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Kojiro grinned as he headed back into the kitchen with Kaoru’s order - such as it was; he’d make Kaoru what he felt like and knew Kaoru wanted, and he would love it and pretend he was unmoved, as usual - pulling a fresh pan down with a light twirl of the handle spinning against his palm. He hummed, settling it on the stove, then side-stepped easily as one of his wait staff hurried past, pulling a knife and turning around again.
It was an absent, comforting sort of work, chopping and mixing, stirring the boiling pasta as he started the sauce in another pan, keeping it moving to make sure the flavours mixed evenly over the heat. Kojiro had always loved cooking, and was fortunate that building his restaurant hadn’t dimmed that in any way.
He rolled his neck, stepping back as he allowed the sauce to settle, glancing back out into the dining room. Kaoru was sitting at the bar, of course; he never sat anywhere else when he was here alone, and rarely even when he was here with clients.
Kaoru’s sharp eyes flicked up to meet Kojiro’s, and he arched a brow, lips tilting almost into a smile before he looked away again, expression smoothing. He lifted his glass of wine to his lips, taking a slow sip, elegant fingers shifting around the bowl.
It was a sight - a moment - mundane in its familiarity, like hundreds and more in Kojiro’s memory. He smiled faintly, chest tightening in an achy pulse, as Kaoru put his glass down again, tilting his head and brushing aside a lock of hair absently, Carla’s band on his wrist a dull ‘resting’ glow.
“Oh, I’m in love.” Kojiro said softly, eyes fixed on Kaoru’s thoughtful face.
Then the thought, the words, settled into his conscious mind and Kojiro stiffened. “Oh. Oh shit.”
His chest throbbed, heart squeezing as he stared at Kaoru, who was sitting there calm and relaxed as could be, precisely as he had multiple times a week for years, and before that in several apartments and dozens of hotel rooms and-
That- That was no help. There was nothing new or different about it, about Kaoru or the moment, but that just made it impossible for Kojiro to deny the realisation that had crept up on him somehow. Nothing had changed, fuck, how long-
“Ano. . . What was that, sir?”
Kojiro jumped. Fuck, he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone in the kitchen - he often was, when Kaoru was here on his own. He frequently came late, if not actually walking in after closing - he had a key, but Kojiro also left the door unlocked anticipating him turning up - and stayed, keeping Kojiro company as he cleaned up and wound down. Not that he’d call it that himself, Kojiro was sure, but he did and it was more than welcome.
“I- Sorry, ignore me.” Kojiro said abruptly, grabbing the nearest- He’d grabbed the pepper mill. He sighed and put it back down, paying proper attention to what was before him and taking up the spoon to give the no-longer-sizzling pan a stir, then putting it back on the heat, preparing to incorporate the pasta.
“It’s just- I thought I heard you say. . .” Satoru trailed off, and Kojiro glanced over to see him frowning, brows drawn together.
“A sudden realisation.” Kojiro said quietly. “Personal. My apologies.”
“I thought I heard you say. . .” Satoru glanced out through the pass-through at the dining room. Kojiro wondered if he was imagining it that Satoru’s eyes lingered on Kaoru. “Sir, I know it’s none of my business, but . . . please. Think of your life.” he said earnestly, resting a hand briefly on Kojiro’s forearm.
It was very touching, his sincerity and clear care . . . but Kojiro had no idea what he was talking about.
“Think about my life?” Kojiro repeated blankly.
. . .granted, it very well might be taking his life into his hands if he shared that . . . sudden realisation of his with its object.
“It’s clear you’re . . . happy together.” Satoru said, fidgeting. “Please just- Think about it. Don’t risk that - ruin that - for something new and fleeting.” he said earnestly.
Kojiro frowned. “Oh, believe me,” he said, shaking his head, a shudder going down his spine as he remembered the cool look of distaste he’d seen Kaoru turn on a few admirers in the past, “I have no intention of being stupid enough to go tell Kaoru I- How I feel about him.” He shook his head, pulling a plate down. “Hell no.”
“. . .you were speaking of Sakurayashiki-shihan?” Satoru said blankly.
Kojiro warred with himself for a moment, wincing. “Yes, of course.” He glanced out into the dining room. Who the-
“He doesn’t already know that? . . .how was that a realisation?” Satoru asked, then cleared his throat, jerking away. “Sorry, sir!”
“What?” Kojiro stilled with the pan held above the plate. “Why the hell would he know something like that? Why- And yes, it fucking was!” he said sharply, voice low.
“I didn’t mean any offense, sir, I’m sorry!” Satoru said quickly, rearranging plates on the counter before him aimlessly.
“Why would you think . . . that . . . wasn’t something new?” Kojiro demanded, pouring Kaoru’s pasta onto the plate, nudging with the spoon to keep it prettily arranged, spilling outwards from the centre point.
“Oh I mean- Well, honestly, sir, I. . . I thought you were married.” Satoru said awkwardly.
Kojiro choked. “What?” he wheezed, nearly dropping the pan he was setting down with a clatter.
“Please don’t be angry!” Satoru begged, and Kojiro waved a hand, then stepped away to get a drink of water, feeling suddenly dizzy, throat tight. “I just- We all do! I mean, he brings his clients here - or he somehow talks them into bringing him here as though he’s never been, and you clearly both make a game of it. . .”
Kojiro coughed. Well. That was true.
“Aside from that, though,” Satoru said, regaining a bit of his usual grace as he began deftly garnishing a plate, not quite looking at Kojiro, “he’s here at least three times a week, late in the evening; you often let us go early when he’s here but even when you don’t he stays after closing, just . . . sharing wine with you and talking.”
Kojiro closed his eyes and covered his face with one hand.
“You talk about your trip to Paris, I . . . I’ve always thought it was your honeymoon,” Satoru said, and Kojiro struggled to breathe, spilling water over his fingers from his glass, “and you go on a foreign trip together, just the two of you, every year at least. And you, er . . . you talk about something . . . secret? I’ve heard you call each other by different names,” Satoru paused for a long moment, then cleared his throat, “and there’s his computer that he. . .”
“She’s not a computer.” Kojiro said reflexively, though he’d called Carla a machine to needle Kaoru countless times. “Sorry.” he said, dropping his hand and looking at Satoru with a weak smile.
“. . .I take it you’re . . . not . . . married?” Satoru ventured cautiously, and Kojiro’s fingers twitched, curling in towards his palm.
“No.” he said thinly. “We’ve been friends - or rivals - since we were in school together, but never. . . No.”
“Oh.” Satoru was blushing. “I’m very sorry, sir.”
“It’s fine.” Kojiro said weakly, reeling from the revelation as to his staff’s perspective on his relationship with Kaoru.
“Kojiro!” Kaoru called, imperious as ever, and Kojiro tensed, spine straightening suddenly. “Have you gotten lost, or shall I expect my food and more wine sometime tonight?”
Unsteady as he was, Kojiro snapped out a response without so much as a hitch, no need to think. It made Kaoru huff, clicking his glass down on the counter again as he turned aside, his almost sulky profile clearly visible from the kitchen.
Kojiro dragged his gaze away after a long moment, and met Satoru’s eyes, the smile dropping from his face. He cleared his throat, wincing.
Satoru fidgeted, arranging several plates on his tray. “I know it’s none of my business,” he said, and Kojiro gestured for him to continue; they’d come this far, and he couldn’t possibly say anything else that would shake Kojiro’s world any further, “and you didn’t ask for my opinion, of course. . .”
“What is it?” Kojiro prompted, wiping a drip of sauce off the edge of Kaoru’s plate.
“It wasn’t just you.” Satoru said in a rush, voice low. “I mean, I know you much better, we all do, but . . . I thought you were married. The two of you. I thought- It was very clear- Or I thought it was. . . So, I mean. . .”
“What, Satoru-kun?” Kojiro prompted as he picked up the plate, feeling too rattled to gentle his tone any further.
“Maybe you should try, then.” Satoru said, glancing up at him. “With him. I mean.”
Kojiro froze, and Satoru smiled - almost a grimace - and snatched his tray. “Sorry, sir.” he said again, ducking his head, and scurried away, out into the dining room.
Kojiro swallowed hard, his grip on Kaoru’s plate wobbling for a moment before he caught himself. He grabbed a bottle of wine and made his way out, sliding the plate down in front of Kaoru - he deflected Kaoru’s complaint that it wasn’t what he’d ordered easily, and Kaoru was already picking up his fork anyway, because Kojiro knew what he wanted, as always, ridiculous man, even when he didn’t know himself - and refilling Kaoru’s glass.
Now he just had to keep it together for the rest of the day until close, Kojiro thought optimistically, studiously avoiding Satoru’s gaze and trying not to think about how often Kaoru stayed to keep him company, and how likely it was that, already here and with no client to handle, he would stay today.
‟Kojiro.”
Kojiro jumped, barely catching himself before he cracked the stem of the wine glass in his hands. ‟What?” he asked, turning to Kaoru.
His golden eyes were narrowed, but warm. ‟What are you thinking?”
Kojiro nearly wheezed, because he was not going to say that.
‟Something is clearly taking up all your brain power,” Kaoru arched one elegant brow, a sharp gesture, ‟as pitifully little as that may be. . .” he trailed off archly. He watched Kojiro for a moment. He said nothing, and Kaoru huffed through his nose. ‟So what is it?”
Kojiro opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to bring it up and risk-
Five minutes of needling later, Kojiro was reevaluating things; he still wasn’t stupid enough to voice his own realisation, but seeing Kaoru shocked and off balance was rapidly growing more attractive.
‟Fine. Did you know,” Kojiro began, smirking, ‟that apparently some people have thought we are married?”
Kaoru didn’t react, and Kojiro waited for it to sink in.
‟That’s not new.” Kaoru said, tilting his wine idly.
‟. . .what.” Kojiro demanded.
‟Carla,” Kaoru called, and took a sip of his wine, ‟how many threads are there on the S forums specifically for the purpose of speculating on the romantic and/or sexual involvement between Joe and myself?”
‟What!” Kojiro repeated as Carla’s lights brightened.
‟57 currently active, Master.” Carla reported. ‟1 was frozen this morning after growing acrimonious, and I have removed another 1 that had been speculating too deeply on your non-S personas.”
‟What.” Kojiro said weakly, sagging thoughtlessly against the counter.
Kaoru rolled his eyes and gestured broadly. ‟For fuck’s sake, have another glass of wine and calm down before you collapse. They’ve been doing this for so long as S has existed; the gangs we used to scrap with in high school did the same and so did half the school. You cannot possibly have not realised.”
Kojiro opened his mouth, but he actually really didn’t want to say that he hadn’t noticed, no. Kaoru would hold it over his head forever.
‟What finally brought this to settle in your tiny mind, anyway?” Kaoru asked idly, swirling his glass.
Kojiro took a drink from his own, thinking. Well. He’d already given Kaoru leverage for years, so. . .
‟Oh, that.” Kojiro shrugged, moving to lean on the bar across from Kaoru. ‟I realised this afternoon that I’m in love with you.”
Kaoru was an incredibly beautiful, impossibly elegant, intensely poised man.
Even he could not make it look remotely attractive when he choked on his wine, snorting some of it through his sinuses, and was left struggling to breathe through a wheezing fit.
‟I beg your fucking pardon?” Kaoru rasped.
‟Breathe.” Kojiro advised, offering him a napkin.
He snatched it, drying his face and coughing a few more times, then gestured imperiously. If a little less smoothly than usual.
Kojiro obligingly poured him a glass of water, and he took it, glaring even as he sipped cautiously.
Once he had his breath back- ‟I do not think that is how you are supposed to start things.” Kaoru nearly hissed.
‟Well apparently we’ve been married for ten fucking years and I didn’t even know!” Kojiro snapped back, raising his eyebrows. ‟So why not?”
‟We are not married!” Kaoru shouted, hands flat on the bar as he leaned up, eyes fiery and voice still rough.
‟I am aware!” Kojiro shot back, watching those bright, familiar eyes. Fiery . . . and maybe something else. Kojiro was risking a lot on it, maybe, but then, he did always know what Kaoru wanted - what he meant, unrelated to what he said; what he wanted, even when he hesitated - so maybe, not so much as it could have been. ‟But maybe we should be!”
Kaoru froze.
It gave Kojiro time to think of all the ways he might regret this, but also he was well aware of how Kaoru’s tricky mind worked - as well as anyone could be, anyway.
‟If you are proposing to me like this,” Kaoru said, suddenly very calm, ‟I am going to murder you.”
Kojiro grinned.
‟If I ask you on a date instead, can we skip the murder?” he asked lightly, reaching for the bottle of wine and filling a clean glass for Kaoru, and another for himself.
Kaoru watched him, half guarded, and Kojiro raised his head and let Kaoru look, examining, calculating.
Kojiro might know what Kaoru meant no matter what spilled off his sharp tongue, what he wanted even when it was tangled up in his tricky, too-quick mind, knew when his sharp words were a playful bat and when they were a desperate wall - but Kaoru knew him just as well. Knew what he longed for even when he had been too afraid to admit it, what would get through to him when he was angry or upset, knew when he was serious and when he was playing.
‟That depends,” Kaoru said finally, lips curling into a tiny, sweet smile even Kojiro saw only rarely, ‟on how the date goes.”
Kojiro grinned again, catching Kaoru’s hand. He arched a brow again but didn’t resist. Kojiro swallowed, his throat tight. ‟Thank you for your forbearance.” he teased, and Kaoru sniffed, eyes sparkling.
And maybe . . . Satoru - and the rest of his fucking staff, and apparently half of S, and fuck knew who else in their lives for years - had actually had something of a point, Kojiro thought wryly, and kissed Kaoru’s elegant, callused fingers, delighted to see it made his breath hitch and his eyes widen.
Omake:
“No regrets for this? Judgement? On the first date and everything?” Kojiro asked, mostly teasing, smoothing a palm up Kaoru’s side.
“We’ve apparently been married for at least ten years,” Kaoru said, groaning, stretching lazily, “I think we’ve taken things quite slow enough. Don’t you?”
Kojiro laughed, kissing along Kaoru’s sweaty shoulder, nuzzling the hollow of his neck just above his collarbone. There was a lovely hickey beginning to come up there, and Kojiro wondered how badly Kaoru was going to kick his ass over it when he realised, but right now kissing the proto-bruise made Kaoru hiss with pleasure, melting just a little more into him.
“. . .does that mean if I propose you won’t murder me?” Kojiro asked after a moment. He probably wouldn’t have actually said it except that he was a bit pleasure-drunk still, and high off the date with Kaoru and the way they had fit together - no surprise, after their history together, and yet. . .
“Perhaps.” Kaoru said as he rolled over, and Kojiro’s breath caught. His gaze darted up to Kaoru’s face, half-hidden behind the fall of his hair. Golden eyes peeked through and Kaoru smiled slightly at him.
Fuck, he really wouldn’t, Kojiro realised, and- We’re going to be married and it’s going to be forever.
He reached out, sweeping the soft pink spill out of the way and leaning in for a kiss. Kaoru met it with almost lazy warmth, twisting closer and sliding his fingers through Kojiro’s hair.