Work Text:
i
The 20th ward is known for being peaceful, docile.
It takes Tezuka a few weeks to ascertain that this is in fact true. He spends most of work behind a desk, laboring through paperwork with solemn determination that is as efficient as it is boring. But boring is not that bad, certainly better than dead.
He misses Atobe and the comfortable familiarity of his pretentious flirtations that never lost their enthusiasm no matter how many times they were rejected. There’s a degree of trepidation about the prospect of being called out on an assignment without the security of a trusted partner at his back. Five years as an Inspector has destroyed any illusions of indestructibility he once had, and Atobe – arrogant, flamboyant, larger than life Atobe – dying has hammered that fact home even more effectively than the surgical scar stretching along the skin of his left arm.
So the relative peace of the 20th ward and the dearth of assignments is a welcome change than the chaos of his previous post.
On the downside, it leaves him with far too much time on his hands. It’s not that free time is unwanted per se, more that after all this time, he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. He has no family and the few friends he does have are as tangled with the CCG as he is, and harsh though the thought may be, Tezuka doesn’t want to taint this precious peace with those particular associations.
Perhaps in a few months, when the memory of Atobe’s shredded body is not quite so fresh in his mind, he will be able to regain the apathy with which he treated his work. But for now, Tezuka is sickened of ghouls and death and maybe life in general.
In the end, he wanders, exploring the streets and alleys of his new ward, crafting a mental map that may one day be useful.
He discovers Anteiku during one such evening excursion that ends up being longer than usual. It’s a quaint little café, plain but pleasant. The food is good, the coffee excellent and it’s not too far from his apartment. But what he likes most is its ambience. The next time he’s there, it’s entirely deliberate and he even brings a book.
ii
It’s the eyes that catch his attention.
They’re an unusual gold and their brightness seems out of place on the scowling visage of the waiter. Tezuka is reminded of cats for some reason, though the ferocity of that frown is suited more to the great beasts prowling the jungle than their smaller, domestic siblings.
The object of his scrutiny notices his stare and raises an eyebrow in question. The scowl melts away, leaving behind an expression of casual disinterest. It’s something of a drastic change from the usual, customer-pleasing politeness of the waiting staff.
“Thank you,” Tezuka finally says, reaching for the coffee that was unceremoniously plopped down in front of him. The waiter shrugs and turns on his heel, stalking to the counter. Tezuka steals one last glance and sees that the scowl has returned full force by the time he’s behind the counter. He has a feeling that the equally irked blue-haired girl there might have something to do with it.
He looks away, returning his attention to his coffee. It’s none of his business and his book is sure to be more interesting than whatever was going on with those two.
iii
It was the eyes that caught his attention and while it should have ended with faint curiosity and maybe a touch of appreciation, it doesn’t.
There’s nothing intensive or bothersome about Tezuka’s newfound interest in the waiter. It’s just there, the urge to get one more glimpse of those strange, flashing eyes and harmless curiosity about what expression the man would wear that day. His default one seems to be one of boredom though there was the occasional frown or smirk.
Today, it’s the latter and for once, it’s directed at Tezuka who’s more than a little confused about why the man was grinning like that at him.
“Your order.”
“Ah, thank you.”
Tezuka blinks in confusion at his retreating back but the oddity is soon forgotten in the pages of Takatsuki’s newest work.
iv
Perhaps the weeks of inaction have dulled his brain – paperwork doesn’t count as work – but it takes Tezuka a long time to realize that he is almost exclusively served by the golden eyed waiter during his increasingly frequent visits to Anteiku.
There’s nothing particularly remarkable about it. Their interactions are the same, limited to ordering, serving and the occasional smirking on the waiter’s part.
And if Tezuka hadn’t seen one o the waitress start towards him and then turn away with a smiling glance at Gold Eyes – the lack of a name is beginning to be frustrating but his name tag is always worn inverted and Tezuka can find no justifiable reason to just up and ask – who scowls but nonetheless makes his way towards Tezuka’s table, he would never really have caught on.
Yes, it must be the peace that’s made him so slow.
A voice that sounds too much like Fuji for comfort whispers in his mind that maybe his lack of awareness has more to do with willful ignorance than anything else. Tezuka ignores that because a real, live Fuji is bad enough without his own mind turning on him, and also because willful ignorance implies that there’s more weight to the situation than there really is and that is simply ridiculous.
Probably.
If Tezuka finds himself picturing wide gold eyes at random moments, it’s only because they’re so strange and beautiful. It’s no different than admiring a beautifully cut jewel. That the face sometimes accompanies the eyes is only happenstance.
The waiter saunters – saunters – over to him and raises an eyebrow in silent enquiry. He’s not smirking or making any real expression but there’s an oddly pleased glint in his eyes and Tezuka feels just a little too warm.
v
Tezuka does become accustomed to the peace, eventually. It should be fine as long as he doesn’t get careless. He doesn’t make many friends but that’s nothing unusual and the ones that he does are hard enough to handle anyway. Oishi, a man around Tezuka’s age but with far less experience, seems too gentle for this work. His partner, Kikumaru, is too bright, too loud, too much and they balance each other out as if they were born for it.
He’s fond of them in his own way, enough that he turns a blind eye to the obviously lovestruck pauses the two are prone to.
He still doesn’t have a partner, instead shuffling between fresh trainees. Most of them are wary of him and the rest distantly respectful.
Life settles into a routine, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, except perhaps the now daily visits to Anteiku. It’s not just the coffee, good as it is, that draws him to the café but Tezuka prefers to think as little about that as possible.
It’s not that he’s in denial, just that he’s a little too old to lose sleep over someone whose name he doesn’t even know, no matter how pretty his eyes are.
vi
He is, possibly, in denial.
He’s been in a remarkably irate mood these past few days, not that anyone seems to be able to tell the difference from his unchanging expression. Atobe would have been able to but Atobe is dead.
The reason for his state of mind is even more ridiculous. The absence of his waiter is surely not enough to warrant such a response, no matter how accustomed Tezuka has grown to seeing him. But maybe the fact that he’s taken to mentally addressing the man as his waiter is enough of a clue that Tezuka is not anywhere near as nonchalant as he wants to be.
Absurd as the notion is, he misses the man and his wide eyes and infuriating smirk and the way he sometimes stared at Tezuka with no subtlety whatsoever.
He blames four days of silent stress and what just might be pining for the way he smiles upon seeing Gold Eyes back at Anteiku on a damp Thursday evening. It’s not that he does it intentionally and it’s with a feeling of mild horror that he feels his lips twitch up at the corners the instant his eyes land on his waiter, who’s leaning casually against the counter as if he’ never left.
He’s also looking right at Tezuka.
An expression of surprise flits across his face, presumably at Tezuka’s smile which in response shrinks back into a flat, unemotional line. Inside, Tezuka feels like he should have felt back in high school, all nervous and too large for his skin, but his actual high school days were spent in a haze of grim determination where neither nervousness nor romance held any importance.
This is such an odd time to compensate for that.
But then he smiles back at Tezuka, not a smirk this time but an actual, lopsided smile and the nervousness is suddenly gone, replaced by a far too light sensation somewhere below his ribs.
As he makes his way to his usual seat, Tezuka finally admits to himself that he is most definitely attracted to the gold-eyed waiter whose name he doesn’t even know for reasons he can’t even name but feels right nonetheless.
No more denial.
vii
That he accepts his unexpected and unfortunate interest in his waiter doesn’t mean that Tezuka acts on it.
If anything, he does the opposite and stays away from Anteiku for a couple of days until a feeling similar to but stronger than what he felt in the days of his waiter’s absence prompts him to return. He’s hesitant and apprehensive while stepping inside and in that moment, he’s vehemently thankful for his naturally stoic countenance.
The moment he’s inside, his eyes somehow fall on his waiter who greets Tezuka with a dark scowl that freezes him to his spot for an entire second before he gathers himself enough to move.
That…was unexpected. It’s not that he’s never seen the man frown but they’ve always been impersonal before, entirely unconnected to Tezuka. The one he just saw was aimed solely and deliberately at him, and Tezuka knows enough of people to infer the annoyance, if not outright anger, behind it.
He’s reminded of his own irritation at the waiter’s absence. The thought is simultaneously unsettling and pleasing.
It is nonetheless with a note of apprehension that Tezuka watches the man stalk towards his table, frown firmly in place. He briefly wonders who was deluded enough to make this man work in customer service.
“You weren’t here yesterday. Or the day before,” he tells Tezuka in a low drawl, the disinterest saturating his voice at odds with his narrowed eyes.
He should ignore that and order. He has no obligation to respond to such blatant impertinence.
“I recall you being absent for quite a few days before that.”
Tezuka is not one prone to hyperboles but at that moment, there’s nothing he would like more than to disappear where he sits.
But the other’s reaction makes his own slip almost worth it. Golden eyes widen in surprise, the frown melting away from his brows. He blinks owlishly at Tezuka once and then-
Then he smiles, not a hint of arrogance or mockery in it, just a wide and genuine smile. It’s as beautiful and contagious as the last one.
“I was sick,” he answers simply.
“I was busy with work,” Tezuka lies, as telling the truth isn’t even an option.
“Okay,” his waiter replies and that’s that.
Except not because his sandwich that day is accompanied by a napkin in which a name is scrawled with obvious haste, the English letters spiky and uneven. It says Echizen Ryoma. Below the name, there is what is unmistakably a phone number.
Finally, a name to go with the face. He elects not to dwell too much on the number.
Tezuka studiously ignores the faint heat on his cheeks and scrawls his own name and number with as much elegance as he can muster. His hands tremble ever so slightly.
He has no idea what he’s doing anymore.
viii
Tezuka never gets careless, never lets his guard down. It’s the main reason why he is still alive and whole.
But weeks of dull paperwork lull him into a sense of near-complacency, which is why one Wednesday evening finds him limping up the stairs to his apartment. The pain is less of a bother than the inconvenience of it.
Tezuka is technically on a break from active duty, which is why he’s here in the 20th ward is the first place. He thought it unnecessary and only played along to appease Fuji but now, he can’t help but think that the break is a good idea after all. It’s not that he froze when the ghoul attacked nor were his reflexes lacking but the whole time, half his mind was stuck in the past, reliving a fight much like this one but crazier, bloodier and ultimately more costly. At least no one died this time around.
His shoulder throbs as if in sympathy and it’s just another unwelcome reminder of what he’s lost.
He collapses on the couch, not bothering to even turn on the lights. The darkness is soothing.
As if on cue, his phone vibrates and habit has him pulling it out even though that’s the last thing he wants to do. The screen tells him that he has a text from Echizen Ryoma and Tezuka’s annoyance is swept away in a wave of unreasonable warmth.
Work again?
For a moment, Tezuka is confused. Then he remembers that the abrupt call to duty and his subsequent injury left him unable to visit Anteiku. He’s not surprised that Echizen noticed his absence – he’s already concluded that the man’s as focused on Tezuka as Tezuka is on him. It’s not the first time he’s texted Tezuka either, but the previous ones were usually generic greetings that never escalated into anything remotely personal. Tezuka blames himself for that.
He reads the message again, discomfited by how such a simple question can make him feel so warm but at the same time, uncertain. He feels terribly out of his depth.
But Tezuka’s never been a coward and he’s not about to start now, even if whatever it is that is brewing between him and Echzien leaves him feeling like he’s facing down a starved-crazy ghoul.
Yes.
He presses send before he can think himself out of it and immediately feels like a fool. It’s not a lie this time but the curt answer doesn’t lend itself to much of a conversation.
He’s starkly reminded of the fact that words are not his forte. But he wants to try.
I’ll be there tomorrow.
He’s got the day off and a car that he rarely uses. He can make it.
The darkness isn’t soothing anymore, not when Tezuka is waiting for the bright flare of his screen to announce a response.
When it finally comes, a whole five minutes later, he’s helpless to stop the smile that paints his face.
ix
The thing is that they don’t talk much.
Granted, lengthy conversations between a waiter and his customer are hardly appropriate but even taking that into account, he and Echizen share remarkably few words. There are texts, mostly from Echizen about matters both inconsequential and humorous. Tezuka thinks he’s smiled more during these past few weeks than he has in his entire life.
But mostly, they just look.
Tezuka is fully aware of the effect his countenance has on others; it’s the main reason why there are only a scant number of people willing to so much as approach him. His friends are fewer still. And he’s fine with that.
But Echizen meets his impassive gaze with a smirk or a smile, entirely unperturbed by the blank severity of it. There are times, increasingly frequent, when Tezuka feels eyes on him and inevitably finds those golden eyes locked on him with an intensity that makes the world feel simultaneously too small and too large.
Their communication lies in the quirk of a brow, the sly wink of an eye, the faint tilt of a mouth. It’s startlingly efficient and gloriously intimate.
Echizen Ryoma makes his heart race and his blood rush and Tezuka sometimes thinks it’s all some surreal dream, that this man can’t possibly real, but the lingering brush of Echizen’s fingers on his wrist is more real than anything he’s ever felt before.
x
It’s pure chance that brings them together outside of Anteiku.
The thing is that despite the flirting and the texting, neither of them has met face to face out of the familiar but inhibiting confines of the café. Tezuka is busy most days with ever-growing responsibilities and from what he has gathered, Echizen prefers to spend his off days closeted in his room with his cat.
So it’s by chance that they run into each other at a bookstore of all places, and wary as Tezuka would like to be of convenient coincidences, for this once he’ll let it pass because the glimmering brightness of Echizen’s eyes will let him be nothing but happy for the opportunity.
Echizen looks odd, good but odd, in casual clothes. He’s so vivid.
“Hey,” Echizen’s the one to speak and it startles Tezuka out of what he realizes to be an unnervingly intense contemplation of the man before him. Not that Echzien seems to mind if his pleased smirk is any indication.
“Echizen,” Tezuka says with a nod, his tongue shaping the syllables with hidden relish.
Echizen’s gaze flicks to the book in Tezuka’s hands, and his eyes narrow. “Takatsuki Sen, eh? I knew someone who liked their works.”
“Ah,” Tezuka responds intelligently. Shakes off the shock, summons forth the words he knows he’s capable of speaking. “And you?”
“I don’t read much.” A nonchalant shrug accompanies the answer but his eyes are as intense as ever when they return to Tezuka.
An awkward silence descends; awkward at least to Tezuka since Echizen seems content to just stand there and examine the store with slumped shoulders and bored eyes. Tezuka is not one to be hurried for the sake of others but he nonetheless moves to the counter with the book in his hand. It’ll be impossible for him to focus anyway when Echizen is so close to him, both of them free of the restraints of their usual encounters.
“Did you come looking something in particular or just to browse?” Tezuka asks Echizen, who seems content to trail after Tezuka with not a shred of attention paid to the books themselves.
“Not really. I only came inside because I saw you through the window.”
That stops him in his tracks. Echzien doesn’t quite run into him but he gets close enough for Tezuka to feel his breath at the nap of his neck. His face feels too hot all of a sudden and he realizes with no little amount of mortification that he might be blushing.
Thankfully, Echizen makes no comment, only follows once Tezuka recovers enough to move again.
They remain silent as they make their way out of the bookstore. Tezuka doesn’t quite trust himself to speak when his mind is still largely occupied with the other’s nonchalant confession. He’s hyperaware of Echizen, every stride and every breath, beside him despite the respectful distance between their bodies.
He’s too old for this.
“You want to get something to eat?”
The question takes a moment to register and Tezuka looks over to find Echizen staring expectantly at him with a faint furrow between his brows that Tezuka absolutely does not find adorable. He agrees because refusing is not an option.
He’s not even hungry.
xi
They find themselves in a nearby café, much to Echizen’s palpable amusement. The walk there is silent but not as awkward as it probably should be. Echizen doesn’t seem any more prone to chatter than Tezuka is, though he makes up for it with intense, blatant staring that leaves Tezuka simultaneously flustered and flattered. He’s been…pursued…before but with the exception of Atobe there was always an element of nervousness and deference to the other party, not this kind of bold intent.
He finds that he prefers this, unbalanced as it makes him feel.
Yet more silence descends as they wait for their order. Echizen seems content to slouch in his chair and stare at Tezuka like all the mysteries of the world are etched on his face. Tezuka feels compelled to reciprocate.
“How was your week?” He asks after long minutes have passed. His voice comes out hoarser than normal.
“It was fine,” Echizen responds with a shrug. “Pretty typical. Yours?”
“Uneventful.” And it was, mercifully.
Echizen nods lazily and there’s a beat where they just hold each other’s gaze. He’s not sure who laughs first but miraculously enough, he thinks it may have been him. His deep, helpless chuckles nearly drown out Echizen’s giggling but Tezuka is gone enough to marvel at the sound. It’s utterly honest and absolutely beautiful for it.
“We’re shit at this,” Echizen gasps out once they’ve both calmed down.
“Language,” Tezuka admonishes on principle, though he’s more preoccupied with the faint flush on the other’s skin.
“You’re not my father,” Echizen shoots back. “And thank god for that.”
Tezuka ducks his head to hide a smile, amused in spite of himself. Though that does remind him…
“How old are you?”
Echizen raises an eyebrow as if to say You’re asking that now? but answers nonetheless.
“25. You?”
Two years younger than himself. It’s a negligible gap.
“27.”
Echizen looks surprised at that, tilting his head is an endearingly feline manner. “You look older. Maybe it’s the suit. Or the glasses.”
“So they tell me.”
“Don’t worry, it suits you. I like it. And you.”
He’s going to ignore that Echizen just winked at him. For his sanity’s sake. He’s also going to ignore the sudden burst of warmth in his chest until he’s safely home and can attempt to unravel the mess of feelings this man arouses in him in peace.
I like you too, he wants to say but can’t. The words refuse to leave his tongue. But from the way Echizen grins at him, eyes softening fondly, he thinks that he doesn’t need to say them out loud.
It’s all new, even now, and bewildering if Tezuka stops to think too much about it. Still, he can’t help the smile – faint and barely there but there regardless – that stubbornly stays on his lips for the duration of their meal.
xii
There’s considerable distance from where they are to Anteiku, where Echizen also lives, and even more to Tezuka’s apartment. It’s not gallantry that prompts Tezuka to walk him home but an insistent reluctance to see their time together come to an end. Echzen knows it too, judging by his knowing expression, but his easy, almost eager, acquiescence hints that Tezuka is not the only one who wants to prolong their evening.
And so they walk.
The silence is comfortable, no trace of awkwardness remaining. Tezuka finds his eyes flitting to Echizen of their own accord. Sometimes, he finds Echizen looking right back.
It’s nice. Very much so.
As usual, it’s the other that speaks first, nudging Tezuka’s fingers with his own as if to grab his attention even though they both know full well he already has it.
“We should do this again. Plan ahead maybe.”
Tezuka swallow through a suddenly dry thought. That sounds suspiciously like a date.
“Yes.” He sounds about as hoarse as he did post-surgery. “We should. That would be good.”
Echizen laughs, a rough bark of a sound that’s the opposite of elegant. It’s the most charming thing his admittedly biased ears have ever heard.
“Okay. Good.”
Somehow they drift close enough that their arms lightly brush together as they walk, the contact electrifying even through multiple layers of fabric. If Tezuka shifts his hand the slightest to the right, he can hold Echizen’s. He doesn’t but the strange thing is that he very much wants to.
“You have work tomorrow, right?” Echizen asks after a while, his tone suggesting that he already knows the answer.
“Yes. I’ll be there in the evening.” As usual. Tezuka is well on his way to a caffeine addiction and he can’t bring himself to care.
“What do you do anyway?”
The question gives Tezuka pause. He tries to remember whether he’s discussed work with Echizn before but nothing comes to mind. It’s never come up before, not even during their – mostly Echizen’s – numerous texts. He never asked and Tezuka didn’t volunteer the information.
“I’m a CCG Inspector,” he finally answers and is not surprised by the harsh intake of breath from his companion.
He is however caught off guard by the sudden absence at his side. He turns around to see Echizen frozen in place, face blank and eyes trained on Tezuka, intent in a way that should be familiar but not.
“You’re a – an Inspector?” His voice is unnervingly smooth.
“Yes. Is that a problem?” Tezuka thinks it might be with the way Echizen has yet to move. The thought is like lead in his gut, heavy and poisonous.
But Echizen only stares a little more before giving a sharp shake of his head, stepping forward until he’s toe to toe with Tezuka. The proximity muddles his mind for one precious moment.
“It’s… unexpected. You don’t seem the type.”
“What type?”
“The type to kill… things.” Tezuka doesn’t quite process that before Echizen pushes on. “Why CCG?”
It’s an invasive question and he has every right not to answer but Echizen is looking at him like the fate of the world hinges on Tezuka’s answer and he really is in too deep here.
“I lost my mother to a ghoul.”
Echizen reels back as if struck. There’s naked shock on his face for an instant but then understanding settles in. He nods once to himself, and though his expression is once again as coolly impassive as ever, Tezuka feels like he’s dodged a particularly deadly kagune.
“I can understand that,” Echizen murmurs, barely loud enough for Tezuka to hear despite how close they are. There’s no pity on Echizen’s face, no words of sympathy falling from his lips but Tezuka believes him when he says that he understands. He knows that Echizen has not mentioned his parents before, or any sort of family. He wonders what that means. Maybe one day, Echizen will tell him.
But that day is not today because Echizen doesn’t say anything more, just stands there looking up at Tezuka quietly and intently as if memorizing the planes of his face.
And Tezuka lets him, uncaring of where they are or of the stares they receive. He lets him until finally Echizen gives him a faint smile and turns around. Tezuka takes his place at his side, confused and smitten but happy.
Their fingers brush, the tips catching on each other until Echizen steps closer and takes Tezuka’s hand in his own, gripping tight.
The warmth on his palm lingers for hours, even when Tezuka’s home alone in the cold.
xiii
Tezuka doesn’t make it to Anteiku the next day. Or the day after.
Not for the entire week.
Work is hectic and Tezuka all but lives there. They’re understaffed, overworked and it weighs in everyone’s minds that their absent coworkers are either in the hospital or six feet under. Tezuka’s status as a ghoul investigator is restored; an event that would have filled him with relief at any other time but all he can now summon is grim acceptance.
The 20th ward used to be peaceful.
It’s only on Friday, when he’s finally home and dead on his feet, that he remembers Anteiku and Echizen. The sharp spike of apprehension that twists through his gut is almost enough to make him forget his exhaustion.
He checks his phone, which he’d more or less ignored these past few days, and is not surprised to find 22 unread messages, all from Echizen.
He reads through them, amused and touched by the way they change tones, from curious to annoyed to worried and back to annoyed. They’re curt and brief, and Tezuka can all too easily imagine Echizen saying the words in that low, lazy drawl.
The last one’s from this morning and simply says You better not be dead.
It’s strangely endearing. Tezuka goes to sleep that night with his mind ten times lighter.
xiv
He sleeps in on Saturday, sheer exhaustion prompting the extra rest. It’s nearly noon by the time he wakes. A hasty lunch and some cleaning keeps him occupied until the evening, at which point he sets out for Anteiku.
He’s nervous again but he’s becoming used to that.
Tezuka doesn’t realize just how much he’s missed Echizen until the sight of him sends an electric jolt down his spine. An unease he wasn’t aware he was feeling finally disappears, the soft thrum of contentment taking its place.
And then Echizen glares at him, golden eyes narrowed to slits, and Tezuka’s right back where he started, nervous and resigned to it.
In hindsight, perhaps he should have replied to Echizen’s texts before showing up here.
He takes his usual seat by the window, studiously looking away from Echizen. He takes out his phone and pulls up the texts, going through once again a little less fervently than he had the previous night. It’s reassuring, Echizen’ concern, reaching deep inside Tezuka in a way his family’s or friends’ never managed in the past.
When he thinks too much as he’s prone to do, Tezuka is a little afraid of how quickly he’s become attached to the man he’s known for such a short time. But not enough to withdraw whatever it is that they are, too caught up to not see it to the end.
And if lately he’s been envisioning how Echizen would fit into his life apart from these evenings in this café, how he’d fill the up space in Tezuka’s spartan apartment, that’s his secret to keep.
Minutes pass and Echizen doesn’t come by for Tezuka’s order, the other staff giving him space, used to Echizen always handling him. But he keeps silent and waits, gaze fixed on Echizen’s turned back. Soon after, Echizen heads towards him, carrying a tray with a steaming cup of coffee.
“Your usual.” Echizen plops the tray down on the table and walks away with another glare at Tezuka. It would have been quite intimidating if not for the pout on his lips. As it is, Tezuka’s heart beats hard for reasons entirely different from fear.
He takes a sip of his coffee, mind more on how to craft an apology for his silence, and-
And almost spits it back out as the taste of salty coffee assaults his mouth, revolting beyond imagination. It’s by sheer will power that he avoids making a spectacle of himself. Swallowing the concoction is harder but he manages, eyes screwed shut in silent suffering. He opens them and seeks out Echizen, not surprised to find him watching Tezuka with a superbly amused smirk.
Any and all thoughts of an apology end right then.
But in spite of the disgusting taste still lingering in his mouth, Tezuka finds himself holding back a smile because of course Echizen wouldn’t just talk it through like the mature adult he’s supposed to be. He’d just put salt in Tezuka’s coffee instead.
He has no idea what he sees in Echizen but whatever it is, it’s enough for Tezuka to pick up the cup again and down its content in one go before rational thought can catch up with the act.
The wide-eyed look of sheer astonishment on Echizen’s face would be more entertaining if Tezuka isn’t struggling not to throw up.
As he watches a snickering Echzien rush to him with water, he concludes that he ended up apologizing after all.
xv
Tezuka waits, patiently sipping at water to try and wash away the taste of salty coffee from his mouth, until Echizen takes his break. He steps out of the café with an imperious tilt of his head at Tezuka who dutifully follows, feeling more light-hearted than he has in weeks.
“Let me guess,” Echizen says the moment Tezuka joins him outside. “It was work.”
“Yes. Things have been hectic lately.” He tries not to think too much about that.
“I bet,” Echizen mutters, eyes sharp and focused on Tezuka. “You could have responded to my messages though. Instead, it was radio silence for a week.”
Tezuka has to bite back a grimace but an apologetic tone creeps into his words. “I forgot.”
“You forgot your phone? Or me?”
Both. He had forgotten everything except work. There was a reason he was single.
“I have been accused of being a workaholic and it is not an inaccurate description,” he says instead of a straight answer, unwilling to actually tell Echizen that yes, he’d slipped from Tezuka’s mind. Unintentionally as there is no doubt that Echizen is far more pleasant to dwell on than ghouls.
Echizen doesn’t seem angry, more amused than anything else, and there’s an audible note of fondness in his voice when he says, “You should make it up to me. Take me out.”
It’s neither a request nor a suggestion but a command. Tezuka can’t even pretend to mind.
“Alright. Are you free next Sunday?”
“Yeah.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Surprise me.” His brow furrows in though and he adds, “Not lunch or dinner or anything. Something else, something fun.”
Tezuka acquiesces. He’s no expert of ‘fun’ but for this, he will risk Fuji’s advice.
“Great. It’s a date then,” Echizen tell him, grinning, and Tezuka feels warm all over. He’s getting used to that as well. “I’ve got to go now. Break’s almost over.”
He walks back to the entrance and Tezuka calls his name before he can stop himself. Echizen turns back around, questioning.
“Be careful, Echizen. The streets are dangerous these days.”
His answering grin is wide and feral and sends a shiver through Tezuka.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
And Tezuka believes him.
xvi
The next week is much as the same as the last, perhaps worse. There’s a faint tension in the air, a sense of impending trouble. Tezuka’s own instincts, well-honed and usually reliable, tell him that something is really not right.
It’s a bad week.
Echizen makes it better.
Tezuka still doesn’t manage to make it to Anteiku but he does remember the blissful existence of modern technology and keeps in contact with the other man. Their texts are brief and sporadic on Tezuka’s end and numerous but sardonic on Echizen’s. He even calls Tezuka once and they speak of inconsequential nothings, Tezuka finding a sort of peace in soft, biting, concerned words.
It gets him through the days.
Oishi, who’s sharper than people give him credit for, notices and tactfully slips away from his hyperactive partner to corner Tezuka. He’s not subtle with his gentle prodding but he doesn’t push further once Tezuka admits he’s dating a man and the beaming smile he gives is fully sincere.
The helplessly adoring look he shoots Kikumaru as he says that finding someone can be good for you is not subtle either.
It’s a bad week but it has some good parts.
And knowing what’s waiting for him at the end of the week makes it infinitely more tolerable.
But life is cruel and unforgiving, a lesson Tezuka learned a long time ago and has since been reinforced by pain and bloodshed. And it doesn’t stop its cruelty just because Tezuka may be falling in love.
The news is delivered with all the gravitas it deserves, not because of Tezuka or the slow shattering of his world, but because the Owl is always serious business, the CCG’s greatest enemy.
Anteiku, the 20th ward’s quaint little café, is believed to be associated with the Owl, the SSS class ghoul. There will be a raid, full frontal assault.
Tezuka barely hears the details, barely sees the concerned glance Oishi throws him; all he can think of is Echizen.
Echizen who sends him texts about his pet cat’s sleeping habits. Echizen who gave him coffee with salt in frustration. Echizen whose smiles spawn butterflies in his stomach.
Echizen who might just be a ghoul.
xvii
There’s no time for panic.
Tezuka numbs his mind with practiced efficiency, thoughts usurped by action, feelings buried under logic. He allows himself to be swept away in the organized chaos of the office as they plan and prepare and pray.
He doesn’t dwell Echizen or his smile or their date in two days.
But he hopes for things he’s too afraid to spell out even in his mind.
Oishi and Kikumaru are anxious and excited, thankfully too preoccupied with themselves and each other to pay much attention to Tezuka.
The hours pass in a frenzied blur, rushing by too fast too soon, and before he knows it, it’s time and Tezuka is geared up and stationed in the shadows of the very place that he frequented so often in search of a man he barely knew. The familiarity lies like ice in his gut.
Echizen.
But it’s not Echizen that walks down the front steps, their height, their voice all wrong, nor is it Echizen that collides with Tezuka in a clash of solidified cells.
It’s not Echizen.
And for that, Tezuka is thankful.
xviii
His relief doesn’t last long.
Several wounds and faceless bodies later, Tezuka finds a moment of respite that’s almost immediately broken by the grating cackle of static in his earpiece. Oishi’s voice comes through seconds later, the tint of fear audible even through the bad connection.
“Tez… ghoul… another... Tezuka there’s another ghou-”
Ice washes over him.
A second of hesitation and then Tezuka’s running, grateful for his familiarity with this place for how it allows him to blindly run and leap and cut corners, rushing to where he knows Oishi’s squad to be. It’s dangerous and foolish.
Deep inside, Tezuka is ashamed of how it’s not only worry for Oishi that’s making him do this.
Another ghoul. It can’t be Echizen.
It could be.
He must know.
A lifetime later, he’s skidding to a stop before torn corpses. There’s a figure in black a few feet away from him, their back to Tezuka. Oishi’s limp form dangles from his hand, broken neck still in the ghoul’s grip. Kikumaru’s dull blue eyes stare up at him from below, their radiance lost in death.
The ghoul drops Oishi and turns. It feels as if time itself slows in that handful of moments.
The ghoul turns and despite with the plain mask covering the top half of his face, Tezuka knows.
Echizen. It is Echizen. He’d know those eyes anywhere, as gold and glowing as they were the first time Tezuka laid eyes on them.
“I heard him call for you,” he tells Tezuka, casual and unconcerned as if this is just another of their little talks. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.” He pauses for a moment and just stares. Tezuka can’t move. “You’re surprised to see me. I’m not. Thought you’d be here. I was hoping we wouldn’t run into each other though. So much for that.”
Echizen’s gaze flicks to Tezuka’s quinque and his lips quirk in a lopsided smile.
“I’m sorry, Kunimitsu. I never wanted to hurt you.”
Tezuka believes him.
He waits for the anger to come but ends up with only quiet resignation. It’s almost as if something deep, deep inside him knew from the moment they announced the raid that it would come to this. There’s no time for anger or accusations, not when this may as well be both of their final moments.
“I believe you,” Tezuka tells him. “You killed my friends.”
“I did. Do you want revenge? I can understand that.”
It’s not vengeance that drives Tezuka. It’s duty. Always duty.
And yet, it feels fundamentally wrong to face Echizen like this, as enemies on opposite sides of the battle. It’s as if something inside Tezuka is yearning, helplessly and desperately, to stand beside this man he barely knows.
Echizen takes a step forward, one hand reaching up to take off his mask. The sight of his face, familiar from soft curve of his lips to the hair falling into his eyes, sends a sharp pang through Tezuka. He wonders if this is what heartbreak feels like.
Red bursts from Echizen’s back, smoothly arranging itself into two shifting, arching wings. An ukaku.
It suits you, Tezuka thinks as his grip tightens around the handle of his quinque. You look as if you are meant to fly.
“Shall we?” Echizen asks him. Tezuka would think him callous if not for the way pain shows in the lines of his face.
“Yes. Ryoma.” The name tastes foreign and bitter on his tongue. And then, they’re moving.
Before madness erupts, Tezuka gets his first glimpse of familiar nightmarish eyes, blood red on ink black.
It’s wrong. They should be gold.
The End