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It’s a quiet evening, the leaves blowing in the calm wind outside, and the bright sun gradually setting to welcome the darkness of the moon, which brings along the sparkling ocean, glistening under the stars.
In this small home, the faint sizzling of a pan can be heard in the kitchen, with a smell originating from said pan flowing through into each and every room.
Kurukuru is cooking something, and it smells really good… The masked man doesn’t tend to cook too often, but when he does, it always tastes and looks heavenly. It embarrasses him, with how skilled he is with little practice. Perhaps he’s just not used to compliments…
“Dancer,” he calls out to his lover—who is currently sitting at the dining table, a book in his hand; a graphic novel, to be specific. “It’s nearly done. Could you please give me some of your assistance?”
Dancer’s attention is stripped away from the story, so he rolls his dark eyes and teases the other. “Mmm… I don’t know, should I?”
The teal-haired one pouts—though it isn’t visible through his mask—and points the wooden spoon at the taller man. “Yes. In fact, it would be wonderful if you did.”
“And what is it you need help with…?”
“I need you to stir that while I get our bowls, cutlery, and perhaps chopsticks for the noodles, too.”
“Alright, fine, I’ll do it…” He closes his book with a groan. He begins to stretch his legs, stand up and wander over to the pantomimer. Kurukuru finds it strangely amusing; how snarky and childlike Dancer is behaving today. Maybe he’s trying to get some sort of reaction in response. But if he is, then surely his beloved would be able to notice it…
I do wonder, Kurukuru thinks as he opens the cupboard. Why does he even bother with someone like myself? What does he see when he looks into my eyes?
And why, he asks the imaginary people in his mind. Why, oh, why, does he love me?
Why is it me of all people to be the one he thinks of as special?
The curly-haired man does not receive an answer. He never will—unless he asks Dancer himself. Though asking such a ridiculous thing might seem foolish of him; because it’s not the type of question you’d expect to hear, leaving the brain in a state of confusion and deep thought, sometimes causing it to be unanswered entirely.
For now, he’ll prioritise keeping hold of the joy and belonging he feels, instead of the sorrow and melancholy emotions that come with the uncertainty of these questions he wishes to ask.
The warmth from the stove is messing with his head. He could remove his mask, as there’s nobody else around apart from himself and the other man, but… does he want to? On one hand, it would help him to cool down ever so slightly, however, his face…
His hideous mess of a face… Dancer has told him time and time again that he’s not ugly at all—that he’s the most beautiful man he’s ever laid his eyes upon—in hopes of easing his worries. Being self conscious isn’t something you can just take away with a few words of reassurance, though. Kurukuru knows that all too well.
He views himself as a man not worthy of such love and appreciation, a monster that has no right to mention his own opinions, ideals, and emotions. But Dancer wants him to talk—not about anything specific—because no matter what topic he speaks about, Dancer will always listen.
Kurukuru watches as his boyfriend puts the hot soup into their bowls. The consistency is more watery than creamy, which is how he prefers it. When the portions have been dealt equally, he grabs his food and carries it to the table. He stares at the liquid, almost as if he’s analysing every detail of the various little vegetables inside of his homemade chicken noodle soup.
“Kuru? Is something wrong?” Dancer asks while he joins the shorter man, sitting at the opposite side. It appears that Kurukuru has been silent for a few minutes now, and he has unintentionally made Dancer worry about him.
With a quiet clack, the mask concealing his face is placed next to an unlit candle. “You’ll have to forgive me for my silence… I am simply deep in thought, nothing more, nothing less.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to tell the truth, you know…”
“Ah… so you don’t believe me. Well, you have known me long enough to tell when I’m not speaking honestly…” He mumbles, swirling the metal spoon around in his food. “If I mention it now—while we’re eating—it will ruin the mood. It is not a talk to have during our evening dinner.”
“That’s fine,” his beloved smiles. “You can tell me whenever you want.”
Sometimes Kurukuru believes that Dancer is too understanding towards him. It’s frustrating how strangely easy it is to show his real self in times like these. He is his own person, with a brain and a heart. He’s allowed to be frustrated, he’s allowed to be sad. Nobody will mock him for it, because it’s normal to feel negative emotions.
Despite knowing this, he still feels the need to hide those fallacies of his away entirely, even though he has no reason to at this current point in time; maybe not at all in the future, either. It is simply a facet of who he is as a person. He is similar to that of an abstract shape—different, yet appealing in its own way.
So the two sit here at this table, in complete silence, quietly eating (or if it’s a liquid, then wouldn’t it be drinking?) the warm soup. It makes things feel a bit less cold, especially with the sound of rain beginning to pour outside. That’s really disappointing, is what Dancer thinks of the sudden rainfall. But at least the plants and stuff will get the water they need, right?
He tells me about the bugs and crops a lot, so it’s not surprising that it’s one of the first things I think of…
As Kurukuru blows on the noodles to prevent them from burning his tongue, then carefully slurps it into his mouth to chew, Dancer stares at him in total awe. Maybe it’s because he finds every little detail about the man in front of him stunning, whether it be his gorgeous looks or unique personality.
When the pantomimer finishes his meal, he makes eye contact with his one and only. It’s now that he realises he’s been watched this whole time… “You confuse me,” he sighs, standing up. “I’ll be in our bedroom, I shall tell you what is on my mind in there.”
“Wait,” Dancer pleads, grabbing onto Kurukuru’s left wrist. “Thank you for the soup… It’s amazing…”
“Dancer… you shouldn’t have to thank me for it…” He frowns, shaking the other’s hand off of his joint.
“Just because I shouldn’t have to doesn’t mean that I don’t want to.”
“…”
Kurukuru goes silent at that, as he has no words to respond with. What does that even mean? Will Dancer say something similar when the actor asks him why he loves a man such as himself? He wants to know—he yearns for an answer—so he can feel at peace once more.
“…But, I—”
Dancer’s words are cut off by the realisation that his lover has left the room. He exhales, returning his focus to the uneaten soup—which is most certainly cold by now—he needs to finish it… He can’t just waste this restaurant-worthy cooking, can he?
I must find out, Kurukuru muses. Just what kind of person he sees me as…
Does Dancer view him as a man who swims in a deep sea of self-loathing? Or perhaps a melancholic, yet peaceful individual, who frolics along without a care as the rain pours on every street and avenue in the area?
Well, there’s no reason to overthink at this point, is there? He’ll know soon enough—is what he wishes to believe. If he holds on to that hope, then maybe—just maybe—it will be okay.
“It will all be okay…” He mutters to himself as he sits down on the unusually comfortable bed. It’s weird; he wants to enter the world of dreams now, and not wait until what he considers to be an appropriate time for rest.
Though, if his consciousness were to fade, he wouldn’t be able to ask that question… Yes, he could just ask tomorrow, but he can’t keep pushing it out of focus anymore. It has to be today. Not tomorrow. Not the day after. Today. It will be today.
He seeks an answer, however… He can’t help but be scared—scared of what hearing that answer could possibly change, or anything of the sort. He shouldn’t need to be afraid, there isn’t anything to be afraid of at all.
Kurukuru’s hands subconsciously reach up to touch his own face, almost as if he’s trying to hide again…
…and practically at the same moment, Dancer stops to stand in front of the bedroom’s doorframe. His footsteps tap on the hard wooden floor as he approaches the other man, proceeding to sit by his side without a word.
“Kuru…?”
“…”
Dancer frowns. Since he has no clue what is going on, he is unable to help. He wants to help, but he can’t unless he knows what the problem is…
The teal-haired one tries to regain his composure, preparing himself for the inevitable.
“Dancer…” Kurukuru finally manages. His heart is starting to ache… it hurts—it hurts so much it’s like it’s pounding on and on at every millisecond that passes.
“Yeah?”
Removing his hands from his face, he whispers… “Why do you love me…?”
He looks like he’s terrified, trembling and distressed. Dancer wants nothing more than to comfort him—to make this man feel loved in every way possible.
“…I dunno, but…”
“…?”
“I don’t think it matters why I love you… because I do love you, that won’t ever change. I’m with you, and you’re with me. And knowing that makes me happy. You make me happy. I smile and laugh and enjoy life because of you…”
“Because of me…?”
“Mhm,” he nods, pulling Kurukuru closer. “Please don’t forget that…”
“I won’t…”
Then, for a brief moment, it feels like the two are floating on the air surrounding them—but they aren’t. That’d be impossible…
Kurukuru has received his answer, and nothing has changed. All that worrying, just for everything to be fine in the end.
He presses a weak kiss to Dancer’s lips. And now, only now, is the time he begins to cry…
Between sobs, he tries to string together a coherent sentence. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I-I shouldn’t be upset, but I…”
“Please don’t apologise…”
“I can’t help it…”
And that is okay. It’s okay to feel like this. It’s okay to cry, to be sad, to feel pain. Because keeping it all in will only lead to making these things worse—similar to a bucket gradually filling up with water until it spills. He can only contain it for so long until the tears come pouring—just like the rain that falls from the grey sky.
…
Once Dancer believes that his boyfriend has been sobbing for long enough, he turns to initiate a hug; letting Kurukuru rest his head on his shoulder and cry into it. He feels bad for making the taller man worry—for crying his eyes out in front of him for practically no reason.
Kurukuru takes a long, deep breath, and braces himself to speak again.
“Th—thank you… I feel a little better… not entirely, but still…”
“Even if it’s not much, it’s good either way, isn’t it?” Dancer replies, reaching his right hand up to gently run it through the actor’s soft teal hair. It’s incredibly fluffy—the kind of fluffy you’d imagine a cloud to be. (If you didn’t know that clouds were actually mostly water…)
“Mmm… I suppose you’re right,” he hums, leaning into the warm touch.
The taller man tilts his head, wondering if those words are true. “Really?”
“For once…” Kurukuru teases. A silly grin replaces his sad frown, almost instantly. And not even seconds later, he begins to giggle.
What could be so funny?
“What do you mean ‘for once’?” Dancer asks, watching as his lover pulls away from the hug.
“Nothing! Nothing at all, my dear!” He smiles, moving to step onto the floor…
…And Dancer follows, trying to find out what exactly is making Kurukuru laugh so much.
“Go on, tell me!”
The curly-haired one runs to the other side of the room, yelling: “I forbid you from such knowledge!”
So now they’re running around like children—as if they’re playing a little game of tag together—with Dancer chasing Kurukuru all over their bedroom, seeking to know the cause of his laughter.
Yet, when Kurukuru is captured by his beloved in a rather… weak hold, he still struggles, pretending he can’t escape.
“Let go of me…”
“Not until you tell me what you’re so giggly about!”
“Do I have to?”
“I won’t force you…”
“I started laughing because of your lack of believing that your words were true. Though, having too much confidence would be annoying…”
“Eh?”
“It’s stupid…”
Dancer loosens his (already weak) grip on Kurukuru, and takes him by the hand, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin.
“You’re not stupid. Absolutely nothing you say is stupid, my love…”
“Dancer…”
“I admire you in every way possible, Kuru… so please, do not view yourself or your words as worthless or pathetic. You are elegant—like a bright teal galaxy far out into space; and I am the only human alive to have reached it. I could say so much more, but… my mind can’t put many of my thoughts into words…”
“…I—I—You—Wha—Mmmpf?”
Amidst Kurukuru’s flustered confusion, the taller man kisses him on the lips, and leans down to hug him while he does so. It’s warm, comforting, and gentle—just how it should be. It may just be what the actor has been yearning for since earlier this evening.
After he thinks that his darling has had his lips on his own for… a while, he tugs at Dancer’s arm, wordlessly asking him to give him some room to breathe. Thankfully, the other steps back a bit, allowing the teal-haired one to take a few deep breaths to regain his composure.
“I’m truly sorry, but… I would like to rest early tonight…”
“Hm? Yeah, I understand… you’re tired, and you’ve cried a lot. Though…”
“Though what?”
Dancer pinches his cheek playfully, and Kurukuru pouts at the action.
“Stop apologising for literally everything. You are enough, and do not let the stupid voices in your head tell you otherwise.”
“Mmmmh…” The pantomimer glances at the bed. It looks a lot cozier than it usually does, and he so desperately wants to climb in there and sleep right this instant. And maybe sleep whilst cuddling his very annoying boyfriend… He’s sure that Dancer wants the same thing—or at least hopes he does.
The ‘annoying boyfriend’ lifts Kurukuru up as if he were a knight carrying a prince. (or princess, but in this case, definitely some sort of prince. Maybe.)
“You look drained, Kuru… Come on, off to sleep we go. Now.”
Kurukuru chooses to not react, because he is simply that ready for a calm, peaceful slumber at this point. He lets himself be laid down on the fluffy material, and he can easily feel his consciousness fading.
By the time Dancer begins to make his way into the covers, too, it appears that the actor has quickly found a comfortable spot to rest in. He’ll be asleep in no time.
“Wait—huh? Already? Wow…”
He sends the blanket more towards Kurukuru, seeking to provide more comfort, despite knowing that the man beside him could actually be far into the world of dreams at this very moment. Then, he wraps his arms carefully around his waist, and nuzzles into his shoulder.
“It seems like you’re extremely attached to me today… I’m grateful that your presence makes me feel content and safe, because if it didn’t, I wouldn’t be anywhere near as welcoming to your sudden hugs as I really am.”
“Whaaaatever. Goodnight… Sleepy time for us…”
“If you snore on me I will most certainly not make breakfast for you in the morning.”
“I won’t snore! You know me, and I don’t snore a single bit! How rude of you…”
“Mhm…”
Neither of them say a word after this. It’s likely they believe if they continue talking, they will become less interested in sleeping, and more interested in chatting—until that will tire them out after so long.
So… they will rest. Tomorrow will come, and today will be left behind with the wind and dust. The rain shall clear, and the sun can shine once again. Not everything is perfect, and nothing is ever the same. That is just how things are on this planet people have come to call Earth. Though, perhaps it’s different on other planets? Other galaxies or universes? There’s probably no way of knowing, but it doesn’t hurt to think about such a thing.