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It’s been a long day.
Every day is a long day, really, even when he gets out of work at a reasonable time, but when he’s not fully functioning and wastes a good few hours staring off into space because the effort of moving even a finger is too much, it feels intolerable.
It must be after ten by the time he stumbles home, though time itself is a concept he hardly thinks about - the only ‘time’ that matters is making it to work at the proper hour, otherwise everything is just a monotonous droning of existing and sometimes, when he thinks of it, eating enough and sleeping enough to keep his body from shutting down altogether.
He trips over his own feet trying to climb the stairs to their apartment, hardly caring if he just goes down in a heap and stays there for the rest of his life, but somehow he manages to make it to the door.
He’s greeted by darkness. Darkness, save for the sliver of a street-light that shines through the less-than-clean window, illuminating the couch and the figure sprawled haphazardly on it.
Damn, it’s later than he thought if Hifumi is already home.
Not that it matters, considering they live their lives on near-opposite schedules, but a closer look at the sleeping man tells him Hifumi has had a bad day, too.
His suit jacket is thrown over the back of the couch, shirt half-unbuttoned and disheveled, and there’s a tell-tale smudge of red on his collar that has Doppo taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down.
He knows it means nothing. Hifumi would never do anything with a woman, and especially not while he’s hosting, but the idea of it still makes his blood boil in a way that few things these days can.
It’s ridiculous to care so much, though, so he shoves the feelings away and kicks his shoes off, managing to stub his toe on a chair and cursing softly at both his own clumsiness and the fact that he’d been trying to be courteous and quiet, damn it, and it still manages to backfire on him.
“Huh?” Hifumi wakes up slowly, hair falling artfully in front of his eyes as he stretches his arms high enough to cause his shirt to ride up and reveal a hint of toned stomach. “Oh. Welcome home.”
“I’m back,” Doppo mumbles, trying to slide by the other man. “Go back to sleep.”
“Hmm, but I’m up now,” Hifumi’s voice is still sleep-rough, seductive in a way that Doppo’s certain he mostly reserves for his clients. “Have you eaten?”
“It’s late,” Doppo replies, shuffling his feet.
It’s not an answer. He knows it’s not an answer.
Hifumi knows it’s not an answer.
“I grabbed some curry on the way home. There’s leftovers in the fridge,” Hifumi says instead, yawning again and flopping back against the sofa.
And Doppo wants to say he’s not hungry. He wants to say that he’s too tired. He wants to…
But he can’t.
Because Hifumi would know he was lying, just like he knows Hifumi’s lying every time he comes home looking like this and pretends things are fine, like some woman hadn’t gotten too close to him and made him feel on the verge of panic.
They might insist on dancing around the truth, but they know each other far too well for either of them to be fooled.
“Right. Thanks,” he slumps back to the kitchen area while Hifumi turns on the TV, some late-night action movie blaring through the tinny speakers and making Doppo jump with the suddenness of it.
“Sorry,” Hifumi whispers, quickly turning it down, but the relative silence doesn’t help much, either.
Not that it’s ever silent.
The hum of traffic outside is near-constant, even at this hour, and Doppo is reminded that for as much as he feels like he’s standing still, the world is always moving.
He’s just not moving with it.
He zones out for long enough to get the food into the microwave before his eyes are drawn to Hifumi again, watching the way he touches his hair out of habit, the way his gaze flicks to the kitchen to make sure Doppo’s actually making an attempt to eat before finding the television again.
Would Hifumi miss him, he wonders, if he was gone?
He thinks about it more than he should, maybe, and he can’t count the number of times he’s crossed over a bridge and wondered if it would be easier to just step off of the side and rid the world of his presence entirely.
Hifumi would be fine, after all. He’d find someone else to dote on.
It’s not a happy thought, but maybe if he believes the other man will be fine...it’ll be easier to reconcile with his conscience when the time comes.
The microwave beeping draws him out of his morbid thoughts and he collects the bowl, burning his fingers a little and barely flinching. He bypasses the table and plops himself beside Hifumi, stabbing his fork listlessly into what he really hopes is a piece of chicken, although the spongy texture leaves a lot to be desired.
It smells good, at least, warm and comforting, and Hifumi shifts closer so that their sides are pressed together.
“Bad day?” Doppo asks, knowing the answer and knowing Hifumi won’t be truthful anyway.
“It was fine,” his voice says, though the way his fingers curl into Doppo’s pant-leg tells him plainly that it wasn’t.
“Mm,” Doppo eats quietly for a while, unwilling to admit that he does feel better now that he’s got some food in his stomach. Hifumi’s stroking his leg with gentle motions, seemingly unaware that he’s even doing it.
“Stay here tonight,” Hifumi doesn’t really phrase it as a question, even though Doppo could refuse if he wanted to.
He won’t, though, and Hifumi knows…
Doppo blinks, a sudden realization hitting him as he sets his (amazingly) empty bowl aside.
They wouldn’t be fine without each other.
He knows that more than anything, even if it’s taken him too long to admit it to himself.
They understand each other on a level that only years and years of friendship could achieve, that lets them be comfortable without words and lets their bodies be honest even when their mouths can’t be.
It’s special.
Hifumi is special.
“You good?” Hifumi’s voice is warm, sliding around him and making him feel safe. “Tired?”
“Yeah,” Doppo curls into him, smelling perfume on his collar and telling himself to ignore it because nobody...nobody gets Hifumi the way he does. Nobody else gets to see him without his mask, to witness his vulnerabilities, to...to fall asleep with him on the fucking couch like they’re lovers instead of just…
“Sleep,” Hifumi says quietly, his hands finding purchase in Doppo’s hair and petting him softly.
The touch is almost hypnotizing and Doppo finds himself succumbing to it, tucking himself sideways onto the sofa and dropping his head onto Hifumi’s lap.
They’re so far from perfect, but these moments let him know that, in their own way, they’re making it work.
He falls asleep to Hifumi humming something soft and soothing, to Hifumi’s long fingers sliding through his hair, and he’s not sappy enough to believe that tomorrow will be better, but…
But maybe it will be tolerable.
And for the moment, that’s enough.