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“How many did you get?”
Kaoru raises his eyebrows without looking up from his notebook. “Hm?”
“How many did you get?”
“How many of what?”
“You know what.”
Kaoru raises his head to give Kojiro an unimpressed stare. Kojiro feels his own grin widen at the exasperation clear on the other’s face.
“Chocolates, obviously.” He spins a pen between his fingers before brandishing it dramatically at Kaoru. “Not including obligatory chocolates.”
Kaoru’s nose twitches. “Why do you care?”
Kojiro’s eyebrows raise in faux concern. “What, you didn’t get any?” He catches the pencil Kaoru lobs at him with ease. “Or just too shy to admit the number?”
“Fifteen,” Kaoru finally forces out. He turns away, but Kojiro can still see him eyeing Kojiro surreptitiously. “I’d ask you the same, but I doubt you can even count that high.”
“I’ll have you know I can count up to seventeen,” Kojiro says proudly, before frowning at his own words. “Wait, not just seventeen, I mean—” He shakes his head and grins at Kaoru. “That’s two more than you.” In previous Valentine’s Days, the difference between them has always been one. Kojiro feels unreasonably pleased that he’s managed to widen the gap.
Kaoru narrows his eyes. “It seems I’ve overestimated the general IQ of our class population if you got that many.”
“Hey,” Kojiro says, mildly offended.
Kaoru barrels on, unconcerned. “Well,” he says with a sniff, “it’s not like chocolates are a real indicator of this stuff, anyway.”
“Oh?” Kojiro prods with a raised eyebrow. “Then, what’s a real indicator of this stuff?”
He doesn’t quite manage to avoid the eraser Kaoru throws at him this time.
“Ow,” he complains belatedly as it bounces off his forehead.
“They’re just chocolates,” Kaoru says defiantly, although the exact source of that defiance Kojiro can’t really understand. “It’s not like that means you’re better with girls.”
Kojiro unsuccessfully tries to stifle a laugh. “I think that is what that means, Kaoru.”
Kaoru sniffs again. “No, it’s just a shallow representation of popularity. It doesn’t mean you would actually be better with girls than me.”
Kaoru’s insistence is both amusing and confusing to Kojiro—he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen Kaoru show interest in a girl since, well, ever. Still, Kojiro wouldn’t be Kojiro if he didn’t rise to Kaoru’s bait, so he tilts his head with a grin and pushes Kaoru some more. “I know a few people who would beg to differ.”
Kaoru scowls. “A frog who only knows the well does not yearn for the outside world.”
“...are you calling me a frog?”
“I’m calling the girls you make out with behind the gym frogs,” Kaoru corrects snappishly. “They’re content with the likes of you,” he gestures vaguely in Kojiro’s direction, “because they’re not aware that better’s an option.” He waves a hand at himself.
Kojiro can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him. “You—what—” he gasps between snickers. “You think you’re a better kisser than me?”
“What’s so damn funny about that?” Kaoru demands, and something about his scowl and the way he leans towards Kojiro sends Kojiro into another laughing fit. “Kojiro, I swear to—”
“You,” Kojiro finally manages to wheeze out, “are not a better kisser than me.”
Kaoru’s face twitches. “How would you know?”
Kojiro’s laugh tapers off. He blinks at Kaoru. “Huh?” he gets out weakly.
“How would you know?” Kaoru repeats, the words slow and deliberate.
Kaoru is close enough that Kojiro can spot the faint smattering of freckles on his cheeks. When did Kaoru get that close?
“Um,” Kojiro says, praying that his voice is not as squeaky as he fears it is. “I, uh… I guess I wouldn’t know.” Kaoru is close and getting closer. Kojiro can feel his palms beginning to sweat. “What… what are you doing?”
“Letting you know,” is the last thing Kaoru murmurs before pulling Kojiro’s face forward and pressing his lips firmly against Kojiro’s.
Kojiro immediately short-circuits.
He proceeds to continue short-circuiting until Kaoru pulls away briefly with a frown.
“Kiss me back, idiot.”
Kojiro is only much too happy to oblige. He loses himself in it for however long it lasts, loses himself in the feeling of Kaoru’s hair tangled in his fingers, the metal of his lip ring electrifying against Kojiro’s lips, Kaoru’s fingers skimming Kojiro’s undercut—
Kaoru breaks away far too quickly for Kojiro’s liking.
“Well?” Kaoru asks breathlessly. It takes Kojiro far too long to force his eyes away from Kaoru’s lips to his eyes.
“...what?” he asks when he realizes Kaoru’s waiting for an answer.
Kaoru raises an eyebrow. “Who’s the better kisser?”
Is that what this was? Kojiro is hit with such a crippling wave of dismay that he can only gape at Kaoru for a few moments. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again.
“...I couldn’t tell.”
“...”
“...”
“...again?”
“Again,” Kojiro agrees immediately, and that’s that.
"You know," Kaoru says, pulling away even as his arms rest on Kojiro's shoulders. It’s been weeks since their first, ah, rendezvous, and here they still are—this time, behind the gym where Kojiro’s so often spirited away to, where he now lets himself get kissed senseless. Kojiro's somewhat grateful for the wall behind him; otherwise, he's pretty sure he's so dazed that he wouldn't be able to support himself—as it is, it takes a few moments to register that Kaoru's even talking. "It doesn't really even matter who's better at kissing."
"...huh?"
“Then again,” Kaoru muses, his finger absentmindedly winding a curl of Kojiro’s hair around his finger. “We already know which one of us would be better in a relationship.”
“Huh?” It appears to be the only word Kojiro can say.
“I doubt you’d even last six months,” Kaoru muses, and this—this challenge, at least, is something Kojiro’s hazy mind can still understand.
“Six months?” he parrots. “You don’t think I can last longer than six months in a relationship?”
Kaoru snorts. “I don’t even think it would be three months before you’d start gawking at other people on the street. It’d take another three months for you to work the nerve to break it off.”
“What—I—I wouldn’t—” Kojiro splutters, pulling away. “I wouldn’t cheat on you!”
Kaoru hums. “How would I know?”
He has to know what he’s doing to Kojiro. He has to.
“Then I’ll prove it to you,” Kojiro says despite his better judgment, because there’s amusement curving at Kaoru’s lips, and it drives him mad with the urge to kiss it away. “Forget six months. I can do a year.”
I can do forever, a quieter part of his mind murmurs. Kojiro tamps the urge firmly down.
“A year, huh? We’ll see about that.”
Six years later, Kojiro lands in Naha Airport, sore and weary and jetlagged from a 19-hour flight. It’s strange to be back in Okinawa after so long, but even though he’s only taken a few steps on land, he already feels more comfortable in his skin.
He’s tapping at his phone to get a ride out of the airport when he feels a nudge on his shoulder. He turns to apologize for standing in the way, when—
“...Kaoru?”
“It really is you,” Kaoru—beautiful, beautiful Kaoru—hums. “You’ve changed.”
It might just be the jetlag talking, but for a moment, Kojiro is so happy to see Kaoru that he almost tears up. “Kaoru,” he chokes out, thankfully with no tears, “I didn’t—I didn’t think you’d—”
Kaoru silences him with a slow, purposeful kiss. When he pulls back, a satisfied smile traces his lips. “I’m still the better kisser, though.”
Kojiro is momentarily stunned speechless. On one hand, his pulse rabbits under his skin—god, he has missed this, the way they fit so seamlessly together, Kaoru’s confidence, Kaoru’s beauty, Kaoru’s allure. On the other hand, his mind races—was this competition, challenge, bet still ongoing? Was this still just a matter of besting one another, or was it…?
“You didn’t see anyone in Italy, right?” Kaoru asks, interrupting Kojiro’s thoughts.
The question only further spins Kojiro’s mind. Was he asking if Kojiro was exclusive? Of course he was, no one could compare to Kaoru, but still—didn’t it imply a sort of commitment, something beyond this pretense of a competition—
“No,” Kojiro finally remembers to answer.
“Surprising,” Kaoru murmurs before tilting his head to the side. “I guess we still can’t tell who’s the better boyfriend.”
—that’s what it still was, huh?
“Ha,” Kojiro says weakly. “I guess so.”
He is so close, unbelievably close to having everything he’s ever dreamed of in his grasp, but it keeps slipping away under this constant disguise of competition. Kojiro would have thought, so many years after its conception, that it would naturally turn into something a little more real, but every time the thought occurs, Kaoru is quick to dash them against the floor with a passing comment that blurs the meaning of these stolen kisses and quiet touches. A part of Kojiro grows weary of the constant ebb and flow of his own hopes, but a much larger, louder part of Kojiro reminds him that he would rather have Kaoru like this than not at all.
“Let’s go home?” Kaoru asks with a nudge to Kojiro’s shoulder. Kojiro blinks out of his stupor and smiles.
“Let’s go home.”
“Hey, Joe! Could we get a—oh.”
Kojiro and Kaoru spring apart as soon as they hear Reki’s enthusiastic greeting, but not entirely in time to make up their disheveled appearance. Kojiro can’t speak for himself, but Kaoru looks nothing like the perfectly put Cherry Blossom that S knows him as. Kojiro’s mildly amused as Kaoru quickly turns away and attempts to brush down his hair, even though it does nothing to lower the bright flush in his cheeks.
Kojiro doesn’t even bother. He swipes a quick hand through his hair before flashing the boys gawking at them from the entrance a smile. “Hi, Reki, Langa. We’re, uh, closed.”
Langa tugs on Reki’s sleeve. “I told you.” Something about his tone tells Kojiro he might not just be talking about their closing time.
“Uh, yeah, yeah, no, yeah,” Reki says, his eyes darting rapidly between Kojiro and Kaoru, still turned away. “I, uh, we didn’t—we didn’t mean to interrupt—”
Kojiro supposes he can’t fault Reki for being so flustered. He guesses he would have been too, if he walked into a restaurant only to find two people furiously making out.
“It’s alright,” Kojiro interrupts before Reki can stumble over any more words. “Just, ah… knock next time, yeah?”
Reki nods vigorously. “Uh huh. Yeah.” He moves as if he’s about to leave, but he hesitates. “Um… so,” he starts. “Are you guys… together?”
"No," Kaoru says.
"Yes," Kojiro says at the same time.
They glance at each other.
"Yes," Kaoru says.
"No," Kojiro says at the same time.
Kaoru mutters something into his hands. Kojiro turns to Reki with a helpless shrug.
"...it's complicated."
“Uh huh,” Reki says again. “Um, well, bye!” He grabs Langa’s hand and darts out of Sia la Luce without another word. As soon as the door swings shut, Kaoru groans and takes a seat at the bar.
“You don’t lock the door?”
“If I did, you wouldn’t be able to waltz in here every night.”
“...I need a drink.”
Kojiro huffs out a quiet sigh. “Yes, princess.”
He goes to the back to pick out Kaoru’s typical drink of choice, pausing when he catches sight of his own reflection in the wine bottle’s glass. He doesn’t look much better than Kaoru, honestly, with his hair sticking up every which way from when Kaoru was tearing his hands through it just a few moments ago. Kojiro tries patting it down, but it’s not long before he gives up. He blinks at his reflection.
I can’t keep this up, he realizes.
It’s a surprisingly gentle realization. The solution, something Kojiro’s agonized over for years and years, suddenly feels all too simple. All he needed to do was tell Kaoru that he was the better boyfriend—Kaoru would be satisfied, and he would end their farce.
Even better, Kojiro might even be able to transition into a real, proper conversation about… them. If he conceded that Kaoru was the better boyfriend, would it make Kaoru receptive to Kojiro suggesting he continue their relationship for real?
Worth a shot, Kojiro decides. His mind made up and his resolve firm, he heads back to the bar, where he finds Kaoru staring into an empty glass. His hair and clothes are still an absolute mess. Kojiro thinks he looks beautiful. He opens his mouth to offer Kaoru the drink he’d requested, but before he can say anything, Kaoru speaks.
“Fine,” Kaoru murmurs without looking up from the glass. “Fine. You’re the better boyfriend.”
Kojiro nearly drops the wine bottle then and there. “...what?”
“You’re the better boyfriend,” Kaoru says louder. “You’re the better boyfriend, you’re the better kisser. We figured it out, so… it’s over.”
Kojiro’s mouth flaps open and closed. He sets the wine bottle down. “Just… just like that?” Kojiro asks weakly. “Kaoru, what—”
“Stop trying to drag it out, will you?” Kaoru snaps with sudden heat. “You always do this, Kojiro, you always do this—you just agree with everything so that we keep doing this, so it never ends—”
“What are you talking about?” Kojiro has to interrupt when Kaoru’s words register. “You—you’re the one who comes up with these things! You’re the one that keeps extending it, how is that my fault—”
“You could say no,” Kaoru snarls, and he sounds angry in a way Kojiro hasn’t heard Kaoru in a long time. “Stop acting like you’re not fucking enabling this, you—”
“Enabling,” Kojiro repeats with an incredulous laugh. “Me? Shit, Kaoru, whose idea was this in the first place, huh? Who started this entire mess?”
This is derailing hard and fast, and Kojiro can barely keep up with the words coming out of his own mouth, but he can’t help himself. It has always been his instinct to push back against Kaoru, even though this feels harsh and unfamiliar in all the wrong ways.
“I did,” Kaoru snaps before Kojiro can think of a way to de-escalate the situation. “It was my idea, and I started it, so I’m ending it. Happy?”
“Are you—are you breaking up with me?” Kojiro splutters out.
Kaoru stares at him like he’s the stupidest person he’s ever seen. Kojiro panics.
“You can’t do that,” Kojiro blurts on instinct. “I should be breaking up with you.”
Kojiro has no idea why he said that. When he sees the look on Kaoru’s face, he immediately regrets it.
“Jesus, Kojiro,” Kaoru mutters, his voice low and quiet and defeated. “Does everything have to be a competition?”
You’re one to talk, Kojiro wants to say, but his mind finally catches up to his mouth and keeps it closed.
For a while, they sit in a state of suspended silence. Kaoru quietly pours himself a drink. The silence cools down Kojiro’s own mind and allows him to reassess the situation. He tries to think of something to say, but as he watches Kaoru silently nurse his glass, he slowly realizes there’s only ever been one thing he wants to say—only one thing he can say.
“I love you.”
Kaoru doesn’t even flinch. “I already said you were the better boyfriend.”
Kojiro blinks slowly. “Did you… hear what I just said?”
“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Kaoru mutters into his glass.
Kojiro’s lips part. “You… you’ve heard me say ‘I love you’ to you before?”
“In your sleep,” is Kaoru’s casual admission, and Kojiro’s mouth drops open further. For a moment, he can only blink stupidly at Kaoru.
“You’ve heard me say I love you,” Kojiro repeats slowly, “in my sleep—and you don’t believe me?”
Kaoru finally looks up, eyes narrowed. “What reason would I have to believe you?” He continues before Kojiro can respond. “I’ve seen you chug a gallon of expired milk because of a dare; this doesn’t seem too farfetched for you.”
“...you really think I’ve done this—you really think I’ve been doing this, all of this, for this long, just to beat you at something?”
Kaoru stays silent. Kojiro is left to decipher that silence alone.
“You do,” he realizes quietly. “You do think that.” He watches Kaoru for a moment longer. “And you’re upset.”
Kaoru’s lips press into a thin line.
“You’re upset about it,” Kojiro thinks aloud. “But you wouldn’t be upset about it unless…” He trails off.
“Don’t,” Kaoru warns.
“You’re in love with me.”
“I said don’t,” Kaoru snaps, his expression tense. “What part about that do you not underst—”
“You’re in love with me,” Kojiro says, “and you’re upset—because you don’t believe me when I say that I’m in love with you.”
Kaoru throws a hand into the air. “Stop playing dumb, Kojiro. Don’t pretend like you’re just figuring this out.”
“You thought I knew?” Kojiro asks incredulously. “You thought I knew you were in love with me this whole time?”
Kaoru meets his disbelieving stare with one of his own. “You seriously think I’d ask you to do any of this if I wasn’t?”
“You seriously think I’d agree to do any of this if I wasn’t?”
Kaoru hesitates. “No—no. You’re trying to confuse me.” He shakes his head. “This doesn’t mean anything to you.”
“Kaoru,” Kojiro says helplessly. He’d thought confessing would be the hard part—not having to convince Kaoru that he wasn’t lying. “This means everything to me—you mean everything to me.” Quieter, he adds, “you always have.”
Kaoru’s silent for a moment as he scrutinizes Kojiro.
“You’re not lying,” he murmurs. “Are you?”
“No.”
Kaoru sighs. “Shit,” he says quietly. “What have we been doing all these years, Kojiro?”
“Exclusively seeing each other,” Kojiro says with a lopsided smile. “And occasionally making out.” He pauses. “I think normal people would call that being in a relationship.”
“We’re not normal people, though, are we?” Kaoru says wryly.
“Hell no,” Kojiro responds easily. “But maybe for this… it’s alright to be normal?”
A smile tugs at Kaoru’s lips—it’s subtle, but it’s there. Kojiro’s heart soars.
“We’ve never been very good at normal, but… we can give it a try. And see how it goes. If it doesn’t work out…”
“It will,” Kojiro interrupts in a tone for no argument. “I promise, Kaoru.” His attempt at solemnity is probably betrayed by the massive grin on his face, though—
—because Kaoru might say he’s the better boyfriend, but Kojiro’s pretty sure he’s just the luckier one.