Work Text:
I've grown used to fear
But no, not to you yet, my dear
Taira remembers when he used to get along with his sister. On days when their mom couldn't pick him up, his sister would walk from her primary school to where he waited outside of the daycare building, hugging his randoseru. She, just a bit taller and more gangly where he was chubby, would stick out her hand to his in a jerky, straightforward manner, as if daring him to accept. He did then, because she hadn't started to care if his hands were sticky with grass stains and dried snack remains. If fact, if Onee-san was in a good mood, she would even share with him pieces from the almond cookie her teacher passed out to those who demonstrated good behavior. She gives him the piece without the almond, because that was her favorite, and she had thought that he didn't like nuts.
Once, he had asked for the cookie piece with the almond in it, and Onee-san had snapped at him. Don't be selfish, Shuji.
But I want it, Taira had cried.
She shook his hand as roughly as an eight-year-old girl could. Don't ask for something that doesn't belong to you. Look, I'm already doing you a favor by giving you this extra piece.
Everything sours further in middle school. His confidence, her tolerance. He doesn't bother to make reparations during high school, and neither does she. When he leaves for university, she doesn't bother to send him off, and he doesn't look for her when he goes.
"Doesn't that suck?" Azuma asks him.
Taira starts. She's been letting him reminisce for so long that he's forgotten she's there, but her eyes are attentively watching him over the foam-stained rim of her glass. The amber beer inside is half gone. Their booth is a bubble of quiet compared to the rest of the warm-lit izakaya.
"Not really." Taira spears a piece of his nankotsu with his fork, mangles it to pieces on his plate. "We've never been a sentimental bunch. I don't see the point in making up if there's nothing to talk about."
Azuma gives him a look as she takes another sip of her beer—dark stuff to match the winter storm seething outside, brushing ashy snow onto the window frame. "Still. It's rough that your sister hates your guts."
He coughs. She reaches over the table to thump him unhelpfully on her shoulder. For a nurse-in-training, Azuma has a remarkably rough hand.
"You don't have to say it so frankly," Taira wheezes once he's recovered.
"Maybe she just thinks you're uncool," Azuma muses. She swirls her stout. "Most siblings tend to think that way. I mean, from what I've heard, Suzuki and her brother beat each other up on a day-to-day basis."
"Yamada's sisters dote on him though," Taira says miserably.
"Yeah, well, Yamada's Yamada." Azuma points out. "Can't have it all, dude."
He grunts. He can't argue with that.
Azuma continues to press the point. "Do you want to borrow my car for the weekend? You should drive it home and pretend it's yours. She'll think better of you then."
What follows her inane suggestion is the worst imitation of his sister Taira has ever heard in his life. "'Wow, here comes my little brother in his own car," Azuma simpers, clasping her hands. "He must have driven it all the way from university just to come see his elders. What a good brother Shuji is!'"
Hearing his name in Azuma's laughing mouth caves in the inside of Taira's stomach. "I can think of so many ways that idea can go wrong."
She steals some of his crushed nankotsu and chases it with more beer. "Just spitballing here."
Taira gets the bill when Azuma starts to sway. She can never hold her liquor well—even though there's still a good amount of beer left in her stein, she's hiccuping and giggling when he begs her to take it easy. His ears feel hot when the staff member smiles at them, and when he looks out the window at the dark winter night seething by, Taira catches sight of his reflection and can't help but flinch at the sight of the tall young man staring back at him, his hand on a pretty woman's shoulder to keep her from falling over.
What are you doing?
"I can still drive," Azuma says in a convincingly steady tone. Taira would believe her, but her cheeks are too flushed and she nearly trips over the step down from the booth. He catches her bodily before she collides with a server and rights her onto her feet.
"Sorry," Azuma mumbles. "I got carried away."
"What are you, a fifty-year-old divorcee businessman?" Taira's stomach flip-flops when she looks up at him with shiny eyes and flushed cheeks. "Whatever. Let's get you out of here."
The howling storm outside has not lessened one bit. Azuma's cute cap flies off at the first strong gust of wind and Taira has to chase it all the way down the street before it goes into the gutter. Azuma applauds him with gloved hands when he returns it to her.
"See," she praises as he jogs to her side, "if you keep being a gentleman, your sister will be completely at your mercy."
"You're making this out to be worse than it actually is," Taira pants, bracing his hands on his knees as she shakes out the cap. "She's just an office worker."
"I've heard that the workplace is a battlefield." Azuma tugs the cap past her ears to make sure it stays in place. "You have to establish yourself in the pecking order early on. A show of strength and talent will get you really far…"
"Now you're making it sound like she's in jail." Taira steers her to where she parked up the side road, between the izakaya and the bookstore. "Come on, keep walking. It's way too cold to be staying out here."
"Popsicle Taira. Popsicle Azuma. Get them in a combo deal!" Azuma sings softly, barely audible over the storm as Taira pushes her forward to where she parked her car, gritting his teeth against the blistering wind and trying not to think about his hand on her shoulder, touching dense coat and turtleneck and whatever tender else is underneath.
I'm such a creep.
"I've got it," Azuma declares when her car finally comes into sight. "I can drop you off at home. Hot chick in shiny car acting all chummy with you? She'll jump to conclusions like that."
She tries and fails to snap her fingers with her black mittens on. He too busy gaping at her to notice.
"You want my family to think that you're just some lay?"
When the crass words leave his mouth, Taira immediately wants to bury his head in the nearest dumpster, but Azuma just laughs. "That would really knock her socks off, huh?"
Taira stares at her in shock. Unbothered, she continues. "I can play it up a bit! I'll do my hair, wear a low-cut dress, the works. Women are very impressed by material things." Azuma grins at him. "You'll have to work hard to keep up."
Taira doesn't join in to laugh. Can't, because he's caught her by the wrist, actually angry. "Why are you talking like that?"
Azuma blinks at him, still mid-grin. "Like what?"
"Like you're some sort of accessory to my success!" Taira shouts.
Her smile falters.
"I don't even care about my sister that much!" He releases her wrist to run a frustrated hand through his wet hair. "We probably won't ever see eye-to-eye again, and yeah, that sucks, but I don't care about her enough to warrant—using you like that! It makes you feel cheap…like you're not any different than some nice car…!"
Azuma stares at him in shock. Taira's breathing hard, his hands clenched at his side.
"I know you've been drinking, but I need you to know that you're more than that," he says, fumbling. "It—I—just don't want you to do all that. For me. Or for her."
Shuji's an awful person, his sister once complained to their mom at a volume he could hear from his room back home. He's self-centered and opportunistic. I hate sharing a house with him.
Azuma steps forward and takes his hand in hers. He startles, staring at her with frightened eyes. Her gloves sting his hand with the frozen bits of ice caught in between the fabric and his skin, but the combined heat of his hand in hers quickly melts them into liquid.
"Family's important, Taira," Azuma tells him gently. "Compared to that, I'm, like, second or third place. Besides, you don't have to worry. I can take care of myself."
Her eyes are so blue, so blue under the nearby streetlights. When had she gotten so close?
He's grasping for attention. It's gross to watch.
"You're not second place," Taira says weakly. Now he's the drunkard, dizzily watching Azuma tiptoe closer as she folds his hand between hers and tilts her head up to him with a hopeful fondness that he's only ever dreamed of. His voice cracks and breaks into a whisper. "You could never be."
"It means a lot that you think of me so highly." Azuma's voice is wistful. A breath. At this proximity, he can feel it against his mouth.
Selfish Shuji, his sister hisses, who only thinks about himself.
And then Taira leans down and proves her right.
He doesn't remember when he had started thinking about Azuma when asked about his future. She remains a fixture in his mind in the same way people think of omnipresent things, like the sun, oxygen, and oceans that race infinitely out towards the horizon. To live without them is just not thinkable. Impossible. Incomprehensible.
It's not okay to want someone so badly. It's selfish, not to mention incredibly demeaning to treat a human being like a piece of almond cookie. Now he's the one cheapening Azuma: treating her like an addiction, indulging in her just to escape the daily drudgery of uni life, his hateful sister, his helpless parents. Glorifying her into some untouchable being when she's just Azuma.
"Wow. Never knew you thought of me that way," Azuma mumbles against him. Crap. Did he speak aloud? Taira looks uncertainly down at her as she raises her eyes to meet his. "Wanting things for yourself isn't being selfish, you know."
"No, it is," Taira says, on the verge of tears himself. He's furious at himself for crossing the line that had been so carefully maintained between them for so long. "I'm not a good person, Azuma. I don't think I can make you happy."
She regards him with a penetrative eye. "That's awfully presumptive to say. You make me happy every moment I'm with you."
"Azuma," Taira whispers. A final protest, a weak one. "Please."
"I'm in love with you," Azuma says the damning words aloud with a calm, resigned gravitas, and his heart seizes within him. "I love you, Taira. I have for a while now."
Stricken, Taira shuts his eyes, salt finally slipping down his cheeks. He feels her fingers, through damp and icy mittens, scrape them away.
"You can tell me that you don't love me," Azuma says softly. "I'll back off. We can stay friends."
Her voice catches and Taira's eyes fly open in alarm. Her eyes are welling up. "Azuma—"
"Please, let's stay friends," she sobs. The words spill out of her in a torrent. "I don't want to lose what we have. You're so much more than just some potential boyfriend to me, Taira. I don't care about labels or names or what people will make of us. I just want an us to keep happening. So tell me that you don't want this, and I'll do the right things. I'll stop wanting, I'll stop dreaming, but let's keep hanging out together, please—"
There's no hesitation when Taira cuts her off this time. "I want this."
It's no more than an agonized whisper, but Azuma hears him loud and clear—her shiny eyes widen.
"I want this," Taira rasps. He's done it now: offered her the ticking time bomb of his vulnerability. He hopes it won't blow up and hurt them both. "I want you, Azuma."
Azuma, who laughs at every small thing he does. Azuma, who cried with him behind the school on graduation day. Azuma, who helped him carry his furniture into his apartment unit not long after he moved out. Azuma, who likes beer but can't hold her alcohol well at all. Azuma, who listens to every sob story he's ever poured into her ears without judgment. Azuma, who comes to mind when people ask him about family.
Azuma, who's clutching him now. Azuma who's kissing him in the small alleyway between a bookshop and a residential building that smells vaguely of camphor. Azuma, whose face Taira cradles between his hands with a desperation that he never thought himself capable of. Azuma, Taira, Taira, Azuma—
Suzuki had been right all along. Here in this moment, they're so close together that any edges left between a Taira and an Azuma disappear. Here they just…are, existing together—sharing a space until there's none left between them.
.
.
.