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At the station, he has enough to buy a nice ekiben and bottle of juice, even a package of Christmas cookies that catches his eye. It's the most extravagant treat he's gotten himself in ages. But it's December; he's saved enough. Now it is time to move forward.
Home to Osaka for Christmas. Home to Kyouji-san.
He'd felt like he'd be arrested for crimes against watches just going into the repair shop. No one looked at him with anything less than polite customer service disinterest, though. How long had he had it, how was it damaged, how could they contact him. All perfectly normal, no one implying anything out of the ordinary.
When the repairman unscrewed the back, exposing the mechanics of the (2.4 million yen, why would you just give that away, stupid Kyouji-san) watch, it had felt a little like Satomi's heart was laid bare for evaluation.
Here, the gear that was him ruining his voice at 14; there, a spring that was him writing his graduation essay at 17; and there, a wheel that was him at 18, unmoored and unsure what it all meant. All the delicate pieces of himself that the boiling water of Narita Kyouji had seeped into.
Satomi had decided then and there that this was it. If they told him it couldn't be repaired, well, that meant the whole thing was over. His feelings would get boxed up and shipped with the can of coins to the snack bar in Osaka — the only real location he knew existed in relation to Kyouji.
There, he had decided.
He braced himself for it, like waiting to be hit.
"Mm, you might have gotten lucky. New strap, cleaning, it will be expensive —" only then there was the pause, the little hint of judgment.
Satomi sat up straighter, hand wrapping around the strap of his bag across his chest. "That's not a problem."
A nod. "All right. Unless there is damage I cannot see, or the strap needs special ordering, it should be 90 or 100,000 yen."
His fingers had flexed on the strap again, but he'd nodded, smiling. "Yes, okay. Thank you."
Yes. It could be fixed.
He'd taken the can, tearing into the top with a little too much enthusiasm. He didn't know why he didn't get the can opener, or use a key, or fork, or anything other than the animal need to tear it open with his bare hands. Fortunately, in the aftermath, he only needed a bandage or two.
His bounty was heavier than he'd expected on his trip to the bank, but he was satisfied to see the final amount matched his meticulous tally marks. Kyouji would be stuck with him, now, as though when he'd given Satomi the watch he had handed him the end of his leash. A dog looking for someone to take it home.
Satomi had rejected it, when he'd boiled the watch, but with time and distance he now recognized what this feeling was. He was ready to take responsibility for the man he'd captured the heart of.
The estimate from the repair shop ended up being nearly all of his savings, but his parents had sent him money for a ticket home for the winter break. All of the pieces fit together. It was meant to be.
He lost himself in the last flurry of classes, work, and packing until suddenly the watch was done. He felt lighter picking it up, as though the weight of the coins and their expectation had fallen away from him even if he was paying by card. It seemed so strange to be given such a small box in exchange, but the watch inside was like new.
He couldn't resist putting it on before lying down on his futon. He had to leave in the morning, there was no time left to change his mind even though he hadn't heard from Kyouji in a few weeks. But the soft tick of the watch was just audible over the whir of the heater. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was listening to Kyouji's heart.
Maybe, soon, one day, he would be able to rest his head on Kyouji's chest and listen. The thump of his heart, yes, but also the slight crackle of his smoker's lungs, and the insides of him moving, flowing, living near Satomi.
He dreamt of just this. Of them lying together, but nothing clear before or after, just the indelible memory of them.
Now, on the train, Satomi pulls the string and sets a timer on his phone, listening to the bubbling of the heating element start slow and pick up. It won't be nearly as good as the yakiniku he shared with Kyouji, but the fact that he's eating more than just onigiri will make Kyouji happy he's feeding himself.
The world rolls along out the window, he eats, it's … peaceful. He always forgets how many rivers the shinkansen crosses, the sun flashing bright on the water as each one passes by. Each their own sort of point of no return. Even if this all goes to pieces on the other end, at least he'll know. At least he'll have been honest.
The meat and rice are rich and delicious, his juice is tart and sweet. The cookies he saves to share on the other end, or eat alone in his room later in a fit of despair. There is no hesitation in his thoughts, though, that Kyouji would like them. He likes everything Satomi gives him.
The recorded announcement makes his heart jump into his throat, but it's only that they're approaching Kyoto. But then he realizes it's already Kyoto. Briefly, he panics that he hasn't messaged Kyouji to check he was going to be in Osaka. What if he's gone to Tokyo without telling Satomi? How has that possibility not occurred to him before now?
Satomi shakes his head, trying to clear away his doubts. If it doesn't happen, it isn't meant to be, but — he refuses to let himself linger on it not working out. It's going to. He runs his finger along the edge of the watch face, a tiny nick in the metal catching his nail each time. He wonders what Kyouji did to get it, and his worried spiral is stopped by the fact that he can ask Kyouji. Soon.
The train pulls away, the last kilometers rolling by to bring him to where he hopes something good to be waiting. There's a blur of white as a train goes the other way.
He refuses to let himself believe anything else. Something good will happen.
The recorded announcement finally informs them that they're approaching Shin-Osaka station. A man snoring softly elsewhere in the train car goes quiet as his companion wakes him, other passengers start moving around and gathering their things. He's been ready since he boarded, though, just his suitcase and jacket, a small travel set for a small life.
He pulls out his phone to check for directions (like he doesn't know how to get home from the station by heart) and sees a LINE message alert. It's a sticker, one of those cats from the manga Morita-san likes, but it has a Santa hat. Satomi can't help the little smile and feeling of warmth through his whole chest. It's from Kyouji.
What can he possibly say that can't wait for when they're in person? Merry Christmas? A laughing emoji? He doesn't know. He starts and stops typing a reply several times as the train slows to a stop.
He's about to put his phone away when the typing indicator reappears. The other passengers start to stand and line up to exit, but he's still stuck in his seat. Everyone else is ready to leave and get on with their lives while Satomi is pinned in place by the weight of the indicator, breath caught.
Another sticker comes through. Stupid Kyouji.
It's a cat with a present, ribbon tangled all around it with the words 'caught peeking' under the cartoonishly big-eyed face. It's ridiculous for a grown man to communicate like this, but Satomi's eye roll is fond.
He quickly gathers his stuff and exits the train, typing as he walks. He easily navigates the platform crowd as he taps his keyboard.
Still unsure of what to say, he starts to delete his message, glancing up just in time to avoid running into someone standing in the middle of the concourse.
"— Kyouji-san?"
Kyouji's smile is bright as always as he stands on the platform, hair perfectly in place, bundled in a winter coat and, unexpectedly, jeans. His arm comes up around Satomi's shoulders to guide him out of the flow of travelers and into a quiet hallway near the coin lockers. Even though Satomi had planned this trip and seeing him, his mind gets stuck trying to understand why Kyouji is here, what sort of magic he's done to summon him.
"How did you—?"
"Well, Satomi-kun, imagine my surprise when a little birdy told me you were on the move, really fast." He taps the breast pocket of his coat, the solid sound of his phone under the fabric reminding Satomi of Kyouji's embarrassingly endearing stalker tendencies. "Could only be the shinkansen, just a good boy coming home for Christmas with his family, my Satomi-kun. So, I—"
He's cut off by Satomi closing the distance between them to hug him. Kyouji goes stiff with surprise, like he was outside Kamata station, body rigid like he was braced for a punch instead of this.
Satomi won't let go this time, though, not until he's pushed away.
"Hey, uh." Kyouji's throat clicks as he swallows. Satomi's senses are focused on him to the point of hyper-awareness. He feels Kyouji start to move and Satomi braces for the brush off, though he can't help but dig his fingers into the fabric of Kyouji's coat.
But instead.
"Good to see you, too, Satomi-kun." Kyouji's hand presses between Satomi's shoulder blades.
Kyouji's breath is warm on Satomi's hair, and Satomi finally lets himself breathe. He smells cigarettes and cologne and winter city air and it's so Kyouji.
"Merry Christmas, Kyouji-san," Satomi mumbles into Kyouji's chest.
The hallway they've tucked themselves in is empty, just the two of them, which means no one can see to tell Satomi what Kyouji's face is doing. He can't help but melt at the feeling of a hand on the back of his head.
"Is this the present you wanted to give me, Satomi-kun?"
Satomi shakes his head, high off of getting to really hug Kyouji and see him again and maybe more … he feels reckless and hungry as he looks up at Kyouji. His face is flushed with the warmth of their bodies being close. The hand on his head slides down a little further to cup the back of his skull, fingers gentle as they weave between strands of hair. It feels easy and natural to tilt his face up. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip and Kyouji's eyes follow the movement and Satomi, still feeling the rush of Kyouji's touch, gets a bit of courage, the weight of the watch on his wrist grounding him.
"I have some sweets, ah, we can share. If you want —"
It's Satomi's turn to be cut off as Kyouji closes the distance between their mouths to kiss Satomi. It's closed mouth, chaste almost, chapped lips and cigarettes and so perfectly imperfect.
They part, Satomi catching his breath as what courage he's built up has run out. He can't help the slightly hysterical giggle that's surprised out of him.
Kyouji's hands slide down, down, becoming more familiar in contrast to how delicate his kiss had been. "Oh, you really did bring me something sweet, hmm, Satomi-kun?"
"Gross," he says. I love you, he means.
Maybe it might have gone wrong. He hasn't managed to say everything he'd planned, when he let himself get as far as planning. His throat is too dry now to speak.
But luckily Kyouji knows the perfect thing to say.
"Let's go home."