Work Text:
“The sound of your breathing resembles the waves;
Spreading softly, sweetly;
Filling it all with you.”
Keito has a routine every morning. Without the presence of an alarm, he would wake up at five-thirty to cook breakfast. Sauntering to the kitchen, he takes brisk strides, unyielding to the looming reminder of comfort. Every day the meals vary but he would never skip fresh, steamed rice and miso soup. He would eat half of the serving and store the rest under a mesh cloche, neatly arranged in thermal containers to preserve the heat. Then, a shower was next. He always preferred hot water, despite what the weather entailed. The prickling of hot water on his skin made him alert. Keito is swift; he never dawdled on his thoughts rather, just accomplishing one small task and then another. He steps in and out promptly like clockwork. Neither reluctance nor resentment discerns from the faint traces of somnolence in his eyes. Acquiescent steps pad through the cold floor, precise and rehearsed. Each motion hastens with each stretch of a limb. Focus is focal from his wake, stern of languish and merciless of serenity. Keito is inexorable as long as he moves. By then, the sun had already risen. Beautiful, eloquent rays slithered through the small, awning window atop the bathroom sink, drenching the room in yellow and orange hues. However, to Keito, this signals the need to scurry.
Conjectures won over his mind—maybe, he was behind schedule; maybe, the morning rush was underway—invading his body like a pathogen.
Everything else that was left of his routine was accomplished inside the bathroom—toothbrush, deodorant, and finally, his clothes. He always ensured that they were already hung by the door every night. It is much more efficient that way.
Today, he decides on a simple long-sleeved polo and slacks. White and black, respectively, and nothing fancier. He looked neat—a little too neat, but he fancied it, just like how he was raised. Finally, Keito is ready for work.
All of it occurs in an hour and a half.
People would often comment that he is a formalist—fans, family members, and friends alike. To Keito, he dismisses such claims. This is the system that worked for him, without any adjustments needed. Besides, he is a mere, simple man with a day job and a humble home.
However, before heading out, he would leave a kiss on your temple. Whether you were already awake or not, he never fails.
In a soft and quiet whisper against your hair, "take care, today." Keito’s hand lingers on your shoulder, but not a second longer. The warmth is dearly missed but yearning is simply facile. He could ignore the grit of his teeth and the cold smears on his skin. Despite the layers of clothes for temperance, the cold lingers, unable to placate unless it was his partner’s touch. He was halfway to standing up when your hand tugs at his arm. You groggily move your head slightly along the pillow and your messy hair unravels, creating even more of a mess against the coarse cotton filled with your dried saliva.
"Are you leaving?" you ask.
Keito pauses to meet your languid gaze, his voice softening further as he responds, "yes, I need to head to work. Go back to sleep; I'll see you later tonight."
Subsequently, your eyes make an attempt to open further. Luckily, the curtains were close, barring the blaring sunrise from reaching your eyes. Transferring your grip on his arm from one hand to another, you reassure yourself that he was not about to slip away easily while you reach for your phone on top of the bedside drawer to peek at the time. The sudden onslaught of brightness makes you flinch and groan. Enduring the sharp light once more, you confirm the time. Your brows knit even further.
"It's seven, huh?" Your voice is slightly hoarse and weak.
“Yes, it's seven. I didn't want to wake you up too early, so I let you sleep in a bit." There is a hint of concern in his eyes as he looks at you. "Are you feeling okay? You had a late night, yes?"
You sigh heavily. It felt as though all the fatigue crashed down with that particular sigh. The rest of your body felt limp and sore. Heedless, you throw your phone back on top of the drawer. A sharp thud resounds in both your ears. Meanwhile, you try to find another comfortable spot on the bed.
"Yeah... I fucking hated every moment of it," you grumble.
Keito finds himself sympathizing. Despite returning home late last night, you still had not arrived. Work has forced you to go overtime. It is business as always and the world keeps spinning amicably. Even in the midst of the quiet undercurrents looms the inevitability of motility. Soon enough, even you are swept in its waves. Nothing changed; rather, it seemed to have worsened throughout the years. He was already asleep when you came home.
From inference, he already surmised that you had a dreadful night. Keito found multiple evidence of your carelessness due to the unavoidable fatigue. Earlier, he nearly tripped on your formal clothes that were strewn across the carpeted floor of the bedroom; then, a bunch of cotton pads were crumpled at the vanity mirror, burying his wristwatch underneath. The traces of makeup smeared across them made him cringe but he did not complain as he threw them to the trash bin. Your guitar case and backpack were laying haphazardly on the couch in the living room, Keito took the initiative to put the instrument on its respective stand instead. And finally, your hair still traces of glitter and hairspray on them.
"Work becomes more demanding to the point of burden at times, but I appreciate your dedication," he says, his voice filled with genuine praise. You bob your head in gratitude although it is mostly instinctual than sincerity. Keito tucks you under the blanket, making sure that it reaches past your shoulders. He continues, "try to get more rest today. Once the stores open, I'll have some lavender tea delivered to help you relax."
"Are you really leaving?" you grunt, chasing after his wrist once again.
Keito gives you a gentle smile, "I have to but I promise, I'll be back as soon as I can. We can have dinner together tonight, just the two of us."
You did not answer though. It did not feel satisfactory despite his reassurance. Rather, it only makes your brows furrow and lips press tightly. "Take care, and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything during the day," he bids.
Again, it was not enough reassurance. You, with all your strength mustered in your right hand, pull Keito's arm, making him collapse on the bed. His glasses fell from his nose and landed somewhere on the sheets. Before he could even realize it, you spin and trap him with a tight embrace, laying your body on his chest while your legs are entangled with his. The blanket slips off you and covers Keito instead, sandwiching him in between the bed and you. Despite the cold meeting your vulnerable nape, his added warmth makes you hum satisfactorily.
Meanwhile, Keito scowls, thinking that his freshly ironed polo will crease immediately.
He lets out a groan, calling your name with a firm tone. "I'll be late to work. Don’t make this difficult for me." However, his attempts to get you off were futile. You clung to him like a koala.
Calling your name again, this time with a sharper tone, Keito is already giving a warning. You only snicker though. Stern and callous is just his acute gaze. Dangerous and ruthless is just his deep, guttural voice. Underneath the spunk is a harmless man akin to a falling gingko leaf. Dismissing his concerns only resulted in forceful means but, you were stubborn in your own right.
“Let me go at once,” he scolds you. “There is crucial work to be done today and I cannot afford to be delayed. Get off!”
“You’ll finish it all before noon anyway,” you reply.
“My work isn’t as simple as a bunch of paperworks.”
Still, you only hum and nod along with what he is saying, feigning obliviousness.
“Quit being troublesome. I cannot forgive your transgression today if my work becomes affected,” he continues to berate you.
“No,” you finally answer and it only furthered his annoyance. Keito is visibly seething but he bites his tongue to restrain the rest of his frustration to seep out.
“I would have expected that you, of all people, know the value of punctuality and efficiency. A person of your stature is expected to be beyond perfunctory and tomfoolery and yet, you continue to indulge yourself in parlous nonsense. I am quite disappointed in you,” Keito tries to pry you away as he starts his lecture, but you are clinging tighter with each tug. Besides, his voice was soothing to listen to, especially in the morning, despite the lambasting words that spilled from his lips.
"Just say you had a meeting with Player," you groan, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He smelled of fresh soap and faint eucalyptus from the shampoo he uses.
“Are you asking me to disembowel myself?” Keito snarls.
“That’s grossly exaggerated,” you chuckle before littering his skin with chaste kisses. Keito’s grip against your arm contracts and that elicits a smirk from your lips.
“I would like to believe that you are not a blundering idiot who does not know the nature of my work,” he continues.
“Are you disgusted with me now after everything we’ve been through?” you pout, but it was more mocking than pitiful.
Keito grunts, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He calls your name again, this time exasperatedly, however, you did not give any chance to talk further when you continued your assault on his flustered skin.
“Be careful with the words you are using to describe me and you,” he reprimands you again.
Then, you notice that the strength he is spending to push you off is becoming depleted. You scoff, "you can just say whatever bullshit like I'm gonna produce a song for one of your artists or something. That should lessen the teasing."
This gets Keito to stop trying. He thinks about it for a moment, adding entries to the pros and cons list in his head.
“Let me have this, and you can throw me to any artist so I can give them a damn song,” you summarize.
“You’re impossibly imprudent,” he grumbles but it was the preamble of a victory. Pregnant silence ensues and finally, time has seemingly stopped. The next moments are filled with appeasing tranquility. His touch becomes a pleasing validation. With a defeated sigh, Keito concedes. With a calm yet firm voice, he warns you, "only for an hour."
"Make that two," you snicker, utterly haughty over your achievement. "You won't get anywhere during rush hour. Best let it lapse."
He lets out another deep, begrudging sigh. "You will be the end of me."
Cautiously, he fishes out his glasses from beneath the sheets and perches it on top of the bedside drawer. Then, he pulls on the blanket, draping it on top of your limp body. His voice, now softer, murmurs, "I'll hold you to your end of the deal," he reminds you.
“Yeah, yeah, quit whining,” you huff, adjusting slightly to get comfortable underneath the blanket.
“Be certain to make it an acceptable track,” he adds.
You scoff, taking offense at his words. “Are you doubting me now, Keito? After all the shit I did for you?”
“How dare you describe our affinity as that crass word?” Scorn drips from his lips. “Remember that it’s not only you who made sacrifices.”
Then, you reply with a prod of a finger to his cheek. “That doesn’t answer why you are doubting my capabilities.”
“I never doubted your abilities, but it’s the nature of this deal that confuses me.”
Craning your neck up, you search his expression for more answers. As that perplexed stare bore into the gleaming auroras of his naked eyes, Keito finds himself obliged.
A sharp exhale follows. “Such abstruse talent shouldn’t be bought with cheap tricks. I find it difficult to comprehend that you would do this for a mere embrace,” he says.
“I’ve made songs for less than this,” you argue, justifying your point.
“And that is why I’m concerned.”
“Besides, to you it may be a mere embrace but to me… it means everything.”
Keito’s heart skips a beat. His brows furrow as the words continue to resound in his ears. Sparks alight with each beat of his heart, glittering like incense fireworks on a summer night. Smoldering through each flowing vein, the flame is vivid and enamored with the twilight that encompasses the axis of your eyes. The fluttering feeling in his stomach represents the aggregate pining that he tries to restrain. Muffling his mouth with the back of his hand, he clears his throat. Suddenly, breathing has become difficult.
“We don’t have to hide anymore,” he reminds you.
“Although that is true, that doesn’t diminish how I should cherish you.”
He is silenced, influenced by your solemnity. Serendipitous breathing fills both your ears, compensating for the lack of sincerity, but not enough.
“If you put it that way then… I’ll be…” he trails off. He is speechless but he tries. Keito never not tried. You smile against his skin.
"If that song makes it to the Oricon charts, you'll have to spend a week off with me," you dare him.
He tucks you under the blanket, making sure that part of your head is covered. Your hold on him relaxes, confident that Keito would not dare breach this moment. "Don't push your luck," he huffs, trying to remain indignant despite the obvious. "I have yet to hear lyrics or a demo.”
"Get over yourself," you tease him by nipping at the sensitive patch of skin on his neck. "You like anything I create, don’t you agree?"
Keito lets out a grunt as you nip at his neck. He wants to tug your hair and peel you off of him, but the pleasant shiver down his spine makes it difficult to move even a finger. He has long given up on solving such bewildering puzzle. "You always know how to tease me, don't you?"
“Only if you’re stubborn.”
Another begrudging sigh, Keito knew surrender when he was already cornered with a deal that he cannot ignore. "Fine," he relents. "If the song makes it to the charts, I'll take a week off with you. But that's if."
“You sound as if you don’t want your artists to succeed.”
Keito sternly calls your name, “how dare you..?” but the laughter that you replied with makes him simmer down. Everything that trickled from your lips ignites him, constituting a mad and erratic demeanor, and he could no longer discern his deportment. He clears his throat before clarifying, “of course I want my talents to succeed, that is why I was hoping to enlist your assistance.” Keito’s hand gets lost in the strands of your hair as he talks. “You continuously study the public landscape to ensure your compositions would be beloved while remaining sincere. Your experience as a music producer would benefit them tremendously.”
“Why haven’t you asked me for that favor before then?”
“Because it’s not something I should easily ask of you,” Keito simply admits. “First and foremost, you are not associated with Rhythm Link anymore. Secondly, our relationship isn’t an all-inclusive ticket for such matters. Our professional lives should remain separate from our personal ones.”
“Says the man who sabotaged his professional career for his personal one.”
He gags. “That was uncalled for,” he murmurs.
“I apologize,” you reply, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “But was I wrong?”
Keito shakes his head, “no, you aren’t. You merely caught me off guard as well,” he says. “Nevertheless, I have been hesitant to ask this of you for a long time.”
“If that’s what my darling husband desires, who am I to say no?" you tease him further. Keito lets out another groan of disapproval as his scowl deepens.
"You incorrigible, feckless fiend.” His voice becomes dangerously low and quiet. "Go to sleep. That's my one condition." He then adds, "and don't call me that."
His words make you frown. "A spouse cannot call their husband darling? That hurts," you complain.
“It’s out of character for you,” Keito simply explains.
“What if I’m feeling affectionate?”
"You'll be the cause of my early death," he bemoans. This makes you chuckle, much to his chagrin. Still, Keito cannot not deny the flutter in his stomach as he hears the delight in your voice. After a beat of silence, he leans in to press a kiss on your temple. "Sleep," he tells you gently.
“You’ll just leave once I do,” you retort.
Keito releases a sharp exhale. “I won’t. I made a deal and I intend to see it through.”
Lifting your head, you seek his gaze. A smile graces your lips as you lean in for a kiss. Just as he closes his eyes, you pull away. His heart skips a beat and it hurts. The ache lingers as he stares at you—innocent of his plight; suspect of his woes—and it festers throughout his body. As his blood circulates, so does the yearning that trickles from the crevices of his anatomy. Reaching out to touch more of you, his fingers got lost in this inexplicable warmth. You already sunk to his embrace, leaving him in harrowing kinesis.
"I'm devoted to you," you mutter as your body relaxes against his. Such disclosure perforates even the heavily guarded hearts of a callous man. No one deserved to hear those immaculate words and yet, to have received them brings blessings to his weary spirit.
Soon enough, your soft snoring fills his ear. He turns carefully to get a good look at your face. In your sleep, you looked very peaceful. You are not the person with the sharp tongue that the world knows. You are not the music producer who was known for their perfectionism to the point of ruthlessness. And, you are no longer the person who always teased him.
He brushes aside a few strands away from your forehead and places a kiss.
"But I'm far more devoted to you."
Nothing can disturb this peace. The bedroom is isolated from the rest of the world. As ephemeral it may be, Keito clings onto the repose of borrowed moments. The bitterness that resents cacoethes no longer gnaws at the back of his throat, strangling him impotent. Words elude him, like vapors in the wind, and he could only press his dry lips together, waiting for initiation. As significant they may be, words may never justify the feelings trapped in his soul. Fortunately, you always heard his pleas.
Finally, with ignorance, his eyes close and his breaths even.
When you woke up, it was a few minutes past nine in the morning. You stir in your position then realize that Keito was still underneath you, dozing off while hugging you tightly. Your smile widens.
You poke his side while whispering, "Keito, wake up. It's time for you to go."
True to your agreement, your husband will only stay for two hours. He was quick to rouse, eyes fluttering open without much grogginess. When he sees you, he only hums in reply.
He makes an attempt to untangle his body from yours, trying to get himself out of the bed. You allow him this time around. When Keito inspects himself in front of the mirror, his polo is, as expected, creased. He frowns as he brushes his hair back in place with his hands. From behind, you approach him with a new polo from the wardrobe.
"Brown suits you better anyway," you say.
"And you need to learn not to rumple me up so much," he huffs as he takes off the creased polo.
Expectedly, you only laugh at his expense. Keito’s brows might have furrowed, eyes glaring daggers at you, but it meant no venom. To make it up to him, you pull him closer to you by his belt buckle. At first, Keito was alarmed, eyes widening while every part of his body froze at your assertive command. He observes you with an unspoken warning, goosebumps forming on his skin as his face reddens. However, he realizes that you are just helping him tuck his polo nicely. He averts his gaze, glare now directed at the wall. Then, you proceed to help him button up the polo.
"If I do that, we'll have a loveless marriage," you snicker.
"I'm perfectly fine with that," he retorts. "At least then, you won't get to tease me."
Whether he meant it as jest or not, his words managed to annoy you a little. The corner of your eye twitches. Keito can still be quite tactless and crass with his words, even after all these years.
“So pride takes precedence over affection?”
"You tease me far too much," he points out. “I wouldn’t call that affection at all.”
Taken aback, your eyes narrowed at his answer. “Then, what is it exactly?”
In a deadpan voice, he replies, "being a nuisance."
Nodding slowly, you pretend to understand where he is coming from. Tension looms, lingering onto your skin. It felt uncomfortable. Curses gurgle at the back of your throat, pleading you to spit them out but you swallow. Years of knowing Keito Hasumi meant adjustments to your patience. Now and then, audacious does not tame the frigid, although its inconsistency can bewilder you. "Alright then, if that's what you want," you humor him with your usual, cool tone. You take a step back, your touch leaving him. Suddenly, the affection you hold seems to have dissipated. Dark eyes study him, sharp and merciless.
Strands of his hair were still sticking up; the folds of his sleeves are not levelled; and his collar is disarrayed on the right side—it makes you scoff.
The shift in demeanor is not amiss by his trained eyes. Keito is well accustomed to each of your nuances. And your inclement demeanor is the part of you he is most familiar with. "Fix your hair. You look like an errand boy, not a leader," you admonish him.
"You're one to talk," he sneers whilst picking up his comb from the vanity table and fixes the strands at the back of his head. "Your bed hair is atrocious."
Running a hand through your hair, the remnants of hairspray and glitter make you cringe internally but you remain composed in front of him. “At least I’m not the fool who will go to work late looking so unkempt,” you rebuke, giving him the side eye.
“And whose fault is that?” Keito retorts.
“If it annoys you so much, then I might just agree to a loveless marriage,” you utter with nonchalance. Straightforward and stern, concision implies a thousand woes underneath, prickling your skin.
Keito shakes his head in disdain, hands landing on his hips. Your words have grated his ears. Clearly, as much as he did not want to admit it, his own hypocrisy laughs at face, leaving compunction at his trail.
“Fix your polo,” you continue to criticize.
"So, we're starting off the day like this?" he remarks, a hint of amusement in his tone. Keito proceeds to address each of her concerns, starting with the sleeves. He buttons the cuffs to secure the neat folds and finally, he adjusts his collar, ensuring it sits symmetrically along with his tie. "Sufficient?"
"Get rid of the tie," you mutter.
Keito raises an eyebrow in query, "why, pray tell, should I remove my tie?"
"They never look good on you," you reply.
"It's standard business attire," he states, standing firm on his uniform. "I don't have time to indulge in fashion fads. Besides, the tie serves a practical purpose."
"The practical purpose to make you look like a nerd."
"That sounds like pure spite coming from you," he sighs, before a scoff escapes his lips. "People respect my appearance for its professionalism."
As you approach him, your gazes are glued to each other. For a brief moment, Keito’s breath hitches. Twinning your fingers around the silk fabric, you tighten the tie around his neck. “So uptight, aren’t you?” the subtle lilt in your voice makes him falter. You chuckle dryly, finding amusement in his expression.
You nudge his shoulder as you walk off, snickering to yourself.
Whilst readjusting his tie, he calls your name with a gentle tone. He has dismounted from the erroneous pedestal that he haphazardly built himself just to chase after you but you were already far away, off to the bathroom to get rid of the products on your hair and freshen up.
Once you reach the threshold of the bathroom door, you stop to turn back to him. "Make sure you don't return home without accomplishing something satisfactorily with that necktie," you bid.
"I'll accomplish everything that needs to be done," he responds, his tone confident. “Like you said, I’ll finish it all by noon.” Then, he walks towards you and cups your face. With your cheeks pinched together with one hand, he studies your expression briefly, looking for any trace of annoyance from you. Before you could even protest, he presses a kiss on your forehead. "And you rest. You've been working yourself to the bone lately," he appeals.
“What’s this for?”
He releases your face before taking both your hands in his. Another kiss follows, this time to the cheek, “a solution to our loveless marriage,” he replies.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"I would prefer to use the term 'principled'," he corrects you. "Your words of encouragement are appreciated, but I would really appreciate it some more if you would stop messing with my business attire. As you know perfectly well, we cannot afford to let down the shareholders."
"You will never let them down," you reassure him. "And sure as hell, it ain't your fucking tie."
Keito chastises you for your foul language but you only roll your eyes. Then, you intervene in the midst of his lecture, pulling on his tie. Your lips lunge for him, kissing him deeply.
His glasses almost slipped from his nose, disarrayed from the angle from where he’s being kissed. He felt sensitive all of a sudden, as if all the neurons in his body fired all at once, filling every synapse and hindering reuptake. The tips of his fingers twitch, itching to touch you. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer, leaving no distance in between. Swiftly, he maneuvers to have you pressed against the frame of the bathroom door. His left hand on the concrete while the right brushes through your oily locks. He kisses you again and again, unable to part from you even if his lungs pleaded for air. Even if you push him away, he will only pull you back.
“You started this,” he murmurs. “Finish it.”
“Finishing it would require you staying home all day,” you dare.
Overindulgence is detrimental. Keito still had his pride and sense of responsibility within his fingertips. He was running horribly late for work so he cannot afford to stay. You loosen the grip on his necktie, sensing that he had made a decision. A satisfied smile escapes your lips though.
“You know, no one will get angry at you if you arrive late. You’re the boss, for fuck’s sake,” you chuckles.
“Yes, however, I want to set a good example for my employees. A reliable leader motivates their employees, and I need them really motivated,” Keito replies, hands clutching yours.
“So, if your employees aren’t motivated, it’s gonna be my fault?” you cheekily quip.
Keito takes a deep breath, eyes narrowed at you. “Yes,” he replies succinctly.
Your forehead creases and your nose crinkles in distaste. It was not antipathy, but rather the absurdity of such a notion makes you blanch.
“Rhythm Link is hopeless then.”