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The text from Kaido ruins Kiyoharu’s day—something he previously thought impossible, with how every message normally brings a smile to his face that he has to handwave to the rest of the class with a poor excuse that only the first years buy.
I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there, but they're demanding I be at this event.
Another, a few seconds later: For what it's worth, it'll be horribly boring without you.
He doesn't respond. Not out of anger, he’d just rather have an excuse to call after class.
Kaido picks up on the first ring, a sigh the first thing coming from the speaker of Kiyoharu’s phone. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”
“I haven't even said anything yet.”
A pause. “Well, I’d apologize for jumping the gun, but I feel like you’ve probably had your fill of sorries from me today.”
“It’s okay.”
“To be honest, hearing you say that just makes me feel worse. You’ve every right to be mad at me.”
That, funny enough, does irritate him a bit. Sure, he’s had his moments of weakness, but he’s never been truly defeated. “I’m not made of glass, Kaido. I’ll live.”
His rough tone is met with nothing but fondness, softened still by the staticky signal. “I know that, too. You’ll do an incredible job. But I’ll miss getting to see your gifts at work.”
“The world can have my gifts, for all I care,” Sugachi says. “But my heart’s always going to be with you.”
Silence. That's how Kaido usually reacts to his more direct advances, the ones that remind them both of the glances stolen between sets in rehearsals, the nights they snuck into each others’ rooms, and shadows merging under a full moon. “And mine, yours,” he finally says, the words sounding stilted, like he still hasn’t recovered. “How are the others?”
“Kasai and Nagayama are crushing it. You’d be proud.”
“Sounds like you’re proud enough for the both of us.”
“And it still wouldn’t be enough. I don’t know if I’m speaking too soon, but I think Quartz and Amber are in for a shock.”
“Bold words. You sound like me.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Not in small doses, I suppose,” he says, chuckling. “So, two Jack Aces?”
“Yeah. A conman and a cop.” Kiyoharu slips into his upper register to add, “I’m playing a nurse.”
“Well, now I’m even more disappointed I won’t be there to see it,” Kaido says, putting on his own air of rakishness.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure there’ll be photos.”
“Pictures don’t do you justice.”
“You’re forward today.”
“So are you.”
“It's… I miss you, too.”
Kaido doesn't respond to that, and he doesn't need to. There's not much else to say that can't be conveyed by the sound of wistful sighing coming from both ends of the call until a voice in the background, maybe some secretary, has something urgent for him, and he has to hang up, leaving Kiyoharu in silence.
Arms embrace Kiyoharu as his sister practically tackles him, butting her head straight into his chest. “You did so good!”
“I’m glad you liked it,” he mumbles, unable to stop the smile pulling at his lips when he ruffles her hair a bit. He can’t help but feel a swell of pride—along with the beginnings of a bruise where she landed—when she finally lets him go and beams up at him. “I figured you would, actually.” She’s always enjoyed the shows with more charming leads, rather than anything too subversive or avant garde.
“I loved it! It reminded me of your summer performance a couple years ago, a little bit.”
A pang in his chest. “Yeah?”
“Mhm! It looked like Kasai practically swept you off your feet.” He recognizes the way she says it: smitten, like she wishes it was her. He makes a mental note in his head to ensure that Kasumi and Kasai—who’s currently across the lobby congratulating Tachibana and making eyes of his own—never interact, for everyone’s sake.
“Well, that’s what we were going for.”
He must be pulling a face, because she sighs with a knowing smile. “Ugh, relax. I know you’re spoken for. How is he?”
“He was supposed to come tonight, but…” He tries his best to keep his voice steady, but he can't act in front of his family, not about something like this. The sentence shakes into silence as his eyes fall to the floor.
“Oh,” she says. “I’m so sorry, Kiyoharu.” She hugs him again, and for a minute, he really does feel okay about it. “What happened?”
“Some company thing. He had to be there.”
“Wait,” she says, pulling away, face twisting up in confusion. “That's it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is that seriously it? That's all!?”
“Wh—yeah?”
She swats him across the head like she always does, never hard enough to hurt. “I thought he dumped you! I was about to go off about how he doesn't deserve you and everything!” Her face scrunches even more, though not into anything intimidating, just something that makes him feel a little guilty for worrying her. “I felt terrible for you!”
“God forbid,” he mutters. “No, he was just busy.”
She sticks a finger onto his chest. “Then go see him.”
“What?”
“Go see him. It's Friday, and the trains here run until midnight, right? You’ll make the last one if you hurry.”
He looks at the clock on the wall and the dwindling crowd in the lobby as families head out and students return to their dorms for either well-deserved rest or a rowdy afterparty. He has an hour. Nobody would miss him, not when he's gotten skilled at being invisible when he’s not on stage.
“Don't overthink it,” Kasumi chides. She sounds like their grandmother, warm but stern.
“I’m the class leader. I have responsibilities.”
She rolls her eyes, and the mirage of wisdom disappears with a groan. “Oh my god, you sound just like what you’ve told me about him. Go, dummy. If anyone asks, I’ll say you aren't feeling well.”
He looks at the clock one more time, watches a few more seconds tick away. He looks back to Kasumi, who’s dropped her scowl for a determined smirk, one he knows he can trust as a co-conspirator.
“Thanks, Kasumi,” he says, giving her a small smile in return before making a beeline to his room to pack a bag.
For the middle of summer, the air is brisk at the station, but Kiyoharu’s jacket keeps him just warm enough.
He boards an empty car, and the landscape of Tamasaka, full of lanterns and rolling hills, blurs into flat land, then eventually skyscrapers and floodlights that practically make it look like daytime and not the dead of night.
It's only then that Kiyoharu starts to realize what he’s been talked into. Sure, Kaido’d given him his new address back when he’d moved along with an open invite, but is it really okay for him to show up now? At three in the morning, when the last train has reached the end of the line, without any notice?
He realizes as he steps off the train that he doesn't have much of a choice.
His stomach lurches as he follows his phone’s navigation through the city streets. God knows he needs it: this is so different from Tamasaka with its one main street and branching alleys, or from his hometown, which was even smaller, where everyone knew everyone. Here, strangers whizz past him even at this hour in suits, like it's instinct.
He finds himself rushing his paces to vanish in and out of the small crowds when he encounters them, until he eventually reaches a mid-rise apartment complex. It's nondescript, exactly the kind of place Kaido would want to be despite what his family probably argued for. He doesn't even need to buzz in; he just takes the elevator to the tenth floor and finds the door he’s looking for near the end of the hall.
He raises his hand to knock, and in an embarrassing cliche, he finds it difficult to actually go through with it. Just as quickly, though, his instinct wins over his doubt, and moments later, he hears a shuffling behind the door, an audible gasp, and the unlatching of a lock.
Finally, he finds himself face to face with Kaido, but only for a second—the next, he’s swept off his feet, for real this time, as Kaido lifts him right there in the hallway.
“You came,” he says breathlessly, putting him down like something delicate, but not fragile. Something worth keeping safe.
“Of course I did. I wanted to see you.” Unable to stop himself, he asks, “Is now a bad time?”
“It could be the end of the world, and I’d still tell you to get in here.”
There's a tension between them, one that they never really talk about, even when they’re alone and they don’t have to worry about what anyone else will say. It's just there, like a rubber band that stretches in and out until they both decide to act on it. Now’s not the time, though, not yet, Sugachi reads as Kaido ushers him inside.
He moves to hang his jacket on the rack, before remembering that underneath, he didn't bother to change out of his costume, opting instead to save some time by just throwing the jacket and a pair of sweatpants over it, prioritizing the removal of only his wig and makeup.
Kaido, perceptive as ever, sees him while also seeing right through him. “No pressure,” he says with a smile.
“It’s not that, it’s just…” He figures it’s easier to just show him and get it over with. He strips himself of his jacket as quickly as possible so as to stem the awkwardness, but that doesn’t really help. He realizes it probably looks like some sort of planned striptease, with the apron of the candy striper uniform tucked into the sweatpants. “I, uh… forgot to change,” he explains sheepishly.
Kaido’s eyes go wide, clearly trying to figure out where to look. His lips fall open just slightly before he’s overtaken with laughter. It’s a bellowing, improper sound. His real laugh. “Ha! Y-you know,” he says, frame hunching over, creased by his own amusement, “I was joking about seeing you in that.”
“Were you?”
“Mostly,” he says, clearly still enjoying the sight. And god, Kiyoharu wants to ask for more, but he knows Kaido loves dancing. Anticipation. He wants to want, to pine, to be desperate before he finally gets his gratification. Part of him has considered trying to help him unpack that, but the selfish voice in his head finds it just as enjoyable and knows that Kaido dishes it out just as well as he takes it: he grabs Kiyoharu by the hips and pulls him in almost close enough for a kiss, but stretching that tension further, he asks, “Tea? I have the one you like.”
Of course he does. “Please.”
They talk like nothing has changed. Kaido tells him about the shareholders and investors and how that even as grown men, they manage to embarrass themselves. Kiyoharu gives him updates on Kasumi and his grandmother. It’s perfectly ordinary, save for the fact that he’s still in a ridiculous outfit that Kaido seems utterly enthralled with, eyes still roaming.
“Care for something stronger?” He asks when both their mugs are almost empty, brandishing a bottle that looks fairly new, still full almost all the way to the neck. He doesn't bother asking where he got it.
“That’s illegal, you know. For both of us.”
“Well, I have to keep besmirching my family name somehow.” His tone says he's kidding, but his word choice seems a bit strange, like he's been accused of it recently.
After a moment of consideration, Kiyoharu decides to let the sleeping dog lie—just for now, Kaido can't run forever—and holds out his cup, the slow flow that follows raising the level more than it probably should. “That’s not very becoming of you, sir.”
Silence is how Kaido responds to Kiyoharu’s bolder statements over the phone, but it’s downright delightful watching him freeze in person from the chest out, face tinting in a blush almost imperceptible with only the night skyline’s light filtering through the blinds.
Just as quickly as he loses his composure, though, he regains it. He puts the bottle down on the end table and whispers, “I do find myself acting pretty unbecoming whenever I’m around you, don’t I?” as more of a statement than a question.
He drinks as much as he can in one go—which isn’t much more than a couple sips, damn, it's the bitter stuff—and sets the cup down. “You’re not having any?”
Something finally snaps. The elasticity finally gives out. Kaido responds exactly as expected, and exactly as Kiyoharu’s been hoping for since he showed up at his doorstep: he kisses him softly, bending almost halfway to meet him where he is on the couch. “I can't drink it straight.”
Kiyoharu grabs his face, yanking him back in. “And I can't drink it alone.”
When all’s said and done, they only end up drinking a bit more, the bottle still three-quarters full. They get distracted dancing in Kaido’s living room, more inebriated by nostalgia than anything else.
Now, they’re holding each other on the couch in the dark, too lazy to move to the bed in the next room over. Sure, they could turn on the TV, but neither of them are willing to drown out each other's breaths, cycling in and out of time, synchronizing for the briefest of moments before they fall into a lapse once more. In, out. Together, apart. As long as the cycle continues, there'll never be silence, and they'll always catch up to each other again.
The thought brings Kiyoharu more comfort than he cares to admit.