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Korekiyo isn't an alcoholic.
Not at all, really, even if his Friday evening always ends in a bar. Working as a teacher is a stressful job, maybe not even his dream occupation either. But he still likes it, likes doing something worthwhile. Something he can look back on and be proud of.
No, it's just a glass to relax after a long week he spent over tests and notebooks, barely getting more than three hours of sleep. It's crowded and loud and the strobe lights disturb him, but he still comes, like clockwork.
He doesn't mind, not really. He's not here to make acquaintances. Just stop by after work, have a drink, head home. An easy routine he never leaves, until tonight.
He's been watching the stranger lingering at the bar for a while now. He's short with unruly purple hair, wears white clothes that are stained into oblivion with all kinds of questionable substances. It would be tempting to assume he was younger, maybe too young to be here, but Korekiyo already noticed him earlier when he was arguing with the bouncer over letting him in. He's actually older than Korekiyo, even if he acts rather childish.
It's amusing to watch him. It's intriguing to let his eyes linger while the stranger orders drink after drink, seemingly without a care in the world. Some people make fun of him, try to pester him, but he evades all of their attempts to stir him.
There's something beautiful about him, Korekiyo thinks. Something deeply, throughly ruined. It's like he can taste it in the air, the mold eating away at that stranger, whatever it is that might be haunting him.
It's deadly.
Korekiyo can't pry his eyes off him.
He stays longer than usual, has a second drink before he decides to leave. It's getting dark already, even though he's not afraid to get home. It's a fair distance to walk, but Korekiyo doesn't consider himself a target, masked and tall, wrapped in a black trench coat. People avoid him because he looks dangerous.
It's when he stands that he's looking up to pay and looks back into violet eyes, dilated pupils right on top of the bar counter. He hadn't even heard him come, not to speak of him getting up there, but the stranger is sitting there swinging his legs, grinning at him.
"You've been watching me", he lilts, "Ulterior motives?"
Korekiyo tugs his mask higher up his face. He's too close. The smell of alcohol is nauseating.
"Nothing of the sort", he says and quickly pays, leaning around the guy that makes no effort to make space.
"Eh? But I'm an easy target!" He bats his eyelashes. He's even prettier up close - ruined eyeliner, smudged lipstick.
"You're very intoxicated", Korekiyo sighs, "Do you need help getting home?"
"Don't have one", the stranger shrugs, "Nobody would miss me! Your chance!"
It's not like Korekiyo. Not at all. But he finds himself bewitched by whatever is going on with this particular misfit - and he seems desperate. People looking doesn't seem to bother him, but he wants to draw attention. He wants someone to see him. Maybe Korekiyo sparked his interest.
There's also the group of people hovering about that was pestering him earlier, and Korekiyo has a bad feeling about them. If he walked over to those, they might take him up on the offer.
"What's your name?", Korekiyo asks.
The stranger tilts his head, purple bangs falling into his face. He looks like a doll in the flickering lights. Porcelain, breakable. Delicate and fragile. Poke fingers against it and it'll fall apart.
"Ouma", comes the response while he picks at his nails, "Kanji for King, Horse. Y'know? Neigh!"
Korekiyo really shouldn't invite someone like that home, and despite his better judgement, he leads Ouma outside the bar. Cars speed by and Ouma flinches back from their bright lights, staggers unsteadily on his feet.
Korekiyo sighs. It's pointless to drag him along. He can barely walk.
"Ouma-kun, are you averse to touch?"
Ouma meets him with huge dark eyes, a devious smirk spreading across his face.
"Right here? Well, they say the tall ones are freaky."
"I am taking that as a no."
Ouma doesn't resist when Korekiyo picks him up. He laughs and squirms and makes it a massive headache, but Korekiyo just can't abandon him in a dark alley out here now.
His apartment greets him with warm orange light. Korekiyo sets Ouma down in the living room, where he sprawls out across the sofa.
"Tea?", Korekiyo asks.
Ouma rolls on his back and kicks off his shoes. He's not wearing socks. Korekiyo grimaces.
"Don't you have something more fun?"
"Tea it is."
He retreats into the kitchen and sets the boiler on.
It's probably not the best idea to let such a shady individual into his living space. Korekiyo hates visitors. Not that he has many. He prefers it that way.
When the tea is done and he returns to the living room, Ouma is fast asleep. His head is tilted upside down over the armrest, mouth hanging open with a loud snore.
Korekiyo sets the tea down on the table and covers him with a fleece blanket. Ouma doesn't seem to have a lot of self-preservation instinct.
"My head is killing me."
Ouma looks like hell Saturday morning. Korekiyo smiles behind his mask and nudges a glass of water with an aspirin across the table.
"Sorry", Ouma mutters, "I don't remember shit. Did we have sex?" He gives Korekiyo a long look. "You look like a drug dealer. Did you knock me out?"
"What a charming accusation", Korekiyo says in amusement, "I have to deny. I took you home because you'd been harassed the whole evening."
"Lame", Ouma groans and sips at the glass, "Got coffee?"
"Very well. Any additions?"
Korekiyo stands and puts the coffee machine on. Ouma leans back in the chair and smiles. Korekiyo can feel his eyes linger on him and it makes him antsy.
"I like my coffee how I like my men", Ouma chirps.
"Strong, no milk or sugar, yes?"
Ouma flicks his hand. There's silence for a couple minutes until the machine is done and Korekiyo presents him with his beverage.
"Don't think I caught your name", Ouma mutters over the edge of his mug.
Korekiyo smiles behind his mask, presses a bandaged hand against his chest and bows.
"The name is Shinguji Korekiyo. I work as a high school teacher at Sunset Hill Academy. I studied anthropology and enjoy the occult."
Ouma raises an eyebrow. "I asked your name, not your biography." He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I guess I owe you. Name's Ouma Kokichi. I live in the sewer system." He grins. "So? What's your hourly?"
"Pardon?" Korekiyo frowns.
Ouma has his eyes narrowed on him, scrutinizing him. "What? Don't tell me you take people home for free."
"I already told you, we did not have intercourse."
Ouma almost looks upset and turns back to his coffee. "Whatever you say. You look creepy with that mask by the way."
"The pleasure is mine."
He leaves right after breakfast.
Korekiyo is left with his thoughts about Ouma Kokichi, and if he's really going to be fine on his own.
It's been a while since he worried about someone like that, even if he doesn't know the guy at all. There's something about him. Something that reminds Korekiyo of himself.
He doesn't expect to see Ouma again. It was a random encounter, the kind of experience that only happens once. At least Korekiyo thought so until he opens the door late Sunday afternoon, after someone had been relentlessly knocking. And there he is, a sloped grin on his face, barely standing upright.
"Does the offer still stand that you'll pay for having your way with me, Shinguji-chan~?"
Korekiyo shivers under the sound of his name out of Ouma's mouth. It sounds wrong. Right, in all the wrong ways.
"No such agreement has ever been made", he responds, "Could it be that you struggle with your alcohol intake, Ouma-kun?"
"Not at all!"
He throws his arms up and dangerously tilts backwards with the movement. Korekiyo quickly reaches out and catches him before he could fall.
"You are aware I am a stranger, yes?"
Ouma's face is close. He's staring, his lip wobbling. "Yes, and?"
"You're not afraid?"
His expression turns somber and he sighs.
"You're the kindest anyone's ever treated me."
But that's the issue isn't it? Korekiyo isn't kind. He's selfish. He only cares about his own needs, because he can't let anyone inside. Can't let anyone see that darkness he keeps carefully locked away behind that thick facade of pretending to be living a normal life. Anything, just not the hospital again.
"You can sober up here", he sighs, "But please be quiet. I have work tomorrow."
Ouma pokes out his tongue and signs him peace over his eye.
Korekiyo half drags, half carries him into the living room, where he curls into the outer corner of the sofa and falls asleep.
Korekiyo gets up early, out of routine. Ouma is still asleep when he makes his way to the kitchen. Usually, he'd settle for a coffee. Glancing at his visitor, he sighs and sets the table with juice and snacks. He scribbles down a note to pull the door shut behind him when he leaves, before he sets out to work.
He struggles to concentrate for the whole day. Ouma won't leave his thoughts - he's always there at the corner of his subconscious, making him wonder. His colleagues notice. He pretends it's nothing.
Korekiyo feels exhausted when he returns to an empty apartment after classes are over. The dirty dishes have been left on the table, the note crumbled. There's no sign of Ouma, and for a couple days, it stays like that.
Korekiyo almost thinks that's the end of it. A desperate attempt at socializing gone in the blink of an eye.
Ouma keeps occupying his thoughts, each day, until Korekiyo returns home on Thursday with the door unlocked. He storms inside his home to find Ouma awaiting him - wearing nothing but one of Korekiyo's white dress shirts.
"What are you doing here?", he asks. It comes out sharper than intended.
Ouma stays unbothered. He returns and exaggerated bow, before he peeks up through messy bangs with a cheshire grin.
"Have you forgotten about me already? I'm your housemaid!"
"Nonsense. How did you get in?"
"Picked the door", Ouma shrugs, "Your lock is ancient. It's almost like you wanted me to get in."
Korekiyo smothers the wave of anger churning in his gut the second his eyes really settle on him. His pale skin is bruised, especially his arms. Korekiyo hangs his keys up and kneels in front of him, brushing purple hair out of tired eyes. Ouma stills at the gesture. He looks so small in that big shirt. His lip bleeds a little.
"What happened to you?", Korekiyo asks and Ouma only glowers.
"Nothing. I came to steal money. Problem with that?"
Korekiyo knows what he's looking at. Too well.
I don't want to be saved.
I'm fine.
Just pretend you don't see it.
He stands. Ouma doesn't move, not when Korekiyo softly pats his head.
"Shall I prepare you a bath? I suppose you haven't had one in a while, yes?"
"Are you telling me I stink?" Ouma playfully bites after his fingers and Korekiyo chuckles.
"I tried to be polite. That's on you."
He stays for the weekend. He doesn't drink this time and Korekiyo doesn't leave for the bar.
Instead, entirely unlike him, Korekiyo buys energy drinks. They sit on the balcony late into the night and he listens. Stories that are made up, stories so ridiculous Korekiyo is almost compelled to believe them.
Ouma lives in a fantasy world, because his reality is too cruel. He's an orphan, ran away from his foster parents. Small pieces he lets through, just when he almost falls asleep. He lives from stealing and leftovers. Puts it all into his addiction to numb the pain.
It's heartbreaking.
Korekiyo sheds a single tear.
He hasn't cried since his sister died. He hasn't felt so strongly ever since she left him with bruises, too.
He disappears on Monday, but no matter how many times Korekiyo locks the door, he'll be back.
It becomes a habit, and Korekiyo waits. Waits to return home to playful violet eyes.
He never wanted this, not at all. He thought he was perfectly fine on his own... Until Ouma broke into his world. Broke in and refused to leave him to suffer all alone.
He hadn't thought his heart was still worth stealing.
It's been three weeks since then. Kokichi had been erratic the past days, but it's only natural after he suddenly stopped his drinking habit in favor of late night talks.
He'd been asleep when Korekiyo left for work, leaving him breakfast as always.
It's after work now, late afternoon.
Korekiyo rests his hand against the door handle and pushes, promptly hitting his head when the door doesn't open. Confused, he digs in his pocket for his keys and finds the apartment dark and deserted.
"Ouma-kun?"
He searches for him. He's not there. No note, no goodbye.
It's Friday.
Korekiyo frowns.
It's not like him to be reckless, but Ouma... but Kokichi... He has to find him, he decides.
So he turns right on his heels and pulls the door shut, makes his way back to the bar where it all began.
He's not at the counter. Korekiyo asks the bar keeper for him. Apparently Kokichi is well known around here, and he gets confirmation that he's indeed in tonight.
His gut churning with panic, Korekiyo rushes for the bathroom and finds him there. Collapsed with a bottle in his hand, drool running from his parted lips.
He looks like death.
For a second, Korekiyo is reminded of her.
His sister, dead, inside that hospital bed. Cold to the touch when he held her hand for the last time. Kokichi is cold too. But Korekiyo's finger finds pulse underneath pale, veiny skin.
Tears prick his eyes. When did he get so attached?
"Shinguji-chan?"
Kokichi's voice is brittle. His eyes are half lidded and unfocused. He weakly grasps after Korekiyo, and he allows it. Allows him to awkwardly pull down his mask.
His eyes widen. He stares.
"So pretty", Kokichi breathes out.
Korekiyo tilts his head. "The same goes for you."
Kokichi grabs Korekiyo's collar and pushes himself up, and then his cracked lips are pressed against his own. A soft moan escapes Kokichi's throat, clawing and grasping at Korekiyo to keep himself steady.
He's sobbing. Korekiyo holds him and kisses him back.
It doesn't hurt. It doesn't feel like needles. No... He's not like her. Kokichi doesn't bring pain and shame. Just longing.
"You're stupid, falling for my scheme", Kokichi lilts, pulling him closer, "Don't you know? People like you and me don't do well in company."
Korekiyo smiles. A smile Kokichi can see, his eyes glued to him.
It doesn't burn. His eyes don't brand him like irons.
"Perhaps you're just the thing I'm looking for, yes?" He wraps his arms around Kokichi's frame. It feels like he was molded to fit right into them. "Let's go home, shall we?"
Kokichi looks at him like he's the sunset. He looks at him like he's tasted salvation. An escape without asking to be saved.
Isn't that what they both want?
"Cash or card?", Kokichi smirks, and Korekiyo knows it's the worst possible perfect choice he'll ever make.