Archive of Our Own

It was 26.7 degrees Celsius with a humidity of 70% tonight, which was within the average for August, according to Rikai's memory.

For some reason, despite the suffocating warmth, Rikai was in his turtleneck. It felt like 30 degrees with the humidity in play, and he knew that he should be heading inside soon, lest the wet bulb threshold claim him (not that it was anywhere near doing so—Rikai just liked having reasons for the things he did).

Still, Rikai stayed on the steps leading into the house.

There was something about this—sitting on the steps on a summer night, alone, watching the world pass by and take the last twenty-five years of his life with it—that struck a chord in him.

Rikai was alone tonight. At least, that was how he liked to see it; it sounded more like a choice that way, something voluntary. He didn't have the heart to say that he was lonely.

He shook his head, pulling himself out of the grave he was digging for himself.

There were specific days of the week for introspection; order would be disturbed if Rikai broke his schedule. He had learned early on that keeping to himself too much only served to distance him from others, so he'd adjusted himself accordingly.

It didn't exactly change anything, but it was a lesson on adaptability and, secretly, a lesson on trust.

But it seemed no matter how much he tried to change, he ended up right where he started: alone and wondering just what exactly he was doing wrong. Not like he was wrong, of course. Rikai was always right.

Although he clung to the coattails of order as it marched onward, the one thing order could not do was hold him as he thought of these things, dragging himself down over even the smallest details.

Rikai wanted enough control over his life, over order, that he could stand at the podium and declare that, yes, everything was okay and everyone was happy, including himself.

Something akin to pain throbbed in his chest, always on time and according to schedule, like the trains that rushed in and out of the station every day.

It was admirable, Rikai thought. He always strived to be punctual and consistent, as that ache was, even if the pain showed itself in his worst moments, the moments where he seemed to gnaw at himself. It was almost reassuring, knowing that something so constant, so unchanging, did exist within him.

It was something true, something alive, something he could nurture and train and control.

This, too, was routine.

Rikai enjoyed routine; he found comfort knowing that every day was the same. There was a unique beauty to it, a kind that was seldom found anywhere else. Even on the days when he awoke to pain, Rikai allowed it to linger before it eventually faded. It almost soothed him on certain days, for whatever reason.

The ache had grown dull after all this time. At this point, his day was incomplete without it, and maybe that was the beauty of routine, Rikai supposed. It was the beauty of that which is unchanging, but not stagnant.

It all came to pass, or it stayed, and you began to accept what remained. It was good life experience, a valuable lesson to learn, which was something Rikai would always appreciate.

Rikai closed his eyes, feeling whispers of wind brush against his hands. There was something tugging at him from behind, some metaphorical thread that snapped as soon as it reached the front door, cut short by the residents who slumbered within.

Suddenly, Rikai was whelmed with a sense of disconnection.

It's not that Rikai wasn't close to anyone; he was reasonably close to his housemates (in his humble opinion), but he kept his distance. Rikai didn't know the true reason why he kept his fellow residents at arm's length, but to him, it just felt safer this way, more orderly.

He had contemplated whether or not this was a fair exchange a long time ago, and he had concluded that yes, he was in the right, because he was looking out for them, after all. It was the objectively correct thing to do.

Yet it was now that he saw, for once in his life, that his argument was flawed.

As tonight, Kusanagi Rikai was tongue-tied in the face of love for a certain Minato Ohse—a love which, if left unacknowledged, would force order as he knew it to crumble before his eyes.

Ohse was probably still awake, since it was still relatively early in the evening. Rikai would check on him before going to bed for the night. Just a fleeting glance would've been enough to satisfy him, even if he wanted so much more than what would be considered orderly for a man such as himself, someone so above it all, even love.

His heart skipped a beat, hoping to be noticed, to be obeyed.

Before he could even entertain the idea, Rikai's phone rang in his pocket. It was his curfew.

He took a moment to breathe, hoping that his heavy breaths would vanquish his troubles once and for all, purifying him so quickly and efficiently that Rikai wouldn't notice what little would be left afterward. He unclenched his fists before they could imprint any telltale crescents in his skin; it was a habit he needed to work on, as he usually wasn't even aware he was doing it.

Rikai exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly as he stood on surprisingly unsteady feet and headed inside. If there was anything he was ready for, it was a good night’s rest for exactly eight hours so he could maintain order in the coming day, after making sure Ohse was alright, of course.

That’s all he needed.

That's all.

Rikai knocked on Ohse's door, hand rapping against the wood in a way he'd done dozens of times before. There was always something sharp inside him that cut to the quick as he waited for Ohse to open the door, every second seeming to stretch longer and longer.

Doubts pricked holes in his psyche as he silently wondered if Ohse was alive tonight, if he would be dead tomorrow, or if he had died yesterday and nobody knew.

Rikai unclenched his fists again, mentally chastising himself. Bad habits were easy to form, good habits were easy to break, and Rikai was—and always has been—unbreakable.

He hated worrying, hated how negativity seemed to crawl under his skin and make him lurch with discomfort. It was from worry that his habits sprang up, switching feet, being unsure what to do with his hands; it made Rikai anxious, and he hated it.

Rikai forced himself back into the arms of some sort of logic, pulling his thoughts back.

No matter if Ohse was dead or alive, Rikai knew that the most he could reasonably ask for from Ohse, if he did open the door, was for him to live for one more day. Tonight was one where he couldn't find the voice to ask it aloud, so he would say it some other way. Maybe a look, a touch, a well-placed gesture, something simple yet lasting that made up for his failure.

Rikai allowed the word "failure" to flutter in his mind before he finally banished it.

He was aware of how many steps lay ahead of Ohse before he could truly consider himself alright, and Rikai didn't know how to respond to that besides support, besides pushing, even if he knew now that he was the roadblock stopping Ohse from truly continuing forward.

Maybe that was why his feelings were so difficult to accept at first. Who was he, the pinnacle of order, who always harmed the people he cared about most, to love someone he'd hurt so much without even a single glance backward until it was too late?

Somehow, acceptance had come not too long ago.

Rikai had concluded that as long as he didn't let his feelings interfere with order, then he would let himself have them. He would not push them down, but he would simply set them aside until they disappeared. That was how these things worked; if pain was so fleeting, then surely this love was, too.

Surely, all of his feelings behaved in the same orderly manner.

Just then, he heard a noise from inside, and Rikai let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding as the door creaked open, revealing Ohse's pallid complexion and familiar yellow eyes.

His hair was unkempt as usual, and Rikai wondered if Ohse would ever let him brush it one day. As orderly as he was, Rikai was not immune to the average domestic fantasy—it was only natural; a domestic life was, after all, an orderly one.

Rikai felt warmth at the sight of Ohse, a sensation that filled him with a quiet contentment.

Ohse was alive. Good. Rikai had not yet failed more than he already had.

He pushed away thoughts of how Ohse needed to eat more, how he should go out for longer, how he ought to come out more, how he fit best in Rikai’s arms, but could not stay there, because Rikai was afraid he’d never let go if he did.

"Ohse-kun!" Rikai smiled. He was always friendly, always trying to keep himself light and non-threatening. He hated being feared or being considered anything less than an ally. "I'm sorry for the sudden visit, but I just wanted to make sure you're alright before I tuck in for the night."

Ohse blushed, his cheeks quickly shifting to a slight pink hue. He tried his best to hold Rikai's gaze, but ended up glancing away at the last second. "O-…Oh, uhm, no. I'm alright, thank you. Have a good night."

Rikai's gaze was soft, a contrast to the sharp lines and strict attitude with which he composed himself. Some part of him murmured that this was wrong, that he shouldn't let down his guard, even against Ohse, even against love. Rikai ignored it, for tonight, his heart was his grand marshal.

He nodded, giving Ohse a pat on the head. Those always seemed to put Ohse at ease.

Rikai felt the softest in moments like these, his usual frankness replaced by an almost wistful feeling, something that yearned for more of this. Maybe it was because Ohse still admired him so much, maybe it was because Rikai was so used to being the bad guy, the straight man, that being looked upon this way was refreshing.

A blush inevitably rose on Rikai's face as well, a reflection of that which hid within him. There were so many words Rikai couldn't find the will in himself to say, so many small touches and whispers of affection that he simply couldn't let go. It would jeopardize order if Rikai let his feelings out too soon.

But Rikai hoped that the day would come eventually, that his feelings would come free and become known. He hoped that one day, he'd be able to touch Ohse's heart, holding him close and saving him from himself.

Distantly, Rikai mused over the idea of whether or not his heart had any love left within it to keep going, if there was enough of himself to hold the pieces of Ohse's self together without shattering his own.

He didn't want to just while away interminable hours, wasting time for the sake of feelings that were, in the end, temporary. Rikai did most things with the intention of making a change, putting his heart into all he did, and what he wanted least of all was to leave things unfinished.

Before Ohse could retreat into his room, Rikai grabbed his hand.

"Ohse-kun," he said. "Please, don't be afraid to tell me if you need anything. Anything at all, and I will try my very best to give it to you as long as you aren't going to hurt yourself with it."

Rikai wasn't one to serve anyone or anything that wasn't order.

Rikai also wasn't a person to say something so open-ended.

What could anything be? Anything could be something he couldn't get, anything could break his words and further weaken Ohse's trust in him.

Anything could hurt even more.

Ohse stared at Rikai's hand, and then up to meet his eyes. It appeared there was something he desperately wanted to say, but it just wouldn't come out.

Rikai waited, patient as always.

Eventually, Ohse shook his head, pulling himself away, and bowing as deeply as he could. "This piece of garbage doesn't need anything tonight. Thank you for everything." He said hastily, finally returning to the darkness he shrouded himself in. He closed his door too quickly, the resulting sound akin to a slam.

Rikai's hand was still outstretched, and he couldn't help but ask himself just what he had done wrong yet again.

His hand fell to his side, holding the hem of his sweater vest as he thumbed over the pattern delicately woven into the fabric. He forced himself to be gentle, to not pull and tug at it like he desperately wished to do, forcing the self-directed frustration he felt to melt into something irenic and still.

The question remained.

What had he done wrong?

Rikai didn't linger on it any longer, trudging down the stairs to his room. Something followed him down, hiding in his shadow. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was anger; Rikai didn't have the heart to look back and wonder what exactly he was leaving at Ohse's doorstep tonight, only wishing that it was something kind.

Ohse deserved that, at least.

When Rikai got to his room, he was already much too late for bed, but Rikai found himself staring at his nightly reflection anyway. The page seemed to mock him, aware of the charlatan he truly was beneath straight lines and sharp words.

Rikai kept the page blank. It was shameful; he was shameful. A shame, ashamed, shame. It welled up within, something suffocating, and Rikai barely managed to keep it down.

Rikai didn't consider himself a coward, at least, not usually.

But tonight, maybe, just maybe, his only option was to run.

His journal closed with a thud, pen clinking back into its holder not long after as Rikai stood from his desk and promptly got into bed.

The sheets and blankets were thick and warm against his body, but Rikai only felt the bleak chill that froze his body over.

It was difficult, being warm.

Rikai had always felt cold. Something insidious lived within his body, undoing the knots that kept him together. To the average person, something was wrong with him, and Rikai had always known it well. He had grown used to being looked at, whispered about, examined, perceived.

It had never mattered to him. As long as it didn't interfere with order, he didn't mind. Let them all be wrong, let them talk; the only thing that really mattered was order. He was above them all, for order held him up above every other human being on this Earth to be an example. Whether or not they followed was their choice.

But such a one-track mind had its consequences.

He didn't know how to deal with this properly—love, frustration, misery—he had never figured out how to handle them, always believing that there was always a right and wrong answer, always a clear way out. Now, he saw how wrong he was in the face of this dead end.

His feelings had always left with breaths and counts of three. It was best this way; it gave him time, a moment to process things and let them go in one swift motion. Quick, efficient, ideal, Rikai knew it well, so he followed it.

He breathed in, lying on his back as he stared at the ceiling. He felt his diaphragm contract, pushing downward, chest puffing with what he hoped would one day be newfound courage.

One. These feelings would leave him soon. Rikai would be okay soon. He would make it up to Ohse even sooner.

He held the air in his lungs, letting it linger. He didn't feel calm. He didn't feel calm at all.

Two. Rikai ignored the pinpricks of fear that grazed against his heart, which wrung itself out in strong beats that told Rikai that he was to keep living regardless of whether or not he really wished to wake up tomorrow.

He exhaled, feeling his body almost deflate as the air left him in what felt like a heaving sigh more than anything else.

Three. Rikai was not okay—he was great, in fact.

Breathing always worked. Always.

With that, Rikai forced himself to lie still, wanting nothing more than for sleep to finally pull him under.

Rikai's mind was usually rather dreamless when he slept. When he did dream, they were relatively tame things, lacking in verisimilitude while being abundant in logic and sense. Rikai wouldn't have it any other way; refusing to let his mind wander too far was an orderly thing to do.

Tonight, he dreamed of a scene.

The meadow he lay in was, for lack of a better word, gentle, almost seeming to breathe in time with him. The grasses were tall, reaching above him. If he stood, they'd probably brush along his waist. He felt so, so small here, but he didn't mind it, surprisingly enough.

But it was right here, right now, that Rikai realized just how exhausted he was. Something deep within the fathoms of his heart told him to stay here, to lull himself back to a reality so strange it was a dream in and of itself, and Rikai was almost inclined to listen.

Instead, he forced himself up, parting the tall flora with his steps, which remained measured and light. The weather was pleasant, not too warm or too cold, with a gentle breeze. The sun was warm on Rikai's face, and he let himself be satisfied for a moment.

In the middle of the blooms and tall grass and the lissome trees that surrounded this clearing, was Ohse.

Perhaps that was the truest indicator that this was all a dream.

Rikai approached anyway, something foolish inching its way up his throat and resting on his tongue.

There were many things he needed to say, grievances he needed to air out before it was too late—before Rikai could say once and for all that these feelings were going to haunt him until he died.

Rikai approached with gentle steps, calling out. "Ohse-kun!"

With that, Ohse turned. He looked as he always did: tired, worn down, as though some unspeakable weight rested on his shoulders.

Rikai's heart ached again, a slight shake of the ground accompanying it as he took in Ohse's appearance.

It seemed even in dreams, Ohse couldn't escape himself. His hair was neither perfectly coiffed nor caked in filth; it was clean, but not necessarily well cared for. His clothes were, as usual, baggy to conceal himself.

It was as Rikai remembered him, and maybe that wasn't a good thing.

Ohse looked happy to see him, perking up and giving Rikai a hopeful glance.

"Could you come closer, Ohse-kun?" Rikai called back.

Ohse stepped backward, backing into the grass.

"Closer, Ohse-kun!" Rikai shook his head, this time making a beckoning motion with his hand.

With that began a back-and-forth. Sometimes, Ohse shied away; other times, he took leaps and bounds forward. Rikai could see the effort Ohse was taking, the sheer struggle.

Rikai silently realized he hadn't taken a single step. Something vain swelled in his chest.

He had managed to push Ohse this far.

Surely, Ohse was improving. Surely, this would all be more than just a dream one day.

Rikai sighed with relief, a previously unnoticed tension disappearing from his body, and he kept Ohse close, feeling Ohse's heart beat against his.

This was all he had been working for.

It was all a matter of time, of effort, of pushing and pulling, for he knew that deep down, Ohse had the strength to reach him.

"…"

Ohse did not lean closer. Instead, he simply went limp. His body was heavy against Rikai's, warm, but in a way that seemed to fade. The newfound chill of his body was apparent as his skin pressed against Rikai's, his head rested in the crook of Rikai's neck, nestled right against his pulse, Ohse's own no longer giving, only receiving.

Rikai dared not breathe.

Perhaps if he did, Ohse would scatter into the wind, never to be found again.

His grip on the back of Ohse's shirt tightened, his hands wordlessly begging for a response, for warmth. He felt the fabric bunch up under his fists, yet he felt no movement, no warmth.

A final sigh escaped Ohse's body then. Maybe that was him, what Rikai was looking for, gone forever. Maybe he was escaping Rikai's embrace, the way Rikai constantly took and took and asked for from him before giving back anything of meaning.

Rikai closed his eyes, holding Ohse close, sticky warmth registering on his hands and the scent of metal invading his nostrils, wafting through the air.

Rikai breathed as he always did, as he had been doing his entire life.

One.

"Ohse," Rikai said shakily.

He held his breath, feeling it reach down into the deepest parts of him he dared not touch, lest it change something within him forever.

Two.

"I'm sorry."

The air escaped him, almost punched out of his body as Rikai held fast on Ohse's body.

"I—"

Three.

Breathing always worked.

Rikai woke up in a cold sweat that night, jolting upright.

He forced himself out of bed, heading to the bathroom and splashing his face with water. His heart was beating too fast, his mind going too fast for him to process even a single thought.

What a horrific dream. Or maybe that was more of a nightmare—Rikai wasn't used to having either, so in the end, it seemed to mesh together into something indescribable.

Rikai could only hope that it would never come true.

He let out a sound of frustration as he held onto the door handle. He was being unusually gentle with the amount of force he was using, as if the strength he usually had deserted him. Rikai ignored how he was shaking slightly, finally forcing the door open and heading to the living room, a sigh escaping him.

Rikai sucked in a breath as he poured himself a cup of hot tea. Something like dread was dwelling in his chest, thick and heavy and vile. Rikai just wanted these disorderly sensations to finally leave him, as many things often did.

He'd made the asinine mistake of not checking which leaves he was using before steeping, so he wasn't exactly sure if the tea he'd made was caffeinated or not, but tea was best freshly brewed, and he didn't want to waste anything.

Judging from the light, warm-colored brew that came from the kettle's spout, Rikai had made green tea.

Something like a curse echoed in his mind, but Rikai pushed it away in exchange for being grateful.

Rikai liked tea, and he especially enjoyed green tea. Although he would have preferred chamomile so he could go back to sleep, he accepted that this was all his fault and would drink his green tea anyway, because that was the objectively correct thing to do. There was nothing he could do to fix it besides take it and savor it.

Rikai would not say a word to anyone who encountered him like this, so that it looked as though he was still the flawless apogee of order that he saw in his reflection every single day.

It was fine, drinking green tea at three in the morning despite it being caffeinated.

It was fine, disrupting his sleep schedule—which had been impeccable for his entire life.

It was fine, having dreams where Ohse died in his arms.

It was fine.

Rikai gripped the cup he was using tightly, taking a long sip as he let the aroma of tea perfume his face and the air around him as he breathed in and out all over again.

The liquid burned slightly as it went down. Rikai hadn't waited long enough—yet another mistake.

He swallowed thickly, feeling the warmth settle in his empty stomach. One, two, three, and release.

Something shaky rattled out of him when he exhaled, trembling with the weight of all of his sorrow and the chaos that bred itself out of control within his body, making him shiver with revulsion toward himself. Rikai felt all too young and all too dumb, finishing his tea too quickly to process the flavor.

He set his cup down and leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as he rubbed his eyes. Dread clawed at his stomach lining all the while.

Rikai was, for once, completely and utterly lost on what to do. The anxieties that roiled within his body certainly weren't helping, either.

It was moments like these when Rikai saw the appeal of bacchanals and all other sorts of debauchery. To be truly ignorant and unaware, uncaring of the consequences that came with the morning sun, it was something he was almost jealous of—if it weren't so disorderly and undisciplined.

He was not so far gone as to throw caution to the wind and abandon his life's purpose, for he had nothing outside of this, and Rikai wasn't quite sure if his life had meaning besides order. At least, not anymore.

"Rikai-san?" A voice called from one of the doorways.

Rikai startled at the sound, recomposing himself quickly, but not quickly enough. How many mistakes had he already made tonight? Rikai had never stumbled through a day so pathetically and clumsily in his entire life, and now someone had witnessed his undoing to ruin his own perception of himself further.

Rikai stiffened further as he focused on the slightly hunched figure in the doorway, immediately recognizing Ohse's admittedly poor posture.

"Ohse-kun," he greeted back. Something like a smile appeared on Rikai's lips, but it felt ugly and tight on his face, too wide and too friendly, unbecoming and unflattering.

Internally, Rikai pondered the idea that maybe it was better if he didn't smile at all.

Ohse tried to smile back, but it looked more like a grimace than anything. Even then, Rikai was endeared by it, knowing that Ohse was trying his best. He took in the roundness of Ohse's face and the droop of his eyes, something cozy and warm settling right against his heart. Rikai wanted nothing more than to hold Ohse close, to feel the heat of his body against his own.

"Is it alright for this waste of oxygen to ask why you're up?" Ohse questioned with a slight stammer.

Rikai's tight smile loosened slightly, breaking down to something truly and utterly fond. Ohse didn't see it, but he had always cared for everyone with his entire heart, as broken as it was. Rikai wanted nothing more than for Ohse to know that his care was seen and appreciated and that he was loved—but he wasn't sure how to reach him, even now.

"I don't mind you asking, Ohse-kun," Rikai answered after a moment of silence. "The truth is that even this Rikai-san has trouble sleeping at times. I made tea in hopes of calming myself." He explained.

Rikai noticed how Ohse visibly relaxed at that. Did he believe Rikai was staying up to scold him? To chastise him for staying alive? Maybe he had relaxed at the realization that Rikai, too, suffered from insomnia despite being the epitome of the human ideal.

"Are you…" Rikai paused, sifting through his options for what to say, "…experiencing something similar?"

Ohse nodded. "I, er, was going to make cup noodles before going back to sleep."

"Ah, I see."

"…"

They stared at each other for a moment, an awkwardness beginning to rise between them.

"Wouldyoulikesomeaswell?" Ohse asked suddenly, a flush rising onto his face just as it had earlier.

"Pardon?" Rikai blinked.

"Would-… Would you… like some as well?" Ohse said, slower this time. "This stupid piece of garbage knows that it's a foolish question and that it's unhealthy, so you wouldn't eat it anyway, but I didn't want to be impolite. I'm sorry—"

"Ohse-kun," Rikai said firmly, eyes sharpening. "Please, don't put yourself down, especially not over something like this."

Rikai glanced at his empty teacup and back up at Ohse. "As a matter of fact, I may indulge tonight, actually." He admitted, a swirl of emotions both good and bad surfacing within him when Ohse's eyes widened in surprise.

"I believe I'm a bit peckish, and I would like to spend more time with you," Rikai explained, a hopeful expression showing itself in his eyes even as his words came out stiffly.

Ohse was stunned for a moment before he nodded jerkily, rushing over to a nearby cupboard and taking out two cups of noodles. "A-Alright!"

The two of them prepared their cups together, resting chopsticks atop the lids to keep them closed as they cooked, before sitting down.

"Would you like tea, Ohse-kun? I fear that it may keep you awake even longer—as I accidentally made green tea—but I wanted to be courteous."

"Yes, please." Ohse agreed softly, watching with rapt attention as Rikai poured him a cup of tea, which had cooled down slightly. Rikai poured himself another cup while he was at it; he wanted to finish this kettle and clean it tonight, just in case Iori needed it in the morning.

Ohse wasn't as high-strung tonight, Rikai observed. For once, the trepidations that always seemed to lurk right over his shoulder had disappeared, leaving behind someone gentle and endlessly kind. Rikai's goal was to cast those demons away forever, so that Ohse could be relaxed like this all the time.

The cup noodles were too salty for Rikai's taste, but he ate them anyway. Deep down, he was worried about his health, but seeing the quiet contentment that radiated from Ohse was enough to keep him going.

He stared into the broth as he finished his last noodle, the liquid swishing around with each slight movement. His reflection stared back, distorted slightly by light dots of oil and various flavorings.

"R-Rikai-san," Ohse piped up. "Is something wrong? Were they not good? I'm sorry… I should've picked a different flavor…"

Rikai saw out of the corner of his eye how Ohse's brows furrowed at his delayed response, unknitting themselves when Rikai turned his head to face him, a long breath emerging from deep within.

"I'm alright, Ohse-kun," he reassured. "I simply haven't had cup noodles before, but they were better than I expected they'd be." He smiled softly, hoping to further put Ohse at ease as he gradually finished the broth.

Ohse seemed wary, but he accepted Rikai's explanation in the end.

After they finished off the last of the tea and cleaned up, they sat together in silence. There had always been this distance between them, even when they had first met.

Perhaps, if that gap disappeared, Rikai could confess.

Perhaps, Ohse would accept his feelings if he confessed.

The idea was a ludicrous one, but the sliver of truth it carried was enough to make Rikai blush. He looked over at Ohse, only to find himself meeting Ohse's eyes.

Ohse sputtered, letting out a strange noise before looking away, growing flustered.

Rikai quirked an eyebrow. "Ohse-kun?"

"I-I'm sorry for staring!" Ohse rushed to say, as though he'd been caught doing something wrong.

He wasn't aware that Rikai enjoyed Ohse's gaze on him, nor was he aware that Rikai wanted him to look back.

Rikai couldn't help but yearn. Tonight had been one of disorder and mistakes, but Ohse's presence soothed those nerves of his until he could once again call himself whole.

Impulsively, Rikai took Ohse's hand. The calluses are slightly rough against Rikai's skin as he thumbs over them. Ohse had always been a hard worker, even if much of his time was spent in the dark, rotting away and hoping that, if he did disappear, nobody would notice.

Rikai is ashamed to say that maybe it would take a day or two for Ohse's absence to sink in if the thought became reality.

He felt Ohse's hand squeeze his at that moment, gauging if this was real, if Rikai was really treating him so kindly and so intimately. Perhaps that was the real reason Ohse had softened so much tonight, timidly showing the heart that Rikai had always known beat within him. The realization that Rikai was human too must have startled him, and perhaps he was beating himself up over never having considered the fact.

Rikai's heart was full, seeing how Ohse relaxed so much. His eyes didn't dart around like they usually did; his body was still instead of quaking with familiar disquietude. His lips were resisting the urge to curl into something resembling a smile.

Rikai couldn't help but smile too at the tentative happiness Ohse seemed to be trying to hold back. He had finally done something right, even if it meant baring himself, showing Ohse that, in the end, the pedestal he held himself on was just that—a pedestal.

To let himself down from such a high plane of existence terrified Rikai to say the least, but maybe the fear was worth it if he could see Ohse like this every day.

Rikai wanted nothing more than to be in his corner, to be someone Ohse could go to. He wanted to say that he was there, that he wasn't simply an observer who said all the wrong words to someone who needed more than just platitudes that tasted of moral righteousness, but not of true understanding.

Surprisingly, Rikai was getting tired, despite the caffeine in the tea he and Ohse had drunk earlier. Caffeine had never had much of an effect on him, but he had believed the excess would have some sort of effect.

"Ohse-kun," Rikai found himself saying. "Would you maybe be open to staying in my room tonight?"

Ohse froze, his gaze snapping up to meet Rikai's with a look of complete shock on his face.

Rikai felt himself stiffen in response. He was never one to falter, but it was here that Rikai was most defenseless.

"I…" Rikai started, but the words just wouldn't come out.

"I apologize," Rikai said sincerely after a moment, cringing internally at the unfamiliar tremor that plagued his words. "I don't know what overcame me—"

"I would like to stay with you tonight," Ohse admitted firmly, both hands now holding Rikai's own. "This worthless piece of trash wants nothing more than to be close to you. I-I'm sorry for being so disgusting…" He said quickly, his words tumbling out recklessly, but their meaning was clear as day.

Both of them were flushed a deep shade of red, silence resting between them for what felt like an eternity before Rikai spoke.

He nodded, albeit a bit stiff and dazed. "A-Alright, I suppose it's set, then. Come, Ohse-kun." He stood, beckoning the other man. "And you aren't disgusting. Companionship is a natural urge, and you must be feeling lonely, being cooped up all day."

When Ohse followed, whatever had been simmering between them came along, too.

Rikai's bed hadn't been made with two people in mind. It was perfect for him to lie on his back and sleep perfectly by himself, but suddenly, with someone else by his side, it felt much too small.

Ohse's body fit perfectly against his beneath the perfectly ironed sheets, the two of them pressed together in such a way that Rikai should have choked on air and forced himself away.

But he only found himself wanting more.

He had done a nearly flawless job keeping himself away from temptations and simple desires, yet he knew Ohse would be the undoing of him.

Something desperate in Rikai's body, something yearning to keep his life the same as it had been for the last two and a half decades, told him to reconsider, to heed the sacrosanct principles that had kept him together his entire life.

Rikai, for once in his life, refused to listen.

Instead, he pulled Ohse close, a hand resting on his lower back whilst the other cradled Ohse's neck. It was an almost protective gesture, an apology and a promise combined into one.

Maybe this was a facile solution too, a band-aid to the bleeding gash on Ohse's heart, but Rikai couldn't bring himself to think about it anymore.

"Ohse-kun," Rikai murmured, his breath brushing against Ohse's hair.

"What are we?"

With the question comes the droop of his eyelids, and Rikai wanted nothing more than to keep himself awake, to be present for what Ohse was going to say.

But it was here, with Ohse held as close as Rikai could have him, face buried in the other man's hair, breathing him in, feeling his warmth against his, that he just couldn't.

"Rikai-san, I…" Ohse started, his voice soothing. It didn't help Rikai's current struggle, and Rikai felt himself slipping further and further...

Rikai fell asleep before Ohse could finish, and he knew that he had made yet another mistake as the fatigue overtook him.

Tomorrow, something inside him hoped, would be a better day, one where Ohse would be there when he woke up.