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Around the Saitama Alliance, Nobuhiko rarely kept his hearing aids in, but he had them in now. Despite his best efforts, they were still difficult to wear for extended periods of time, the molded plastics too tight and too sharp to be comfortable for long. The audio filtering through the earpieces was peaky and, at times, indecipherable, particularly in excitable environments where they were supposed to be most useful. Still, he figures they’ve earned their keep when, through the low hubbub of his apartment gathering, he hears the pitched whine of a turbocharged rotary engine.
He hurries out of the kitchenette to the lone window facing the outside world. The cold has caused the glass to fog and snow has grown a thin crust of frost around the frame. It nearly obscures the flicker of headlights in the parking lot below.
“Nobuhiko, don’t go out into the cold bare--”
Kyoko’s voice is cut off by Akiyama diving for the door knob and practically flashing outside. She’s right-- she rarely isn’t-- but he hasn’t seen Ryousuke in months and that makes his behavior absolutely rational, see, and Ryousuke doesn’t catch him standing out on the cold wood, frozen in place by the cold.
Except he does.
Ryousuke's laugh is bright and sharp, if a little hoarse. Nobuhiko reaches for him, feeling already drained out of his limbs from the snow and wind.
"Let's get inside first," Ryousuke hums. "Go on."
Ryousuke puts a warm hand to his back so that they walk back inside together. The winter lingers, of course, with snow blowing in after them and melting immediately upon the linoleum inside.
"I didn't think you'd make it," Nobuhiko confesses.
Wataru drifts into view. He's clutching a couple glasses in hand, one a steaming mug of hot chocolate, the other a bottle of wine. There's a mischief in his eye that wasn't there five minutes ago.
"Yeah, Nobuhiko here said you usually don't take holidays off..." Wataru says, waggling the glass bottle. "That's not going to be a habit for much longer, is it?"
Nobuhiko feels himself flush. Right, Wataru was usually the person he went to when the amorphous uncertainties of the day-to-day got too much, but he was a motivated and protective family member.
"This is hardly a holiday for most of the country," Ryousuke answers easily. "Especially not the family hospital. I was hardly aware your family celebrated Christmas until recently..."
At this, Ryousuke casts Nobuhiko a long look, inscrutable if not for the crooked smile that accompanies his lighthearted tone. No hard feelings, Nobuhiko reads, which is truthful as far as he can read.
Kyoko comes up on the other side of Wataru while the other two start divesting themselves of their winter gear. She forces him to pour some of the white wine into two glasses.
"We just wanted an excuse to take some time off. You know, we don't see each other that often when it's not, y'know, the season," Kyoko starts. "Are the Red Suns still together? What do you guys do during the winter?"
She presses an ambitiously-filled cup into Ryousuke's hand once he's no longer drowning in his coat and gloves. When Nobuhiko frowns disapprovingly, she merely winks; he rolls his eyes.
"Funny you mention them. Kenta and Keisuke have been managing the ones that stayed. The rest have made... splinter groups."
He tries the wine. It's sweeter than anticipated.
"Now that I've retired, I feel like I don't see anyone at all," Ryousuke confesses suddenly.
Nobuhiko is quick to grab onto him. His hand makes for a reassuring anchor on his shoulder, but it's Wataru that steps forward.
"I'd figure that's a good thing, right? Considering our line of work and all..."
Ryousuke shrugs minutely. He's not one to wallflower, but the wine makes for a good excuse to mull over his words, reluctant to go for the low-hanging gallows humor.
"Funny, Keisuke said that, too," Nobuhiko snorts. "But, hey, it'll get easier. Let's just enjoy tonight for now!"
After that, the awkward tension seems to ease away from the gathering. Gathering around the television to play tapes covers most of the noise of the blizzard outside, as well as the good-natured hazarding of Kyoko's camera work in some of the videos. Ryousuke has somehow landed on the couch with Nobuhiko, an arm slung around his shoulders, the stressors of the entire year peeling off of his brain like a healing sun burn.
It's an unusual sensation. He could probably count on one hand the number of times he's felt it. Half the time, he doesn't realize he's stressed until the tension has gone away, leaving him boneless and ungrounded. Nobuhiko's heavy and insistent contact held him in place, at least, not unlike a compression bandage on a sprain. It brings something of a smile to his face to realize this.
Ryousuke rolls his shoulders and stretches out abruptly. Several vertebrate in his back pop, eliciting a hiss of sympathy from Wataru.
Nobuhiko finds the meat of his shoulder and squeezes. It's exactly where Ryousuke had shown him to grip the last time they'd met.
"You spend too much time slouching," he murmurs. "Gotta stretch out more often."
"I'll remember that the next time I'm in an OR for twelve hours," Ryousuke says dryly.
He buries a chuckle under Nobuhiko's nose, having twisted himself more into his partner's side, incrementally shedding the layers of defenses he typically wore. It could also be the exhaustion of the past 36 or so hours finally waylaying him. Adrenaline and caffeine had carried him through most of those hours.
Nobuhiko pulls him closer, squeezing.
He realizes gradually that his eyes have shut. Wind howls beyond the thin walls, padded feet skulk beyond their place on the couch.
"Am I falling asleep, Nobuhiko?" Ryousuke breathes out.
"I believe so," he whispers back. "We could move to the futon, of course."
"Far too much effort."
Something like laughter ghosts across his skin. Muffled giggling definitely happens somewhere behind them, followed by the snick of a camera, which penetrates his mind like water might penetrate a hydrophobic seal.
There's more noise and chatter, but Ryousuke can't make any sense of it. He doesn't want to, either, beyond what it takes to keep Nobuhiko from getting up from beneath him which he's reasonably sure is working. The harsh overhead light attempting to burn through his eyelids fades away in contrast to the intermittent sound of street racing-- or is he starting to dream?
It's hard to tell.
"C'mon, Ryousuke, you can fall asleep. S'okay."
Well, if he insists...
He curls his hand around the firm give of an arm. Sleep swoops over his nervous system soon after, along with it an unerring sense of security.