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The summer bled out slowly this year, like it didn’t want to go.
Niragi stood by the open window of Karube’s apartment, watching as the last of the light slipped behind the rows of buildings. The sky burned itself out in streaks of peach and rose — warm enough to remind him of sunburns and cold beer, of days that felt too far behind to reach for now. There was something about it that brought him a strange, unexpected comfort, like pressing on an old bruise just to feel where it used to hurt.
Behind him, Karube was half-laughing into the phone, his voice moving with the same rhythm it always did when he talked about Lucid — smooth, casual, a little teasing around the edges like he didn’t care too much but still somehow meant every word. He was probably talking to one of the distributors, or maybe that blonde guy from the liquor board who kept flirting with him until he laughed the bastard off the line. Niragi couldn’t tell. He wasn’t really listening.
“When will you be done, you asshole?” he muttered under his breath, turning slightly — just enough to shoot a glare over his shoulder — but the movement pulled wrong and sharp, and his leg, traitorous as ever, seized beneath him like it still hadn’t forgiven him for surviving something he wasn’t meant to. A soft hiss slipped through his teeth at that, too fast for him to swallow it down.
Karube’s laugh caught short like a scratch in the vinyl afterward.
“Hey, I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone, already moving, the smile still in his voice but fading from his face. “Yeah, no, I’m good — just a small emergency. I’ll text you later.”
He slipped the phone into his back pocket, feet already carrying him across the room in a few easy strides, all broad shoulders and stupid concern. Niragi fucking hated that sometimes, because it made him feel like he was of glass and delicacy instead of spit and gunpowder.
“Don’t,” he snapped, fingers curling hard around the windowsill like he could anchor himself with just spite alone.
Karube ignored him entirely. Of course he would do that — that bastard always did when he thought he was right. He reached out, steadying Niragi with both hands at the waist — one firm and grounding, the other softer, almost apologetic as it hovered like it didn’t want to startle him.
“Didn’t know standing by a window required this much effort,” he said, voice infuriatingly calm as he coaxed him closer than before, bracing most of his weight without a second thought. “Come on. Couch or bed?”
Niragi grimaced, gritting his teeth. “Couch. The bed squeaks.”
“You squeak.”
“Fuck off, asshole.”
Karube huffed out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, and guided him over anyway, pausing only to grab the throw blanket that Niragi always pretended he didn’t use. He dropped it carelessly over the back of the couch and eased him down, careful not to jostle his bad leg.
“Drop that,” he muttered, already scowling at the blonde-haired man in front of him. “I’m not a fucking—”
“I know.” Karube hummed, gentle but firm. “But you’re still limping like hell and making that face like someone shot your cat.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Exactly. That’s how bad your face looks right now.”
Niragi made a noise of disgust but let himself be lowered into the cushions anyway, the scowl on his face more habit than heat by now. Karube’s hand lingered near his knee — not the injured one, but close enough to offer warmth without pressure, like he knew exactly where the line was — and he couldn’t help resenting, just a little, how much he’d let his guard down around him.
"You okay?" the blond asked once they’d settled on the couch, his voice quieter now — not soft, exactly, but gentle in a way that made Niragi glare at him half-heartedly.
"Do I look okay to you?" He snapped, though the smirk on his face undermined the bite he usually had. “Feeling real peachy right now with my leg.”
“Oh I know.” Karube said, grinning — that cocky, crooked grin that came with being too fucking fond. “But you still look like someone who got ambushed by a pillow and lost, though.”
“Funny,” Niragi grumbled, tipping his head back so it pressed into the cushion behind him. “You think you’re so fucking funny.”
“Sometimes,” the blonde-haired bartender replied easily, then leaned in and pressed a kiss just below his good knee. He always did shit like that — small, careful things Niragi never quite knew how to take. “And you seem to enjoy it, so really, who’s the loser here?”
“Asshole.” A flush crawled up the younger man’s neck before he could curse it away. “What the fuck was that?”
“A kiss.” Karube chuckled. “And you love it.”
“Do not.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The older man shifted his weight and settled next to Niragi on the couch, throwing one arm lazily over his shoulders. “You do, so just sit still and relax, yeah?”
Despite the scowl, he leaned into that warm, comforting touch anyway, putting just enough weight to feel Karube’s arm settling on his shoulders — and listened to the city humming around him. A breeze crept in through the open window, carrying the scent of late summer — something smoky and floral, like someone had lit a scent candle in the air and left it there.
“You should go back to your call,” Niragi muttered after a while. “I’ll be fine.”
Karube’s fingers drew lazy circles into the side of his arm. “Nah. Didn’t want to talk to him anyway.”
“He’s one of your main distributors, jackass. The fuck you mean you don’t want to talk to him?”
“He’s not worth leaving you alone for. Besides…” He tilted his head, resting his chin lightly against Niragi’s shoulder. “You’re cuter. Would rather stay here with you than answer those boring phone calls.”
“You’re disgusting.”
Karube grinned again, shameless and tired in the way he’d had three drinks earlier than he probably should’ve and just hadn’t said anything yet. “You know, if you’re trying to convince me not to cuddle you, it’s not working.”
“You’re already cuddling me.”
“Exactly.” His fingers tightened slightly around Niragi’s bicep. “And you’re not moving, so I’ll keep staying here.”
There was something oddly domestic about it — the banter worn soft at the edges, the way Karube smelled faintly of citrus and smoke and whiskey, the steady weight of him just being there, solid and real. There had been too much loss — too much of everything, and then not enough of anything else — but this was different. This was quiet and nice, something Niragi never thought he was supposed to have.
“Lucid’s picking up, isn’t it,” he said eventually. “Seems more busy than when I first visited it.”
Karube nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s going okay.”
“You’ll have to stay late again tonight?”
“Maybe.” Niragi huffed at that answer, which earned him a pleased smile. “Why? Gonna miss me?”
The streetlight outside flickered to life just then — a soft electric stutter, like even the city wasn’t quite ready to let the night start yet. The younger man tilted his head slightly to the side, cheek brushing faintly against Karube’s shoulder.
“Nah, but I'll get bored,” he muttered eventually. “And the cat still hasn’t shown up again.”
“You said you didn’t have a cat.”
“I don’t,” Niragi huffed in mild annoyance. “But I was feeding a stray, idiot. Black, real mangy-looking thing. You’d like her.”
Karube laughed — a low, amused thing that vibrated gently into his heart. “So you’re admitting you could get attached.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
There wasn’t any heat in it though. Not anymore.
The blond shifted, just a little, so his arm wrapped more securely around his shoulders. He smelled warm, like cedarwood mixed with something faintly sweet — maybe the spiced syrup he sometimes used in cocktails when he was experimenting after hours, half-drunk and shirtless in the kitchen. Niragi pretended he didn’t remember the last time that happened. Or the time before that.
They never really talked about those moments anymore, but they both liked them enough to stay, which was enough.
“You gonna fall asleep on me again?” Karube murmured softly in his ear. “'Cause I’d appreciate a little warning this time. My arm went numb last week.”
“You’re a grown man,” Niragi muttered without opening his eyes. “Deal with it.”
“Can’t. You’re heavier than you look.”
“I’m injured, asshole. You don’t get to call me fat.”
“Didn’t say fat.” The bartender chuckled, that low, worn-out kind of laugh people gave when they’d worked too hard but were still pretending they hadn’t. “Said heavy. Dense, maybe.”
He cracked an eye open to glare at Karube afterward. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
"By throwing a cane at me again like last time?"
“It slipped.”
Karube nuzzled lightly against his cheek and gave it a kiss. “Sure it did,” he said. “But that’s alright, I could handle it. That and the cat, if you’ve ever thought about adopting it someday.”
Niragi hummed under his breath, not quite a reply, and leaned further into the warmth of the blond’s arms anyway.
↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-
“You’re getting water all over my floor, man. What the hell?”
Niragi rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of his head. Judging by the voice’s proximity and that particular brand of fake irritation, Karube was standing just inside the doorway, arms crossed, towel slung over one shoulder like he owned the goddamn place — which, technically, he did — but did that make him immune to the death glare he was about to level at him?
Oh no. Absolutely not.
“I just washed my hair, jackass.” The younger man snapped, shifting to glower at the smug bastard behind him. “You want me to air-dry it like a fucking dog?”
Karube made a thoughtful noise at that. “Could be a good look for you.” He said, leaning into the doorframe with unnecessary ease, like he was on the cover of a magazine instead of blocking the bathroom exit. “Shake your head a little. Spray water everywhere. Fetch me a beer while you’re at it.”
Niragi snorted. “Fuck you.”
“That’s more like it,” the blonde-haired man said with a smile, easy and familiar. “Was starting to think the shampoo took all the bite out of you.”
“Keep talking and I’ll stab this cane into your throat.”
“Can’t even threaten me properly anymore.” Karube clicked his tongue at that and stepped in fully, bare feet slapping quietly on the wet tile. “What happened to you, huh?”
“I got soft,” Niragi deadpanned. “Started hanging around this guy with a savior complex and a dumb smile. Thinks giving me free drinks and blowjobs makes him my therapist.”
“Shit, sounds like you fell for a real good guy.” The older man laughed, warm and unhurried. “Still giving him hell?”
“Religiously.”
“Good.” Karube came up behind him, reaching for the hairdryer nearby. “Now sit. You’re dripping all over the floor and I’m not mopping again.”
Niragi huffed but didn’t argue, lowering himself slowly onto the closed toilet lid. The tiles were cold beneath his feet, sending a dull ache through his bad leg, the one with the metal pins that sometimes felt like it was bolted together with regret. His cane leaned against the sink beside him, towel draped loosely across his lap.
Karube crouched beside him, plugged the dryer in, and flipped it on. The hum filled the air, familiar and domestic in a way that didn’t sit entirely right — but also didn’t feel that bad either.
“You ever thought about becoming a hairdresser?” Niragi shouted over the noise.
“Only when you come outta the shower looking like a pissed-off Pomeranian,” the older man said, lifting a section of his thick, dark hair between practiced fingers. “Jesus, how do you have this much hair and still act like it’s my fault it tangles?”
“Because you touch it,” Niragi answered sarcastically. “You jinx it, asshole.”
Karube laughed again — a quieter one this time, lips curled, fingers brushing through the damp strands as if he’d done this before and knew his way around it. “Sounds like victim blaming, if you ask me.”
“Good. I hope you suffer.”
“Oh, I do,” the blond agreed, his tone mock-dramatic. “I suffer every time you limp around like a grumpy little gremlin and refuse to use the stool I bought for you to use in the shower, then complain about your leg being peachy afterward.”
“It’s ugly.”
“It’s durable,” Karube corrected. “And much needed for your titanium-ass leg.”
“Are you implying that I’m old?”
“Heck no,” the older man snorted. “But you’re twenty-five and held together by screws and spite. Maybe you should consider sitting your ass down before the next meteor finishes its job.”
“I am sitting,” Niragi muttered, but the edge was gone from his voice. He could feel rough, calloused fingers threading carefully through his damp hair now, untangling the strands with a care that felt almost foreign to him. It was gentler than he expected, and certainly gentler than he’d ever deserved to be.
“You done frying my brain cells yet?” he grumbled, shoving Karube’s hand away with half-hearted irritation, tamping down the uncomfortable thoughts rising at the back of his mind. “The static’s fucking up my hair, asshole.”
The bartender chuckled softly, hand still holding up the comb like the stubborn asshole he was. “Pretty sure your brain cells were fried long before I did,” he shot back, that teasing grin displayed in full force. “Now stay still. I'll fix it.”
Niragi made a sound like he might argue but didn’t. Instead, he sat still as the comb passed through his hair — slowly, carefully — as Karube worked through each knot, one by one, until his hair was straightened out. The younger man half-expected teasing — something about how vain he was for keeping his hair this long, or how much product he used — but instead, there was only silence. Easy, unbothered silence that filled the small bathroom like steam, wrapping him in a kind of comfort he didn’t know how to ask for.
“I don’t even wanna know how you learned to do this,” he muttered, watching their reflection in the foggy mirror as the blond gently twisted his hair before tying it off into a high ponytail. “Pretty sure it'd haunt me if I ever dare to ask.”
Karube chuckled at his words, eyes surprisingly soft as he played with the ponytail. “Trade secret,” he said, smoothing down the last few flyaways with his palm. “Used to have a roommate once who used to have me do her hair before job interviews. She said it helped calm her down.”
“You calm people down?” Niragi blinked at him in the mirror. “Am I hallucinating this conversation?”
The blonde-haired man met his gaze with a smirk. “Don’t look so surprised.”
“I’m just saying,” he muttered, then yawned like he hadn’t meant to, jaw clicking as he tried to stifle it behind the back of his hand. “Most people don’t think of the guy who throws beer bottles at cockroaches as calming.”
“That was one time.”
“You missed.”
“Only because I was drunk. I could do better when I’m not.” Karube grinned, gave the tie one last tug, and ran his hands down his shoulders. “There, finish! You look like a new man now.”
“More like a dog that got professionally groomed,” Niragi shot back, though the corners of his mouth tugged upward despite himself.
“Don’t say that,” Karube murmured, then leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of his head — slow, warm, unhurried. It unraveled every retort Niragi had lined up, making them melt before they could leave his mouth. “Besides, I think you look pretty like this.”
The kiss wasn’t new — they’d done that before. They’d fucked, fought, healed, learned how to sleep beside each other without armor — but this level of gentleness was something he never learned how to hold properly. It came so naturally from Karube, like it always belonged to him — all while Niragi was still on the fence about whether or not he should reach for it.
“Huh…” He stared down at his cane for a moment — black, well-worn, patched up with tape and stickers from convenience stores the blonde-haired bartender insisted on visiting when they were drunk and nostalgic. “Do I, though?”
Karube tilted his head, his smirk softening into something closer to a crooked smile as he reached out and caught Niragi’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it just enough to meet his eyes in the mirror.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “You do.”
The answer was oddly honest, and Niragi couldn’t decide if it irritated him or made his chest feel too full. “Real poetic, man,” he muttered, trying for sarcasm. “Did you rehearse that in the mirror this morning, or does it just come naturally to guys who think they’re philosophers after two beers?”
“Three beers,” Karube corrected with a wink, tapping the underside of his chin lightly before letting go. “But nah, I save the poetry for special occasions. You just get the discount version of it, that’s all.”
“How generous.” He hummed, pushing off the sink to stand on his own. Their shoulders brushed briefly against each other, but neither made a move to stop that from happening. “Should I feel lucky?”
“Guess that’s up to you.” Karube shrugged, easy and unhurried, before grabbing a towel and draping it over his shoulders like they had all the time in the world. “Come on,” the blond added with a grin, motioning toward the door. “Let’s get outta this bathroom before you start pruning up.”
Niragi didn’t put up much of a fight afterward. Instead, he let the older man lead him out, their steps in sync as he fell into stride beside him like a dance they'd always done before.