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Kaoru is in love with Masumi. He has this realisation one day, an epiphany of sorts.
In a quiet office, the sound of pens scritching on paper breathes life. Kaoru stretches. He catches sight of Masumi, bangs hanging slightly over his eyes, carefully reading a document. Ah, this is nice, he had thought. The serene repetitions, a routine for them, and then he realises.
He wouldn’t mind spending his life like this. His life by Masumi’s side.
As if sensing his thoughts, Masumi looks up, “Hm?”
“Going to get coffee. Do you want a cup as well?” It’s not really a lie, because that was his original plan.
“Sure.” Short and to the point, but not unfriendly. It’s just how Masumi is.
Kaoru hums in acknowledgment. Methodically, he stands up and moves to the door. It shuts with a ‘click’.
Walking to the lounge, there is a floaty feeling in Kaoru’s chest. Each step is a point of affection for Masumi. Just kidding. He’s a little too old for this, and he doesn’t want to quantify his feelings.
Watching the machine shake slightly as it prepares the coffee. The layer of milk foam on the coffee, the mellow feeling in his core. He’s paying more attention than usual.
The world brightens just so.
Kaoru doesn’t try to hide his feelings. There isn’t anything you can hide from Masumi, and Masumi has probably already picked up on them. Rather, it’s pleasant. Masumi hasn’t said anything, and neither will Kaoru. A comfortable distance between the two, Kaoru’s self-indulgence that keeps their everyday close.
Paperwork, reconnaissance missions, the second-hand bookstore. Nothing changes, yet everything changes. It’s strange, how the mundane can feel so charming. He decides that he likes it; the weight of his feelings, an anchor that reminds him of his humanity.
When he thinks about it, life plays out in funny ways. When he had first joined the Nerima Branch, he hadn’t expected to become the deputy captain, much less develop feelings for his captain. At that time, his only plan was just to be another member of the corporation, live as long as an oni on the front lines could, and that was all. Make decent use of his ability, then die as painlessly as possible. The limelight had nothing to do with him.
“You. Be useful, get the first aid kit.” Their first proper interaction— Masumi was bleeding out in the hallway after returning from a mission.
“Ah. Yes.” Fumbling, Kaoru does just that.
Watching Masumi patch himself up, it left a deep impression on Kaoru. That was the extent of their exchange, and Masumi left after he was done. Still, Kaoru felt like he had come close to being swallowed by the sun.
Honestly, Kaoru finds it a little amusing how Masumi, who shines so brightly, has an ability that allows him to disappear. Of course, if he were to tell Masumi that, he’d probably be told not to be ridiculous.
Even though Kaoru would have been telling the truth. That figure of Masumi’s, his convictions and determination, was dazzling.
There is the sound of a bell, the door to the bookstore opening. He folds the nostalgia into a small triangle, tucking it away in a corner of his heart. Focus. Instead of reminiscing, there is the future to look forward to.
Dust flies up, specks under the fluorescent lights.
They’re clearing out an old room that had ended up as a storage unit, junk piling up. Their shoes leave obvious footprints on the floor.
Masumi clicks his tongue, “What have these guys been doing? Using the room as they please, then forgetting all about the crap they leave behind.” He pulls out a tinsel garland.
Kaoru laughs, moving a stack of papers.
Along with the motion, a thin book is dragged out and falls to the ground, pages fluttering that sweep more dust into the air.
They stare at it, “Oh.”
The cover depicts two men embracing each other. In other words, a quite literal, thin book. Doujinshi.
Masumi snorts as he picks it up, the laminated paper pinched between his fingers. “What kind of asshole brings this to work?” He brings it closer to Kaoru’s face, almost mischievously, “Look.” Flipping to a page of abundant roses and sparkles, where the characters’ are hands entwined.
“It’s BL.”
“So it seems.” Masumi waves the book, “What do you think?”
Kaoru lightly replies, “About BL? It’s fine, isn’t it? After all, I like you, Masumi-taichou.”
There is a pause.
Kaoru blinks, as if his thoughts have finally caught up to his voice. Gently, he repeats, “I like you, Masumi-san.”
Masumi looks away. “… Idiot. I was talking about what to do with this book.” His poker face slipped, just a little. A minute change only Kaoru notices, warmth that seeps into his very being.
They try to interact normally, but the distance between them is warped. Even though Masumi is the same, it’s Kaoru who’s not sure how to act anymore. He thought he would have taken it better, the bittersweet aftertaste of his confession. He’s stuck between an awkward mix of seeking contact, because Masumi knows and he doesn’t need an excuse to see him anymore, and avoiding contact, because Masumi knows and might feel disturbed by him.
The unfamiliar distance makes him feel clumsy. Kaoru is sure that Masumi is at least annoyed by his uncertainty. He buries his head in his hands; too distracted, too slow, and not efficient at all.
“Kaoru.” He jumps. It’s Masumi. That’s not good. Being called out by Masumi is never a good sign. He’s definitely getting scolded, the reality check not something he’s eager to experience.
And yet. Yet, his traitorous heart leaps, the sheer, utter, absolute joy that dyes his world in serene hues, tingling down to his toes.
“Come with me.”
“Yes.”
They walk to Masumi’s room.
Kaoru takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the admonishment that…
… Never comes.
Instead, Masumi hands him a pair of scissors, “Cut my hair.”
“Huh?”
Kaoru blinks. He supposes that Masumi’s hair was getting long, but that wasn’t what he was expecting.
“Well? Are you going to cut it or not?”
“Please!” Kaoru scrambles to respond, “I mean, yes.”
Masumi raises an eyebrow, embarrassment flaring in Kaoru.
They work in silence. Each movement shears off Masumi’s hair, the soft strands slipping between his fingertips. He really didn’t expect this, didn’t think he had the right to cut his hair anymore.
The scissors cut one last time.
“It’s done.” Kaoru licks his dry lips, “I’ll clean up here.”
Masumi shakes fallen hair from his eyes, “Thanks.” He gets up.
Was that all? Kaoru can’t help but feel a little disappointed. He still has questions, still wants to stay with Masumi.
Kaoru watches Masumi’s hand close around the door handle.
Don’t go.
Against his better judgement, Kaoru calls out, “Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you still trust me to cut your hair?” The thickness in his voice makes him cringe. Kaoru forces himself to continue, “Since I, you know. I like you.”
Masumi regards him with an unreadable expression. “Would your confession make me trust you less?”
“I… I hope not.”
“Isn’t that your answer? Don’t ask stupid questions.”
This, too, is a part of Masumi’s kindness. His own way of trying to cheer Kaoru up. Even if it’s Kaoru’s own fault, the results of his own muddled feelings, Masumi is trying to comfort him.
The simple acceptance, gratification peeling at the layers of his heart.
Really, he’s pathetic, because he feels lighter than he’s ever been.
Kaoru isn’t sure how, but the bubbles of confusion pop, one day.
“Masumi-taichou,” he would call out with no purpose. And every time, Masumi would indulge him, “What.” It’s impossible for Masumi to not know that there’s no point in Kaoru’s idle chatter, but he responds without fail, again and again.
He had thought it was just Masumi’s consideration, but that wasn’t it at all, was it?
“Masumi-san, you like me a lot, don’t you?”
Kaoru maintains eye contact.
“Tch.”
The fact that he didn’t deny it, is enough for Kaoru. He can feel his cheeks hurt from smiling.
“Masumi-san, I love you.”
“Sure.” The tips of Masumi’s ears are red. Not glaringly obvious, but definitely noticeable.
Cute. Kaoru wants to tease him.
“That’s not right, is it? Masumi-san.”
“…”
Isn’t it okay to hope?
“… I love you too.”
The sparkle in Kaoru’s heart bursts in vivid colours, and he leans forward, Masumi’s lips meeting his own.