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The first agenda item in an already excessive list of everyday worries that concerned Kunikuzushi was rusty water that began pouring from the faucet with all the derision an inanimate object could demonstrate. Despite the trained roughness of his persona, which could rival rustic burlap wedding invitations he and Kazuha sent to their friends five years ago (Kazuha had always found it mildly amusing), Kunikuzushi found himself flabbergasted by the sheer audacity of fate that subjected him to skipping his habitual morning shower.
“Seriously?” That was all Kunikuzushi could mutter as he turned off the water and turned it on again in futile hope for a miracle that would clear the dissolved rust.
Another attempt proved to be unsuccessful, and Kunikuzushi cursed loudly. To add insult to injury, the faucet started leaking, as if mocking his distress.
“Excellent,” Kunikuzushi murmured to himself. The importance of giving a good first impression was something he was acutely aware of, and showing up to a job interview with greasy hair made dread pool in the bottom of his stomach.
Three months of his unemployment had dragged on arduously long, and they were running low on Kazuha’s royalties for his last novel. Reflecting on his life, the decision to pursue a degree in medieval history was ridiculously stupid. Nearing thirty, to his horror, Kunikuzushi had discovered that, perhaps, heeding his mother’s advice wouldn’t have hurt.
With a sigh, he looked up at the ceiling, once white, but now overgrown with mould.
“Happy there, mother?” he said coolly. The rusty water dripping from the faucet hit the tile indifferently. He could swear he heard a ‘told you so’ amidst the measured plopping. The plumber’s services were not in their planned expenses. The mere thought of living off Kazuha’s rapidly diminishing finances made him feel pathetic. Useless.
Kazuha had never complained, though. Water flowing upwards was a more realistic scenario than Kazuha unravelling and addressing his worries verbally – this foolish, stubborn man. His man. The corners of Kunikuzushi’s lips twitched at the thought before pulling into a frown. The strongest trees in the forest would always fall with the loudest crack.
“Kuni?” Kazuha’s quiet, hoarse voice dragged him out of his thoughts. Kunikuzushi raised his gaze, settling on the only one who would steal his breath even after all these years. Kazuha walked into the bathroom with a small yawn, rubbing his sore eyes with his knuckles. Cold lighting reflected from the unkempt mop of tangled silver hair, which hadn’t seen a shower in a week, and fell onto Kazuha’s face, making it appear greyish. Kunikuzushi swallowed thickly.
“Morning,” he said dryly, and straightened up. Kazuha greeted him with a small smile, which Kunikuzushi couldn’t help but find a little forced.
“You’re up early.” Kazuha walked up to the sink and turned on the water. Upon seeing the disgustingly brownish-yellow stream, he sighed and shut it off. “Not good.”
“Not good at all,” Kunikuzushi echoed with a scoff. He wrinkled his nose involuntarily at the sight of Kazuha hovering over the sink, staring blankly at the drain. So much for Kazuha’s usual eloquence and wit. He loathed the way Kazuha seemed to struggle to squeeze the words out of his larynx. He hated seeing the light fade from his face.
Hesitantly, he reached out, carefully wrapping his fingers around the dirty bandages on Kazuha’s arm. Maroon patches of clotted blood bloomed against the grey fabric. The lump in Kunikuzushi’s throat became more prominent as he softly pulled Kazuha’s arm.
“We need to change them,” he whispered, choking back a shaky exhale that threatened to erupt from his throat as his fingertips brushed against the solidified parts.
Kazuha only shook his head.
“It’s fine,” he answered briefly. Kunikuzushi wanted to scream. To yell, and curse, and cry, until he got the message across that stubborn head.
“I hate it,” he spat through gnashing teeth, flinching his hand away from Kazuha. “I hate coming back home not knowing if I’d find you breathing.”
Kazuha smiled sadly.
“I’m so—”
“Don’t you dare, Kaedehara.” Kunikuzushi shot an angry look at his husband. “Don’t you dare apologise for this. In sickness and health, remember?”
Kazuha blinked rapidly, lowering his eyes. “Yes. In joy and sorrow.”
“That’s right.” Kunikuzushi took Kazuha’s hand and gave it a small squeeze. “You’re a fool to as much as even think I’d let you crumble all alone.”
A mirthless laugh fell from Kazuha’s lips. His head fell forward, and he rested his forehead on Kunikuzushi’s shoulder. Soft plopping of water mixed with hushed sobs, and, carefully at first, Kunikuzushi wrapped his arms around Kazuha’s shoulders.
“You’ve been taking good care of me for all these years,” Kunikuzushi murmured, burying the ache of his unevenly beating heart deep within. He wanted; he had to be strong for them both. “Now it’s my turn.”
Kazuha lifted his head, and on his face, Kunikuzushi saw the first genuine smile in months. For a moment, he was the same again – the fluttering sensation of familiarity floundered within Kunikuzushi’s stomach. A short-lived second, yet back was the vivid sparkle in these carmine eyes; the same that flickered in their depths every time they looked at Kunikuzushi, long before they turned dull and indifferent.
Kunikuzushi’s eyes stung. He huffed loudly and averted his gaze.
“You look at me like I hung the stars. It’s not that deep.”
A small, breathy chuckle left Kazuha’s lungs. He parted his chapped lips to say something, but nothing came out but a quiet rasp. Kunikuzushi sighed, breaking the embrace. He gently took Kazuha's arm once more and began to carefully unwrap the stained bandages.
“Now, let me change these for you.”
A fleeting moment with him is worth more than the rest of my life without him. To whatever god might be listening, please, don’t let it take him from me.
Silence was what greeted Kunikuzushi as he came back home that evening. His ears rang, and he tried to heed the noises, slowly walking into the living room.
“Kazuha?” he called tentatively and swallowed. They hadn’t had much talk as of late, and every time Kazuha didn’t meet him in the hall like he always used to do, a small piece of his heart tore off and fell into the bottom of his stomach.
He found Kazuha in the living room, slouched over his writing desk. A relieved sigh fell off Kunikuzushi’s lips against his will. Slowly, he approached his husband, placing his hand on his shoulder and squeezing it firmly.
“Hey.” Kazuha performed an odd gesture that could be interpreted as a wave. He looked up at Kunikuzushi with half-lidded, swollen eyes. “Did you get the job?”
“I did,” Kunikuzushi smirked with barely concealed triumph. “Not the most well-paid one, but it’s more than enough to cover our expenses.”
“I’m glad.” Kazuha tried to smile back, but the corners of his lips could only give a small twitch.
“What are you writing this time?” Kunikuzushi asked, his gaze wandering over the countless papers scattered across the desk.
“I’m… trying something new. It’s a genre called kitchen sink realism,” Kazuha said quietly. His hands were slightly shaking as he tried to gather the overwritten sheets. Kunikuzushi hummed in response.
“I see. Troubled, angry young men with zero money? How fitting.”
Kazuha let out a quiet laugh and buried his face in his palms, rubbing them against his skin.
“I can’t even think. Everything I wrote feels shallow and uninspired.” He sniffled with a quiet groan. “And I think I have a flu.”
Inwardly, Kunikuzushi beamed at the fact that Kazuha had said a sentence consisting of more than three words for the first time in months.
“You’re not going to bed, are you?” Kunikuzushi arched his eyebrow reproachfully. Kazuha shook his head.
“I must finish the chapter first.”
“You’re impossible. Sit still.”
Kunikuzushi left the living room. He was absent for a good five minutes before walking inside with a cup of hot milk tea with honey.
“One thing I have learned over the past few years is that I mustn’t interfere with, nor should I entertain your self-destructive habits. But I have no intention of letting you tire yourself out like this, or you’ll face my displeasure.” Kunikuzishi thrust the steaming cup towards Kazuha across the writing desk. “Drink.”
“Thank you.” Kazuha risked a grateful smile and a glance at his husband. “I won’t stay up late, I promise.”
Kunikuzushi only scoffed . His eyes caught a glimpse of snot gathering in small droplets at the tip of Kazuha’s nose. “You better. I’m going to sleep.”
Kazuha didn’t join him in the next hours, and Kunikuzushi was restless without his familiar warm presence in bed. He looked at the clock hanging on the wall – it’s been four hours since he went to bed.
Groaning quietly and muttering curses that lacked the necessary venom, he propped himself up on his straightened arms and looked at Kazuha. The man was sleeping on his desk; his arms folded under his head in a substitute for a pillow. This elicited a deep sigh from Kunikuzushi, who, hopping off the bed, crossed the room to drag Kazuha to bed, if necessary.
“Come here.” Kunikuzushi snaked his arm under Kazuha’s pits, carefully lifting him from the chair. The man mumbled something incoherent, not even trying to pry his eyes open, and his head lolled forward limply. A small, bitter smile flickered across Kunikuzushi’s face. Gently, he dragged Kazuha along and laid him down on the bed.
Kunikuzushi didn’t leave his side after tucking him into the puffy blanket. Silently, he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for nothing in particular, yet unable to cease looking at his sleeping husband.
A whiff of night breeze rustled the papers on the desk, and the sound made Kunikuzushi flinch slightly. With a deep sigh, he stood up and crossed the room to close the window. In the glass, he could see his reflection – the shadows under his eyes had grown more prominent, and his features sharpened significantly over the years.
His eyes fell onto the desk, and he couldn’t help but rummage through Kazuha’s writings. His gaze scanned the countless drafts of masterfully crafted paragraphs and smart wordplay, and he chuckled fondly. Sometimes, Kazuha was too hard on himself. He immersed himself in the new chapter that Kazuha had been writing, marvelling at his husband’s wit that didn’t seem to vanish even in his darkest days, even though Kazuha himself thought otherwise. Kunikuzushi’s heart swelled with pride as he finished the chapter, and he couldn’t wish away the stupidly gentle smile that curved his lips.
That was, until he came across his name, written in ink. On one sheet, there was a recent letter dedicated to him. He surmised Kazuha would want to show it to him himself, but his curiosity outweighed his conscience.
He glanced at Kazuha’s soundly sleeping form before proceeding to read the letter.
My dear Kunikuzushi,
Do you remember our first kiss? It might be ridiculous, I know, but I can recall it vividly, as if it happened yesterday. Our last high school summer, the weather was especially hazy and soporific, our pastime languid. My best friend, my support, my world. Something about the stars was very special that night, as we sat on the rooftop, watching the city skyline blossom with neon colours. You said the moon was beautiful, and then, you stole my breath.
There has been a lot of water under the bridge – a decade worth of moments I shared with you, love of my life. Do you remember, my burning sun? All the smiles you gave me remain frozen in time in the palace of my withering mind; all the embraces still linger around my body. Memories of all the times you branded me with your lips are still fresh as ever.
When all this novelty and excitement are gone, what’s left for our love to thrive on? Do the memories we’ve made along the way still glimmer as brightly in the deepest corners of your mind as they once did?
Forgive me for my pointless rhetoric. Words don’t stand for anything consequential.
You are so loved. You are so cherished and adored. I never meant to be so aloof, so cruelly detached, knowing how fragile your mistrusting heart is, but my illness seems to get the best of me sometimes. I wish I could say these words to you, but my tongue has failed me, so I write them down for you, before my consciousness deteriorates.
You’ve coloured half of my life with joy and love, and for that, I am endlessly indebted to you. All my poetry, both written and unsung, has always been about you. We were always meant to be. Even in my darkest moments, I do not wish to leave your side. Your love is the reason I breathe.
Thus, I want to make a promise to you (how formalistic this might’ve sounded!)
I promise to fight it as long as I’m still breathing. I promise I won’t let my slipping mind take over me. I promise to keep going for both of our sakes. There’s nothing I can’t do as long as you’re with me.
It gets better, my beloved. It always does.
Eternally yours,
Kaedehara Kazuha
Kunikuzushi silently stared with his blurry eyes at the wet stains on the paper that were slowly growing. He neither moved nor breathed for a good minute before squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He let out a low hiss, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.
Gingerly, he placed the paper sheet back onto the writing desk, among the other papers that were scattered around the surface. His hands lingered on the letter, and he caressed it with his fingertips, engraving every word into the wrinkles of his brain.
“Fool,” he whispered with a shake of his head, and withdrew. He glanced over his shoulder at the bed where Kazuha had curled up in his peaceful slumber. In his sleep, he looked calm. A tiny, barely-there smile adorned Kunikuzushi’s lips as he walked up to the bed and lay down beside his husband.
“I do not wish to leave your side either,” he muttered, snuggling up to Kazuha and closing his eyes with a sigh.
Before he drifted off to sleep, he felt Kazuha’s arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer. Contented, he exhaled quietly and let himself be held.
After all, Kazuha had always kept his word.