. The night drew itself out.
Kazuma thanked the cabman on the way out when he got off the carriage, creaking the door open to his residences. It was a while until he got to his room, having to climb a handful of flights before finally settling on the floor where it was. Once he stopped before his door, he got his keys and unlocked his room with a click, shutting the door behind him once he entered. From the lack of light, the night seemed to bleed over into his lodgings, dying it a moonlit black as it found its way into the floor’s planks. It was easy to sink into the night like this, but Kazuma still had something to do. He took off his cap and jacket and hung them on the hanger nearby.
Today, he took a bit of the sea and the wet pavement with him. Luckily, he was in van Zieks’ office when it rained, so the damage wasn’t bad, but he had a feeling that one day, he’d get caught in it. These days, his mind frequented elsewhere rather than the present to the point he had forgotten to bring his umbrella amid spring’s sporadic rains. Kazuma lit up the gas lamp on the drawer near the entrance. Although the light was dim, it still dyed the room with a greenish hue; a colour reminiscent of all the times Kazuma and Naruhodo walked home after a long day of classes — University Street paving their path for a while until they reached Naruhodo’s lodgings.
Kazuma brought the lamp with him to his desk, still unruly from all the times he simply went to his bed and nothing more once he went home. Shifting a bit of the papers to the side, he put down the lamp, took a piece of parchment and his fountain pen. To look into one’s own heart without remembering that it’s yours. He let his pen’s nib dye the parchment.
By the time his hand got tired, Kazuma only remembered bits and pieces of what he had written, no longer caring too much about the ink on the underside of his hand. What he had written? Something like loose threads once more, but rather than them lying around in his mind, he had pulled them out and let them sprawl across the paper. Kazuma took his letter in hand and looked into the aftermath, eyes tired and a yawn forcing its way out of him.
「寂しい.」
「寂.」
He looked awfully like that character now, didn’t he? As he sat at his desk, holding the parchment up, with a roof before him. Kazuma put the paper down and let out a dry laugh.
It’s a fragment — that’s what it is; a trailing bough that hinted at the wholeness of something else to him and Naruhodo. At least, if Kazuma ever sent it. Naruhodo would probably know — no, rather, he would. Because even if Kazuma hid a part of himself for so long, Naruhodo still stood before a crack on his fragile self, and it was only a matter of time that Kazuma would pull out his core and show Naruhodo with trembling hands he tried so desperately to steady.
Kazuma rested his head on his desk and closed his eyes. He thought of his youth's persistence, even after all of this time — thought about the very same action he planned to do before the world pulled him away.
And yet, despite it all, Naruhodo managed to pull out his core without him doing so first.
For a moment, he let tiredness seep into his bones just a bit.
In the first week of May, Kazuma learned many things about himself.
While he already knew this about himself, he was awfully persistent, even with fruitless tasks. In the beginning, he felt no emotion of note when he saw families reuniting — only thought about 221B and the blurry visage of Naruhodo in his mind’s eye. He felt the beginnings of loneliness, yes, but it never deepened into something more. Though, with couples, he couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of bitterness. When it came to Naruhodo, their relationship wasn’t romantic, and yet Kazuma still felt his heart squeeze at the pressure of jealousy whenever he saw such scenes in the morning.
He wasn’t sure at what he was jealous of, precisely, but nevertheless, Kazuma still felt it. He knew he could easily ignore them with a quick glance to the side, but their presence gnawed at him. Kazuma let out a huff as he leaned on a street lamp, crossing his arms. Maybe, deep down in a place he has yet to know, he knew the reason.
Time slowed and slowed.
From a distance, a ship’s horn echoed through the docks — the sound large and hollow; another departure, another goodbye. He thought about the rising sun as he watched Susato and Naruhodo wave from the ship’s dock above all those ages ago, their figures slowly getting smaller as the ship sailed further; the curved distance of the earth, and the sea’s salt.
It was for a brief moment, but as Kazuma watched them sail away, he thought their visages were about to wisp away into the sky as well, all blurred and fragmented. When Kazuma blinked, that was when he noticed the wetness trailing down his cheek. Cold wind brushed against his hair as something swelled abloom in his heart; this what was it meant to know farewells by its beginnings.
To think that the same fundamentals applied to reunions was only natural.
Kazuma reached this conclusion by the time the second week came around.
“Runo!” Ms Wilson’s voice rang throughout the pier. At least, from where he stood. Kazuma had a bit of distance from the rest of 221B and company, acting as if he didn’t integrate waiting into his daily schedule beforehand. Ms Wilson had already run up to Susato and Naruhodo when he mustered up a bit of courage to get nearer, watching both of them exchange smiles and greetings to their friends. Even from where Kazuma was at, Naruhodo still shone, now wearing that turquoise suit as opposed to his school uniform. It still astounded Kazuma how many connections Naruhodo made from the small time he spent in Britain. Then again, knowing Naruhodo, it only made sense; he had a natural charm to him, after all.
And then, Naruhodo’s gaze slipped into the gap in between Mr Sholmes and Investigator Lestrade, where Kazuma stood, his smile faltering to a look of surprise, before melting back into genuine joy; Kazuma knew that face.
Naruhodo was already closing the gap between them before Kazuma had the chance to greet him first, weaving a path towards him as Mr Sholmes and Investigator Lestrade stepped back.
“… Asogi,” Naruhodo said, breathless. Now that Kazuma could see Naruhodo from up close, it was then that he noted the gloss shining in his eyes. Kazuma smiled.
“Welcome back, partner.” There was a sense of warmth fluttering in Kazuma’s stomach once the words left him.
For a moment, they both just stood there, trying to let the fact that they were within each other’s grasp once more settle in.
Yes — here was Naruhodo before him, affixed on a busy crowd; a man whose presence only lived through Kazuma’s coin pouch, collected letters and in the shadows of Kazuma’s wishes until now. With Naruhodo here, Kazuma could so easily ask him to stay.
“You’ve… received my letter, by now, haven't you?” Naruhodo started, rubbing the back of his nape.
“Of course. A month earlier, in fact.” Kazuma crossed his arms. “How long do you have until you go?”
“Two months. Ah — it’s a long story. I must’ve forgotten to write about it in detail since it was getting late.”
“Yes, you’re the one who always enjoys keeping me in suspense.” Kazuma shook his head and Naruhodo only smiled, sheepish. “From the way you’ve written your letter, I could’ve easily assumed you’re only visiting to see me.”
“Well, that’s a part of my itinerary, yes. Are you disappointed, perhaps?”
Kazuma blinked. “… You’ve sharpened your tongue quite a lot in these past years.” And he knew very well.
“It’s only natural.”
“Nevertheless, that’s more than enough time to take advantage of, no?”
Before Naruhodo could respond, Mr Sholmes’ voice rang out. “My dear fellows! What’re you two standing there for? Time is ticking for us to feast!”
They both looked towards the rest and exchanged a look.
“You’re not busy, are you?” Naruhodo asked.
“Why would I be?” Naruhodo didn’t need to know that Kazuma had perhaps rushed his job today, so Kazuma chose to say nothing.
While Kazuma rarely frequented 221B save for instances when the time called for it, he could tell that Ms Wilson’s menu for today was exceptionally extraordinary. Either Susato or Naruhodo had perhaps told her about his dish-aversions because despite the main dish being turkey, there were a handful of beef-oriented dishes Kazuma could enjoy — sukiyaki, for instance. When Kazuma commented about it to Susato, she only smiled, covering her mouth.
“Oh, yes.” Susato said. “I took the chance to pass on the recipe in advance before we got here — for tradition's sake.”
“That explains a lot, doesn’t it?” Kazuma let the joy tug on the corners of his lips. He had almost forgotten the sheer warmth that overcame him whenever he gathered with the people closest to him; the occasions separated by both time and distance. At some point, Sholmes had picked up his violin and played a (slightly out of tune) song as the room’s liveliness seem to bloom further despite the food whittling away. In the back of Kazuma’s mind, he imagined that if he were to close his eyes, then he would be within a fading picture’s memory.
“Are you going out for a bit, Asogi?” Naruhodo asked once Kazuma picked up his hat. It was around when the festivities were dying down and Ms Wilson had started on cleaning up the table that he did so.
Kazuma nodded. “Are you coming with me?”
“Certainly.”
And so, with Naruhodo informing the rest, they went out to stand beneath the shade of 221B’s roof. Once outside, Kazuma pulled out a box of cigarettes and a matchbox.
“Want one?” Kazuma said as he motioned to Naruhodo, a stick already in between his lips.
“Oh, no thank you.” Naruhodo slightly paled.
Kazuma smiled. “Never got over the other day, did you?” It was one time, in University Street, that Kazuma let Naruhodo take a hit of his cigarette after they dined. Kazuma still laughed to himself whenever he remembered the sheer look on Naruhodo’s face once he got a taste of it.
“I can’t seem to wrap my head around how you could enjoy such a thing.”
Kazuma laughed and struck a matchstick aflame. “Fair enough.” He lit the cigarette’s end, taking a long drag before he let out a huff of smoke. From the corner of Kazuma’s eye, he could see Naruhodo’s gaze linger for just a bit longer. “How’s Britain?” He leaned against the building’s pillar.
Naruhodo blinked. “I’ve only got here just a handful of hours ago, you know?”
“How’s coming back home, then?”
Naruhodo paused, before finally, “It feels good.”
Kazuma hummed and put his cigarette in his mouth once more. Naruhodo never really commented or refuted that, did he? Then again, Kazuma did the same when he let the words out of him; a choice made of baseless reason. ‘Home.’
“Though, it’s a bit of a shame I can’t stay longer,” Naruhodo said and rubbed his nape. “I just need to do what was given to me and go.”
“And that’s?”
“An international case. They need me for some documents and assistance.”
“No wonder.” Kazuma let his cigarette’s ashes fall onto the pavement. “That means you’ll still be busy, no?”
“I think I can squeeze in a bit of time; go sightseeing again — spend some time with you.”
“With me in particular?” Kazuma gave Naruhodo a look. He didn’t want to admit the slight squeeze in his chest when Naruhodo said that. “Why not 221B? Or anyone else?”
“… I’ve told you in my letter, haven’t I?” And now, Naruhodo shared the same space as Kazuma, moving closer to him; leaning on the surface just next to where Kazuma was. “Or did you perhaps forget?”
Kazuma had a feeling Naruhodo was in pursuit now. “Of course, not.” He gazed at Naruhodo.
“Thank goodness, then.” Naruhodo let out a laugh and took a step back. Kazuma’s heart slightly dropped. “I didn’t want to repeat myself there — I can’t believe I really wrote that.”
“Then, why’d you send it to me?” Kazuma huffed and lightly kicked Naruhodo’s shin. “Do you have a penchant for muddying your dignity?”
“No, no! It’s just that — looking back at it, it really was shameless, wasn’t it?”
“In what way?”
Naruhodo sucked in a breath and ran his hands through his hair. “If I tell you this in broad daylight, I might not let myself live another day…”
Kazuma huffed a laugh and shook his head, taking in another drag of his cigarette. He drifted his eyes to the pavement. “… If it ever eases your worries, what would you do if I said I felt the same?”
“… Pardon?”
“‘Oddo, Kaz! Just droppin’ by telling you two that I’m going to the Yard for a quick job.”
Kazuma looked up to see Investigator Lestrade waving at them, stopping Kazuma from delving deeper in the opening he created.
“… I didn’t interrupt anyfin’ important, did I?”
“N-no, not at all!” Naruhodo straightened his posture before he cleared his throat. “Though, it would’ve been nicer if you would come later…”
“Ah, oh well.” Investigator Lestrade tipped her cap. “That’s wot it is, I think. Anyhow, you two have a lot more time to yourselves now, so…”
“I suppose,” Kazuma said. “Take care, Investigator.”
“Right back at ya, Kaz.” With that, Investigator Lestrade left.
Naruhodo and Kazuma both stood there for a moment, staring at the space Investigator Lestrade left. Naruhodo let out a sigh as Kazuma took in another drag.
“… I think it’s about time I get back to the others.”
Kazuma looked at Naruhodo. “You’re staying here for the night, no?”
Naruhodo nodded. “Do you have any arrangements after this?”
Kazuma has always been a bit opportunistic, he supposed. And his days keep on getting busier. He dropped his cigarette on the pavement and put it out with his sole. “None.”
Naruhodo had brought up the idea of getting brunch together during the first few days when he had arrived in Britain. “For old time’s sake, you know,” Naruhodo said, on a slightly sunny day in Kazuma’s lodgings. It was around after Naruhodo had asked spontaneously that he’d give him a tour.
Kazuma was about to mention the lack of other parties before he stopped himself again. No, he knew this well — Naruhodo wanted to spare a bit of time with Kazuma and him only. It seemed that once Kazuma picked up that routine, it was a little while until he realised that it essentially replaced his own fruitless endeavours (that he still won’t confess to). Perhaps he brought the scent of freshly brewed coffee along with bread to van Zieks’ office now. Though, van Zieks never commented on it.
With Naruhodo within arm’s reach, Kazuma now spent his early mornings seated across from him; legs brushing against Naruhodo’s beneath a coffeehouse’s table. The establishments they frequented shifted from time to time — sometimes, it was Naruhodo’s favourite spots, while during other days, it was Kazuma’s instead. As the days went by with their new routine, Kazuma noted that the places Naruhodo often brought him to were the ones where if you walked quicker than usual, you’d miss it; a quick stop at a food stand, if it ever called for it occasionally, even.
There was a pattern in the dishes Kazuma ordered: coffee, bread and the occasional bag of peanuts. Naruhodo, however, mostly stuck to the food stands’ menus — apple fritters in particular; a persistent sweet tooth. Every time Naruhodo ordered one of those, with the powdered sugar in particular, it seemed that he had to restrain himself from reaching out and cleaning the side of Naruhodo’s lips at the stuck condiment. Though, Kazuma never had the chance to do so, really, because Naruhodo always seemed to clean up after himself — catching the sugar with a thumb and licking it up. If Kazuma were to let go of his table manners for a moment, he wondered if Naruhodo would do the same to the crumbs stuck on the corners of his lips.
Knowing the general atmosphere of coffeehouses and the time of day, it was only natural for the air to seem as if it were lulling for its patrons to sleep. It was an amusing observation that, despite the influx of caffeine, there were still patrons that looked like they were on the verge of slumping over. When Kazuma pointed this out to Naruhodo, he laughed, saying something about how he probably looked like that to the old man whose ramen stand he frequented. There was a time where Kazuma thought that once the subject of his restlessness came to him, then perhaps he would be more sound of mind. It was now that he realised he was wrong because even so, he never remedied his bad habit of forgetting his umbrella.
Naruhodo and him never got stuck in the rain before because of it, but today, the inevitable seemed to make itself known.
Kazuma should’ve got the hint about the weather when he looked up at the suddenly overcast sky — already close to his destination, but too far to go back to his lodgings and make it in time for brunch. It should be fine to continue onwards, no? Kazuma thought to himself and held down his cap, walking further. Once he got to 221B’s doorstep, he knocked and waited for a while. From inside the building, he could make out muffled cries of some kind.
“Mr Sholmes! I could go get it instead!”
“Oh, no, my dear fellow, I’m nearer here, you see.”
Eventually, the door swung open to, as Kazuma expected, Mr Sholmes. “Well, good morning to you, Prosecutor Asogi!”
“Good morning, Mr Sholmes.” Kazuma’s gaze shifted to the side to see a slightly out of breath Naruhodo staggering to the doorstep; he seemed to be a fan of that turquoise suit these days. “And hello to you, partner.”
“… Asogi.” Naruhodo gasped out. “Mr Sholmes, this is my meeting for today, so could you kindly move over?”
“Very well, very well.” Mr Sholmes sang, doing as Naruhodo requested with a bow.
“Did you perhaps fall on your behind when you got up today?” Kazuma gave Naruhodo a long look. While Naruhodo’s hair was normally messy, it wasn’t as mussed as it was today.
“No, of course not.” Naruhodo leaned on the doorframe, a trail of sweat still dripping down his face.
“Runo! You almost forgot this!” Ms Wilson’s voice rang out from inside the room as her tiny figure ran up next to Naruhodo, an umbrella in hand. At the sight of the item, Kazuma let out an internal sigh of relief. “Hello, Kazzie!”
“Hello, Ms Wilson.” Kazuma took off his cap and gave her a bow.
Naruhodo turned to his side, face lighting up once he saw what she held. “Iris! Thank goodness you reminded me.” He took her umbrella in hand.
“Yes, with you waking up only a handful of hours before brunch, forgetfulness is bound to happen.”
Kauma looked at Naruhodo, and Naruhodo cleared his throat.
“W-well, anyhow, let’s get going, shall we?” Naruhodo managed.
Once they said their goodbyes to Ms Wilson and the door shut behind them, Kazuma let out a laugh.
“… What?”
“Some things never change, do they?”
Naruhodo let out a noise of some kind. From the corner of Kazuma’s eye, his face reddened. Despite the overcast sky, the weather never seemed to influence 221B’s liveliness. It’ll clear up any time, now. Kazuma thought as they went their way.
Unfortunately for Kazuma’s sentimentality, the weather only seemed to worsen from there; the overcast sky shifting to a light drizzle.
“Ack!” Naruhodo jumped before looking up. They were at one of the apple fritter stands when the change happened, waiting for Naruhodo’s order. This time around, they were on their way to one of Kazuma’s recommendations. “It’s raining?”
“Just a bit.” Kazuma glanced at the sky’s pitter-patter; the sense of water droplets now sinking into his cap and his shoulders.
The apple fritter stand’s shade was only slight, but Naruhodo still tried to fit his figure beneath the shadow. Kazuma let out a laugh.
“You have a perfectly working umbrella there, don’t you?”
“It’s a bit of an exaggeration to do such a thing when the rain’s this light…”
Luckily, they went into the coffeehouse right before the weather worsened, walking down the stairs to the entrance as drizzle came down. Though, Kazuma wondered if they should’ve gone that route because rather than the light thrums of rain, a muffled crackle of thunder bore down on the roof by the time they sat down. The sleepy atmosphere was there, yes, but the establishment now housed more people than on the regular; all similarly drenched in one way or another. Kazuma gave the room a long look as he waited for his order — another coffee and buttered bread.
With the new darkness of the room, every corner looked gloomier than usual. Despite the warmth from the kitchen circuiting through the air, it never helped the growing coldness that seeped into the air. Kazuma leaned back against his chair and gazed at his still drying cap, fighting back an urge to sigh.
“Well, if it’s anything, at least we have this.” Naruhodo picked up his umbrella that hung on his chair.
“Send my regards to Ms Wilson for her wonderful foresight again.”
“… Did you not bring your own umbrella, Asogi?”
Kazuma said nothing. In response to his silence, Naruhodo gaped.
“But — “
“ — If I were late, I wouldn’t let myself get over it.”
Naruhodo shut his mouth and sunk back into his seat. In the corner of Kazuma’s eye, he could see him about to work a word out of him, only for his persistence to die down. Before the silence could draw itself out between them, a waiter already approached their table, orders balanced on a tray.
“Your orders, sirs.” The waiter placed down two cups of coffee and a plate of buttered bread. Kazuma thanked them, the waiter bowing before moving onto the next set of customers.
Naruhodo rubbed his nape as he, as per usual, drank up his cup in one go; a sugar monstrosity (in Kazuma’s eyes) that he specifically requested, still steaming. Kazuma only picked up his cup and blew at it. By the time Kazuma was putting his cup to his lips, Naruhodo already finished; his face scrunched up a bit as he went to his apple fritters.
“Burnt your tongue?”
“… Yes.”
Kazuma was glad for his cup covering his mouth. Despite it all, Naruhodo must’ve noticed the beginnings of his smile, slightly hidden behind the porcelain. Kazuma knew this because of the hint of entrancement in Naruhodo’s gaze, and his slight pause. It was interesting, he thought to himself, that Naruhodo’s eyes still glimmered despite the little light in the coffeehouse. Kazuma wanted that pause and look to mean more than something surface level — something he remembered wishing every so often in their mundane lunches back in Japan as well.
This was what it meant to pray, he supposed — to try and cling onto an idea as long as you could until the sheer force of your want would materalise into something more; more than the warmth of his palms pressed together and the furrow in his brow. A dusty memory returned to Kazuma in that coffeehouse — or perhaps, two fragments of a similar one. It was his first Hatsumode without his father and his last before his supposed study tour. In the blurry coldness of the temple shrine his family frequented, he had looked down at his hands and felt his desires pulse in the wrinkles of his palms.
“Do you think we should wait it out until the skies clear?” Naruhodo asked, giving the exit a weary glance. It was around this time that the frequency of thunder rumbles lessened. As it was a free day for Naruhodo, he had scheduled his afternoon for some errand running along with Susato. Though, with the current weather, it seemed that Naruhodo might meet with her later than he planned.
Kazuma considered this. He was alone with Naruhodo right now, but…
“Staying and leaving both amount to the same risk.” Kazuma got up and put his cap on. “If we manage to hail a carriage earlier, though, then we could do so safely,” he said. “We have your umbrella, no? Surely it could withstand the weather enough.” Plus, with the thunder lessening, it could only be assumed that the skies lightened up.
That was what Kazuma assumed, at least.
The few steps out the shop was fine, until it was not. One would be a fool to underestimate the sheer strength of the wind that hit them because it almost neck snapping. As Naruhodo tried to open his umbrella, Kazuma held onto his cap in time before it flew away — almost recoiling back at the rain’s force.
“Asogi!” Naruhodo called, voice almost getting drowned out by the weather. Kazuma turned to him and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him, open umbrella now in hand; he ducked under the shade of Naruhodo’s umbrella.
“I once again request for you to send my regards to Ms Wilson.” Kazuma adjusted his cap as they slowly made their way to a street where hailing carriages was easier.
It was a slow journey considering the wind’s strength, but eventually, once they saw an approaching carriage, Kazuma signalled to the cabman, only for him to drive past them, drenching them with a splash of rain water.
Kazuma cursed under his breath and pulled the stem of Naruhodo’s umbrella closer to him.
“A-Asogi, I don’t think this would work.” Naruhodo managed before he sneezed into his sleeve. “… Sorry about that.”
“You just need to have a little bit of patience, partner.” Kazuma glared at the already occupied carriages as they drove past them — the sounds of hooves galloping away.
“But, if we stay longer in this weather, I think it would be worse — ?!”
There was a whoosh and a clean snap of something.
When Kazuma looked up in horror at his temporary shelter’s state, the rain was already battering him.
“Naruhodo…!”
“Oh, goodness, Iris-chan, I’m so sorry!”
“What’re you doing apologising to a person not even here?!” Kazuma grabbed Naruhodo’s collar and dragged him to the nearest shade.
“I just can’t help it!”
For the next few moments, they stood there, clothes uncomfortably wet and sticking to their skin more than they should be. As Naruhodo cradled his broken umbrella, still treating it like a dead animal, Kazuma got an idea.
“… If we run, then perhaps we could get to my lodgings quicker on foot rather than by carriage.” Kazuma crossed his arms and stared at the ground.
“What’re you suggesting?”
Kazuma looked at Naruhodo. “A carriage won’t be coming soon, no?”
“A-Asogi?”
They should’ve stayed longer at the coffeehouse, really, but a sort of mischievous spirit took over Kazuma that afternoon; a type of instinct in him he hadn’t felt for a while to simply walk out into the open sky and let himself take the risk. He presumed he had an impish smile on his lips from the way the same, odd joy tugged at the corners of his mouth, and the look of bewilderment that Naruhodo had.
From the shade, Kazuma stepped out into the open and let the rain fall, and fall. And a part of him says that he’ll regret that later, but Naruhodo’s eyes were on him now — mouth agape.
“I won’t be waiting for you, partner.” Then, Kazuma turned his heel and ran.
“Hold on!”
From a distance, Naruhodo’s voice cried out. A pair of running footsteps now followed Kazuma as he dashed his way back home. A droplet of rain fell onto his eyelash, only for Kazuma to blink it away — rubbing his vision clear with a forearm. It was a mix of his activities and the same spirit that lit the fire in his lungs and let it crawl up his throat to bloom into laughter. Kazuma’s clothes weighed on him, but the sense never stopped his steps from feeling lighter than ever. He could hear Naruhodo half-complain from behind him, voice drowned out by the weather’s battering, giving Kazuma only the shadow of his words.
“I can’t hear you!”
“You’re mad!”
From an outsider’s perspective, they probably look like a bunch of fools — or perhaps a pair of day-drunkards that ran loose after they got kicked out. Though, bars were typically closed during this time, weren’t they? Kazuma laughed. Everything was so ridiculous — to think that he’d be doing this sort of thing with Naruhodo after all this time. Something shifted in him, perhaps. A couple years earlier, Kazuma would probably lay off on such instinctual wants. Though, he had a feeling he’d always been like this with Naruhodo.
If Kazuma wanted to risk it further, he could very well shout out the strange confessional that bubbled up in him just now, high off adrenaline, the season and youth, for all that it was. And Naruhodo would simply have to piece together what it was, from the threads of Kazuma’s intentions. Kazuma looked up to the sky, heart blooming at the thought. He slowed down his steps once he reached the intersection to his lodgings now, putting a hand up on a wall. Kazuma looked back, Naruhodo still distances away from him.
By the time Naruhodo would turn the corner to him, he could very well say it.
Naruhodo slowed down, staggering a bit as he gasped out breaths, walking over to the corner. A sense of amusement tugged at Kazuma’s lips once he saw Naruhodo’s damp hair — the silhouette of his regular hairdo still staying put despite everything.
“That was… No.”
Kazuma laughed, heartily. Here he was. “It was a good bit of exercise.”
Naruhodo looked up. “For you, at least.”
“And yet, you still gave into my antics.” Kazuma leaned against the wall. He could feel the words forming in his throat — a handful of syllables taking shape into something tangible that he couldn’t take back.
Kazuma pushed the want down.
“Let’s go? It’s only a handful of steps away, I promise.” Kazuma took out his keys. There wasn’t enough room for doubt with the distance they had.
“Hopefully…”
Kazuma laughed. Naruhodo charmed him today — for no explicit reason whatsoever.
“I feel a bit bad for the floor,” Naruhodo said, after they both finished walking up the stairs to Kazuma’s room.
Kazuma hung up his jacket and cap on the hanger. “… We made quite a mess back there, didn’t we?” He gave Naruhodo a sidelong glance.
“And we’re still doing the same right now.” Naruhodo looked down at the slowly forming puddle beneath their feet.
“It’ll be fine.” Kazuma took off his boots, before turning on his gas lamp. “Though, we might need to change.”
“Thanks to somebody.” Naruhodo met Kazuma’s gaze.
“My apologies,” Kazuma said, half-heartedly as he pushed his hair back.
There was a beat of silence before Naruhodo cleared his throat, eyes drifting down to the floor. He busied himself with removing his shoes. “A-anyway, a… towel would be nice.”
“And you getting out of the entry would be nicer.” Kazuma motioned to Naruhodo to come closer, taking the gas lamp in hand. “Come on, then.”
With a nod, Naruhodo followed.
The rain still battered down on the roof, and with the fire out, a similar chill from the coffeehouse was still present — even made more so by their damp clothes. Though, Kazuma supposed it was better than running out into the open with all the elements in play.
Kazuma pushed the door to his bedroom open, the wood giving an old creak as it gave way from the force. He set the gas lamp on his bedside table.
Considering the price he bought the room for, the size of it was only expected — practically reminiscent of his cabin on SS Burya all those years ago, save for the fact that the size was even more downplayed. Nevertheless, it was still manageable — even giving him an, albeit, small view of London from his room. Kazuma went to his closet and got a rag, giving it to Naruhodo who only said a small ‘thank you’ as he dried his hair. Once Naruhodo did that, Kazuma mindlessly picked out a couple of clothes for him, placing them down on the bed before working on undoing his vest.
The moment he did so, Naruhodo stammered a cry of some sort. Kazuma looked at him to see his tense body, face red.
“A-Asogi? What’re you…?”
“Stripping? Surely that’s obvious.” Kazuma slid off his vest, but before he could undo his tie, Naruhodo grabbed his shoulders, gaze intense. “Naruhodo, what — ?”
“ — But whatever for?”
“Pardon?”
“You — I… We!”
Kazuma paused as Naruhodo struggled to get his words out. He let out a sigh and looked to the side, face slightly warm. “… I’m stripping because of earlier,” he said. “Look outside, Naruhodo.”
Silence, but the distant rain.
And then, an intake of breath.
Naruhodo let go of Kazuma. “O-oh! Right! Yes!”
And now, Kazuma was too aware of himself and the predicament they’ve gotten themselves into. He wanted to bury his head into his hands. Now that Naruhodo mentioned it, he couldn’t possibly ignore it now, could he?
“I, um, promise I won’t look.” Naruhodo fidgeted with his towel.
“We’re both men, Naruhodo.”
“It’s for… decency.”
They had seen each other’s bodies when they went to an onsen all those ages ago, yet, Naruhodo still found it appropriate to act like this. In the end, Kazuma yielded. “… If you say so.” Kazuma then undid his tie, Naruhodo tensing for a bit before doing as he promised. Kazuma’s heart pulsed in his neck at the new, strange atmosphere they’ve created — somewhere along the lines of itchiness and hesitation. He gave Naruhodo a long look as he unbuttoned his undershirt; his posture slightly hunched over.
He really won’t turn around if it was like this, no? A part of Kazuma wanted to mess with Naruhodo now that he had him like this. He pictured blowing some air into Naruhodo’s ear just to see his reaction; fragments of a slight jump, a flushed face and a flustered stammer floated up to his mind. If he were drunk, he might as well already do that — perhaps even wrap his arms around Naruhodo’s shoulders, and say something about warming himself; a thinly veiled excuse to simply feel Naruhodo’s skin on him.
When Kazuma stripped off his shirt, he wondered to himself whether Naruhodo thought of turning around to face him at least once by then; Maybe he thought of it now.
“You really don’t want to strike up even a bit of conversation?” Kazuma undid his belt.
“I-I mean! It would be odd like this, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, but even so, the rain caught you, too, Naruhodo,” Kazuma said. He was taking off his pants now — Naruhodo probably knew from his belt’s click and the telltale sound of fabric. Kazuma wondered if he should change out of his fundoshi as well.
Naruhodo cleared his throat; the tips of his ears were red. “I’ll change after you.”
Kazuma hummed and sauntered over to his closet to put on some clothes — resorting to a simple undershirt and a pair of pants. With a spare towel wrapped around his neck, once he shut the wardrobe close and turned to Naruhodo, Naruhodo was already facing him.
“Did you always change that slowly?” Naruhodo held the ends of his towel, gazing slightly off from Kazuma.
“Perhaps it was your mind playing tricks on you.” Kazuma made his way to the bed and sat down. “Alright, then.” He gestured to the clothes he put down earlier and Naruhodo gave him a slight bow of thanks before pausing. “What?”
“Aren’t you going to… do the same?”
“You mean turn around for you?”
Naruhodo nodded.
Kazuma let out a sigh. “If it bothers you that much.” He closed his eyes.
“That’s not… I mean — thank you.”
There was a creak once Kazuma did that; the sound of planks giving into Naruhodo’s new position. Kazuma could hear the distinct sound of buttons undoing themselves just a couple distances away from him. At this, he opened his eyes again.
“… I hope there aren’t any broken seams or anything.” Naruhodo mumbled to himself as he opened up his blazer. Kazuma crossed his legs. “That would be bad — for Iris-chan and I.”
“Have you been wearing that outfit every day since you came here?”
“Of course.” Naruhodo turned to his side to put down his blazer. At this, Kazuma closed his eyes once more. “Don’t get me wrong, it gets washed.”
“Hopefully.”
Naruhodo let out a laugh. “Up keeping it is important, after all,” he said and there was another creak. “It’s for special occasions, first and foremost.”
Kazuma looked up. “Every day?”
Naruhodo paused. Even with his back turned to Kazuma, he could tell that his hands stilled once Kazuma pointed that out. “It’s… you know…” He continued undoing his undershirt. “… Not every day that I get to see the people I miss the most.”
Kazuma let the silence linger for a while longer as Naruhodo stripped off his undershirt, exposing his back to Kazuma; a bit more toned than he remembered. Warmth trailed up his face as his heart stuttered for a bit. Kazuma closed his eyes and mulled over Naruhodo’s words, for the sake of anchoring himself despite the sudden, floaty sense that came over him; another strange high.
“… Perhaps that was it.”
“What is?” There was a metal click — Naruhodo undid his pants now; Kazuma couldn’t ignore it.
“Missing people.” Kazuma tapped his foot. “I’ve drafted a letter, once.”
“To me?” Fabric rustled.
“Yes.” Kazuma was on a fine line now, but it didn't matter. He liked the threads of what they have and what they could be. “Your correspondence made me mull on a lot of things.”
Naruhodo hummed. With Kazuma’s eyes closed, he could only imagine Naruhodo’s expression as Kazuma talked — confessed.
“And perhaps it’s only recently that I realize that two years is too long, and yet so very short.” Kazuma continued. The sounds of Naruhodo redressing himself persisted. “I feel as if it’s only through reading your letters that I stop to reflect for a bit,” he said. “Therefore…”
“Therefore?”
“… I might’ve missed you on more than one occasion. If I try to recall the dates — if I try to stretch my mind to all the small moments when I sat before an empty chair in front of me.” Kazuma looked up. Naruhodo had stilled his hands on the last few buttons he had to do before he was dressed properly. Naruhodo wore Kazuma’s spare undershirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to make up for its slight oversize. From a distance, the rain lightened a bit. “You seemed to always be in my peripheral, even when you weren’t there. Isn’t that strange? You are haunting me now.” To make up for lost time when I haunted you. Kazuma never said, but Naruhodo perhaps thought of it too from the ghost of pain morphing his features for a moment.
“… You’ve been thinking about me lately.” Naruhodo sat beside Kazuma, the bed frame slightly creaking at the new weight. It was a statement, not a question; a factual one.
“Mostly. Frequently.”
Naruhodo cleared his throat and sucked in a breath. “O-okay.”
“Quite frankly, I feel like I don’t think I need to ask you the same thing.”
“Oh, yes. My letter.”
Then, Kazuma let himself lean on Naruhodo’s shoulder, hair still slightly damp. Kazuma could feel Naruhodo tense for a bit before finally relaxing before his touch. Naruhodo was here — for a while, at least. But, Kazuma wanted to forget about that — to just let Naruhodo’s presence ensnare him for a moment.
“I wonder if you’ll stay in Japan in the future. To set up shop and everything.” Kazuma mumbled beneath his breath. He might just sleep like this.
“I, um. Haven’t quite thought that far ahead, really,” Naruhodo said. “But, for now, I think I will.”
Then, Kazuma just let the words out of him: “Would you take me with you?
“If you phrase it like that, I might think you’re plotting another stowaway situation.” Naruhodo laughed. A part of Kazuma hated how light his laughter was. “I mean... If Lord van Zieks allows me to, then… Yes, perhaps.”
“‘Perhaps?’” Kazuma looked up and met Naruhodo’s gaze.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually planning on doing so…”
“Of course, I’m not.” Kazuma nudged Naruhodo, though if circumstances were different, then he might have said yes. He remembered asking Naruhodo a similar question — a hypothetical that hinged on actuality once he got his acceptance letter for the study tour. This time around, there was no other intent than pure curiosity and the want to see whether his hopes could come to fruition. “I’m just wondering.”
Naruhodo hummed. “In the future.”
“Promise me that.”
“Alright.”
“Lay your life on it.”
“Okay.”
“Swear it?”
“Yes, of course.” Naruhodo laughed. “You’re free to behead me with Karuma if I ever forget.”
“I’ll gladly do so.” Kazuma huffed. “You’re indebted to me with two promises now.” And I’m forever indebted to you. The words threatened to spill out of him, but they never did. He wondered if Naruhodo could tell what he would say from just the look of his eyes alone; a stray glimmer flashing in his gaze, probably.
“There’s a lot of waiting between us, don’t you think?” Naruhodo gazed at him; steady and sure. From the dim light and the subtle shadows that cast themselves throughout the room, for a moment, Kazuma thought Naruhodo would fuzz at the edges.
“One day, I might just run out of patience and run to you myself.”
“Yes. I reckon controlling myself would be a bit of a problem as well.”
“And what does that exactly mean, partner?”
“N-nothing in particular.” Naruhodo forced a laugh. Kazuma could almost picture the flush that trailed up Naruhodo’s face by now. He really was amusing to mess with, wasn’t he? “Just forget about it…”
“If you say so.” Kazuma laughed and closed his eyes. If anything, Naruhodo was great at giving shadows of his true intentions as well, Kazuma thought — hoped for, at least; he wanted Naruhodo to have an ulterior motive. When it was like this, he wondered if there would be a day where they both uncover the drape of the cause for moments like these.
Maybe not today. Kazuma thought. Maybe not.
There was another warmth that leaned against Kazuma’s head. A part of Kazuma hoped that the rain wouldn’t lighten up because once it did, Naruhodo would be leaving. And that meant that Kazuma could only replay the fragments of the memory that Naruhodo gave him; grasping at its wisps, wishing that Naruhodo’s scent wouldn’t fade from his undershirt once he returned it.
“… Have you been practicing kyudo lately?” Kazuma mumbled.
“What made you think so?”
“Your back seems more toned than I last remembered.”
“Ah, yeah — but, hold on… How did you….?”
Kazuma covered his mouth.
“T-that’s!” Naruhodo stammered out. “That’s unfair…”
Kazuma only laughed, charmed.