Archive of Our Own

“Cherry,” Kojiro says. “Let's have a beef.”

Kaoru finishes refastening his armguards and gives Kojiro a suspicious look. Kojiro grins, unbothered. From Kaoru, anything other than instant, flat-out rejection means interest.

And there really isn’t much to keep him from agreeing this time. Kojiro’s waited for one of those few nights where Adam is busy and the crowd at S is slim enough that, a couple hours in, everyone else has gotten bored and left. Kaoru’s way more skittish about Kojiro’s ideas when they’re in front of a crowd; now that it’s just the two of them, his guard is down.

Sure enough, Kaoru eventually lowers his arms and says, “What’s the wager?”

“Winner gets to ask a question,” Kojiro says, ready. “Loser has to answer truthfully.”

The bottom half of Kaoru’s face is hidden by that mask he wears to help keep his lips from getting chapped, but his golden eyes have a calculating gleam.

Kaoru’s foot lands on his board with a solid, satisfying sound. “You're on.”

Kojiro somehow forgot to consider that Kaoru might have a question he wants to ask as much as Kojiro does, because Kaoru is taking this sprint way more seriously than Kojiro planned for.

“One hundred twelve degrees,” a robotic voice says from behind him, right before Kaoru whizzes by to overtake him at the corner before the final straightaway.

Kojiro scowls. “Why you—”

Kaoru and his AI.

Kojiro’s not done perfecting this trick, but if Kaoru’s going to go all-out, then he should, too. He veers off track, aiming to take the corner from the place only he can—from above.

He hits the side of the cliff a little lower than he’d planned, and he bends his knees as much as he can, but he still feels the impact jar him from toe to head. It doesn’t hurt, though, and he feels the power blast off through his feet as he kicks off and slams back down on his board around the bend, ahead of Kaoru.

Distantly, he can hear Kaoru yelling at him, but he’s too busy laughing at the fact that he somehow made it out of that without any broken bones.

He’s still laughing when Kaoru skids to a stop behind him, scowling. “Didn't think I could pull it off, huh?”

“Tch, even an idiot has to learn new tricks every once in a while.” Kaoru sounds impressed despite his words, and Kojiro preens. Kaoru lowers his mask and scans him. “You’re not hurt?”

“Not at all!” Kojiro says, and winces when his muscle twinges. “Well, not yet. I might be sore tomorrow.”

Kaoru rolls his eyes. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t, after that. So what’s your question?”

Kojiro skates over, stopping right in Kaoru’s space. Kaoru, being Kaoru, frowns but doesn't budge.

“I want to kiss you,” Kojiro says.

Kaoru turns red. “That is not a—”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

Silence.

Then,

“What are you doing, you idiot, this isn't truth or dare!” Kaoru says, apoplectic with embarrassment.

“I'm not daring you, you pumpkin, I'm asking a question!”

“It's a leading question!”

“What about that is leading?”

“The fact that you're asking!”

Kojiro groans. “Look, do you want to or not? If you don't, we don't have to talk about—”

“Yes! I do! Idiot.”

Kojiro looks at Kaoru.

Kaoru looks stubbornly back.

Then—Kojiro’s not exactly sure who moves first. He likes to think it was him, but, knowing Kaoru, there's a fair chance he decided Kojiro was taking too long to move and took initiative himself.

All he knows is that one moment he’s looking at the embers smoldering in Kaoru’s eyes, and the next, they're kissing, his hand fisted in Kaoru’s hair and Kaoru’s arms around his back. He relishes in Kaoru’s quietness in this moment—in the hitch of his breath when Kojiro nips at his lip, careful to avoid his piercing; in his quiet gasp when Kojiro puts his tongue to use.

Eventually, Kojiro pulls back to make sure they’re both breathing, and smirks at the expression on Kaoru’s face when he pulls back, bleary and disheveled in a way that Kojiro’s never seen before. “So, what do you think?”

Kaoru touches his lips like he's not even thinking about it. “Better than I thought.”

Kojiro’s ego grows so big that it spills all over his face. “You thought about kissing me?”

“I thought about kissing,” Kaoru says, “in general.”

“Kaoru… was I your first kiss?”

“Shut up,” Kaoru says, red.

“You should've told me!” He bit Kaoru on his first kiss; what kind of monster is he? “I would've given you a nicer one!”

Kaoru scowls and drops his hand from his lips. “I don't even know what that means.”

Kojiro tips Kaoru’s chin up with his knuckle. “Do you want me to show you?”

Kaoru looks back, searching for something in Kojiro’s expression. Then his eyes flutter shut in silent invitation, and Kojiro leans in. This time, Kaoru’s stiff as a carbon fiber deck, so Kojiro keeps his kisses light and chaste at first, hand lightly cradling the side of his face. When Kaoru starts following his lead, Kojiro deepens it, threading fingers into Kaoru’s hair at the base of his neck to anchor him as they kiss, long and slow and close-mouthed, but hot and slick enough that something inside him sparks and catches.

When Kaoru pushes him away with a hand on the center of his chest, Kojiro knows he feels it too. Kaoru’s breathing is heavy and his eyes, when they meet Kojiro’s, are wild.

“What do you want?” Kaoru says, breathless.

Kojiro puts his hand on top of Kaoru’s. “Whatever you'll give me.”

Kaoru calculates, and then kisses him again.

Kojiro has known Kaoru for a very, very long time—long enough that he can’t even remember exactly how they met. But in that time, he’s grown to know Kaoru like no one else has.

In elementary school, when Kojiro fell out of a tree, Kaoru was there to check on him and bandage him up, even if he yelled so much while he was doing it that Kojiro’s parents decided that was probably enough lecturing for him. Kojiro had already learned his lesson, after all—people care if he gets hurt, so don’t get hurt unnecessarily. (It’s a lesson he remembers every time he sees the look on Kaoru’s face every time Kojiro’s skating tricks get bolder, riskier—be careful, be careful.)

In middle school, when Kaoru’s father moved away from Okinawa, he holed up in his room to stubbornly not cry alone every day after school and didn’t come out until Kojiro begged his parents for money and dragged Kaoru to the market. They ran around eating sata andagi until they got sick. (Kaoru might not have gotten over this one… he still gives sata andagi a weird look every time.)

In high school, when Kaoru decided to get piercings, he decided to get them all at once so he wouldn’t need to have multiple conversations with his mom. He laid his thought process out calmly and logically, and insisted Kojiro didn’t have to come unless he wanted to, but then squeezed Kojiro’s hand so tightly Kojiro was convinced he’d broken a finger. (He had not.)

Kaoru, Kojiro’s realized, is kind of like a jellyfish—pretty from far away, but the closer you got, the more you feared death. Kojiro’s one of the few people Kaoru trusts enough to get close, to touch him without getting stung.

“Kojiro. Ko-ji-ro! There you are. I wanted to check answers, but it looks like you’re not done.” Kaoru’s face is on the rail between annoyed and concerned, ready to tip either way. A quick glance at his homework shows he’s finished the first page of his problem set; Kojiro’s only halfway through. “What were you thinking about for so long?”

Kojiro wraps an arm around him and kisses the top of his head. “You.”

Kaoru sputters and flushes, and Kojiro laughs into his hair.

He never wants to let go.

They're dating. Or, at least, Kojiro’s pretty sure they're dating.

The thing is, Kaoru doesn’t really talk about feelings unless he has to. Most of the time, the only emotion coming out of him is annoyance. That one he’s good at.

But when it comes to affection… Kojiro would never think to call Kaoru shy normally, but Kaoru’s hesitant to even hold hands in school. When they’re alone, Kaoru’s fine—he’ll lean into Kojiro’s side, wrap gentle fingers around his arm, and maybe even kiss him if he’s feeling frisky—but at school or at S, there’s a barrier around him even Kojiro can’t breach.

“It just feels strange,” Kaoru says, after Kojiro brings it up one afternoon. He pushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear. He only messes with his hair when he’s anxious. “This is just between us, isn’t it? Why does it matter what anyone else thinks? Doesn’t it bother you when people are all over each other in front of you?”

“Not really,” Kojiro says. If he could be all over Kaoru in public, he would. But it’s not worth stressing Kaoru out over. “I get it, I think. So… you’re not into the PDA, but you’re okay with us being boyfriends?”

“I don't know what that means,” Kaoru says, readjusting his half-tail. “What do we have to do?”

“Spend time together,” Kojiro says, watching Kaoru carefully for anything more than his usual skittishness at feelings-talk. “Make out. Let me make you dinner sometimes.”

“We already do all that.”

“Yeah, we do,” Kojiro says.

He lets the silence hang as Kaoru processes that. Kaoru reties his hair once. Twice. Then his hands lower.

“So,” Kojiro says, slinging an arm around his waist. “Boyfriends, then?”

“Call it whatever you want,” Kaoru says.

He’s smiling.

In a number of ways, Adam’s departure is the beginning of the end.

Though… that’s not exactly right, Kojiro knows. It started before that, when Adam no longer saw skating as fun for skating’s sake, and it all became about a drive to be better, faster, flashier—and then to find someone, anyone who could match him in all three. When he drifted from them, he took the light in Kaoru's eyes with him.

Kojiro won't forgive him for that.

Kojiro knows that, here, there’s a big difference between him and Kaoru. Kaoru truly believed—still believes—people can change. Kaoru believes Adam could change. But, in Kojiro’s opinion, when people show you who they are, you believe them.

They disagreed, but they didn’t fight about it, because they wee both too busy trying to keep S from becoming the deathmatch Adam was driving it towards.

In the end, they only partially succeeded.

And when Adam leaves, taking any chance of redemption with him and leaving nothing but anger and pain and regret—that’s when reality hits the hardest.

They aren’t kids anymore.

Kojiro decides not to go to university.

On the floor of Kaoru’s bedroom, he lays out his plan. His goal is to open a restaurant. He’s been working part-time at one for years, and everyone’s told him that no school compares to the experience of training in a real kitchen, and so that’s what he wants to do—travel and learn at different restaurants around the world before returning to open his own place in Okinawa.

“You remember Chef Santini, who came to work at old man Sano’s restaurant a couple years ago?” Kojiro says. “She says she'll sponsor a training visa for me to come to Italy to work with her. I could start there, and if I do well, she could refer me somewhere else to learn. My parents said if I don’t totally fail I could use the money they saved for university to help with the startup costs. And I’ll be making money while I’m training, too.”

“How long?” Kaoru says quietly. He always knows the right questions to ask.

“Four years, probably.” Kojiro can’t look at him as he answers. “Maybe five. I’ll message you,” he says, looking up to find Kaoru staring at his own hands, folded in his lap. “And call you whenever I can. If I save up enough, I can come visit every year.”

Kaoru takes it all in silently, a calculating expression on his face, and Kojiro squeezes his hands into fists, tightly enough he’s sure he’ll find the imprints of his nails in his skin. At best, Kaoru will start listing off the flaws in his plan. At worst—

Kojiro doesn’t want to think about at worst.

After an eternity of heart palpitations, Kaoru says, “I’ll come with you. You have enough to pay for another set of plane tickets, don’t you?”

“Hold on there, you shameless freeloader,” Kojiro says on autopilot, because his brain is having trouble processing the fact that Kaoru’s even entertaining the idea.

Kaoru’s the kind of person who calculates angles before taking a turn, and here he is considering an international trip of unknown length and unknown destinations that he just heard about ten minutes ago?

“What about your own studies?” Kojiro says. “You can’t be my trophy wife forever.”

A vein in Kaoru’s forehead ticks, and he hits Kojiro on the shoulder. “Who said anything about that, you idiot? I have a number of people interested in investing in my AI calligraphy idea. I plan to build it into a business. I won’t need university for that, either.”

“But won’t you have to be here for the business?”

“It’s AI,” Kaoru says, emphasizing the two letters. “I can do it from anywhere.”

“Are you sure?” Kojiro says. Then, “What does AI calligraphy even mean, anyway?”

Kaoru crosses his arms. “There’s not enough time in the universe to explain it to you. You’ll just have to see it for yourself when I’m finished. Now do you want me to come or not?”

Kojiro had plans.

He’d looked up the time zones, knows that if he gets up early enough in Tuscany then he can catch Kaoru around lunch to talk about his day.

He’d convinced Takeuchi at the flower shop to deliver flowers to Kaoru’s house if Kojiro called in advance and paid him extra.

He’d written down recipes for Kaoru’s favorite meals and planned to give them to his parents and beg them to make something whenever Kaoru felt sad.

Kojiro had plans, but he’s more than ready to throw them all out the window if it means he can have this.

“You really want to come?” he says.

“Would I be suggesting it if I didn’t?”

Kojiro looks at him—at the annoyed, stubborn set of his expression—and his heart aches. “I’m gonna kiss you.”

“It better be a good one, after the headache you just gave me.”

Kojiro reaches out and hauls Kaoru into his lap. “When is it ever not good?”

Kaoru, for once, doesn't have an answer to that.

“By the way,” Kaoru says, after he's a little flushed and very thoroughly kissed, “for this to work, I’ll need spousal sponsorship from your training visa. We’ll need to get married.”

“Exactly how much do you plan on freeloading off of me before this is over?”

“Is that a yes?”

Kojiro sighs and doesn't even bother to hide his joy. “Yes, you ass.”

They tell Kaoru’s parents—

(“We’re getting married.”

Kaoru’s mom takes Kojiro’s hand. “Stay strong, Kocchan.”

Kaoru closes his eyes, annoyed. “Mother…”)

—and Kojiro’s—

(“We’re getting married.”

Kojiro’s mom blinks.

Kojiro’s dad slams his hands on the table and crows, “I told you they were dating!”)

—and then, two weeks later (because Kaoru is nothing if not scarily efficient), it’s time.

It’s a very small ceremony and very traditional ceremony. Both their parents cry a lot, and, by the end of it, even Kaoru’s a bit misty-eyed, though he quickly hides his face behind the sleeve of his pale blue kimono when he catches Kojiro looking.

Afterward, they head to Kyoto for their honeymoon and, for the first time, they find themselves completely alone together in their room at the inn.

They unpack and shower and then they kiss. They’re both only wearing yukata; Kaoru’s is sliding off his shoulder. Kojiro wants to put his mouth there. He pulls the yukata up instead.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says quietly.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Kaoru whispers back. His fingers toy with the edge of Kojiro’s collar.

Kojiro doesn’t have any first-hand experience, either, but he’s seen enough to have a rough idea of how these things should go. He kisses the side of Kaoru’s jaw. “We’ll go as slow as you want.”

He pushes Kaoru’s yukata over his shoulders, leaving him bare, and then, gently, guides him down to the bed.

Kaoru follows willingly.

One and a half months later, they make it to Italy.

The first day, they discover that despite (or maybe because of) having no real sleep schedule at home, Kojiro is pretty unbothered by time differences. Kaoru, on the other hand, has the internal clock of a robot, and he throws the hotel alarm clock at Kojiro when Kojiro dares to push the curtains open by a few inches.

“Sunlight will help you wake up,” Kojiro says, watching the lump of plastic bounce off his side and to the ground. “I’m sure you know that.”

Kaoru’s pulled his pillow over his head. “I will make you regret being alive,” he says into the mattress.

Kojiro grabs his ankle over the blankets and tugs lightly. “Come on, pillow princess, we have to find an apartment so we can stop paying for this hotel. And I need to say hi to Chef Santini.”

Kaoru kicks his leg free. “Go, then. I’ll take care of the apartment. I already have a list.” He waves vaguely at the nightstand, where his phone sits. “I don’t enter foreign countries completely unprepared, unlike some idiots.”

That’s rude, considering Kojiro was the one who booked this hotel. But any annoyance he feels is overshadowed by the warmth he feels thinking about the fact that Kaoru’s been spending time looking into places for them to live.

Together.

Alone.

For a year.

Kojiro huffs, a face-splitting smile on his face. He swats Kaoru’s ass. “You could have told me, you prickly asshole.”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I? Now get out, I’m trying to sleep.”

Kojiro snuggles up to him. “Secretly, you really do love me, don’t you?”

“Who said it was a secret, you dimwit?” Kaoru elbows him in the gut, hard, and Kojiro doubles over, wheezing. “Get. Out.”

Kojiro, knowing when to pick his battles, gets.

Kojiro returns in the late afternoon with lunch in boxes, courtesy of Chef Santini, and bouquet in hand—also courtesy of Chef Santini, once she heard what state Kojiro had left Kaoru in.

Kaoru, sitting at the table facing the window, doesn’t seem to have noticed him come in, and when Kojiro gets closer, he can see his attention is fixed on a feed of S playing on his phone.

“Still going on, huh?” Kojiro says.

Kaoru, to his credit, doesn’t yell in surprise, but he does turn around a bit too quickly to not be startled. His shoulders slump when he sees Kojiro.

“It has a life of its own now,” he says, turning back to his phone. “It will go on, regardless of our role in it. Or Adam’s.”

Kojiro sets the boxes and flowers on the bed. “Want to put it on the TV?”

“You’re going to get crumbs all over the comforter, idiot,” Kaoru says, but he turns on the TV and climbs onto the mattress to watch, tucked against Kojiro’s side.

They end up spending a year and a half in Italy.

Kojiro’s pretty sure he works more than he sleeps during that time—even though he spends most of his days off sleeping—and he finds himself grateful every day that living with Kaoru means he doesn’t have to worry about much else other than those two things; laundry gets done, bills get paid, and parents get messaged as if by magic.

It’s all a desperate blur, and it’s all Kojiro can do to remember to kiss Kaoru before he leaves in the morning and say I love you before he falls asleep at night.

When Kojiro finally gets a week off, he gets sick, and spends his days miserably feverish and watching Italian dramas on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he says, nose full of snot, as Kaoru changes out the trash bag. Again. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”

“On the contrary,” Kaoru says. “I knew exactly what I signed up for.” He picks up Kojiro’s legs to sit down, and then drops them across his lap. “My Italian isn’t as good as yours yet. You’ll have to tell me what’s going on.”

Chef Santini keeps her promise.

Kojiro’s proven himself, and so after his apprenticeship concludes, he leaves with an apprenticeship secured at Chef Pic’s restaurant in Paris.

Chef Pic’s restaurant is only open five days a week, and on top of that, she only wants him on lunch service the first month, which means on the first day after a successful shift, Korjiro finds himself sitting in their apartment and staring at his hands. “Is this what it’s like… to have free time…?”

“Enjoy it,” Kaoru says, “and then make me dinner. It’s the least you could do after I’ve washed your underwear for a year.”

“Kaoru!” Kojiro grabs his arm. “Let’s go on a date.”

Kaoru looks surprised at the suggestion, and Kojiro feels some regret for how little time he had to spend on Kaoru in Italy. He’ll make up for it now, he swears.

“Where do you want to go?” Kaoru says.

“Um.” Right, Kojiro doesn’t know anything about the city. Neither of them do. “I don’t know yet, but I’m sure we’ll find something good!”

“You idiot,” Kaoru says, but he’s smiling. “Fine. Go take a nap first, then we’ll go out. I don’t know how you’re not dead on your feet.”

Kojiro takes his hands. “Come with me?”

Kaoru comes to bed, but sits at the head of it, reading a book. Kojiro falls asleep quickly, curled against his thigh.

Kojiro doesn’t wake up until the next morning (and the next morning he realizes that it was probably Kaoru’s plan all along—Kaoru’s smirk when he asks confirms it).

But they get their date night the next night, and this time Kojiro asks for help.

The restaurant Chef Pic gets them into is very, very nice, and Kojiro doesn't speak nearly enough French for it, but his Italian is enough to help him guess his way through the menu.

“I'm still learning!” Kojiro says after spending way too long fumbling through their order. “Just you wait, this time next year, I’ll be a master of French.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Kaoru says. “Immersion is the best form for learning a new language, after all. Your Italian’s improved immensely.”

“Oh?” Kojiro props his chin in his hand. “And how much have you picked up, cuore mio?”

Kaoru’s answering flush is immensely satisfying. “Enough.”

A sudden swelling of strings interrupts their conversation, and Kojiro turns to see four violinists standing a few tables away, playing a sweetly romantic tune to the couple sitting there.

He’s too far to hear what’s being said—and probably wouldn’t be able to really understand it, even if he could hear—but it’s very obvious what’s going on when a waiter comes bearing a bouquet of roses and a small, black box.

The entire room is silent, watching; and, when it’s over and the couple is embracing, the room fills with applause and sounds of joy.

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Kaoru says quietly, though he’s clapping politely.

“I think it’s romantic,” Kojiro says. “And it looks like she likes it. That’s all that matters, right?”

“I suppose,” Kaoru says.

They both watch as the waiters lay down a rose petal trail from the table to the door, and the two women stagger down the path, arm in arm, both of them so drunk with happiness it feels contagious.

Kojiro feels himself grinning the rest of the night.

“Kojiro,” Kaoru says as they lay down to sleep that night.

“Hm?”

“Let’s try a bar next time.”

“Alright,” Kojiro says, grinning, “this place is good. We did good.”

The bar is way below the level of the restaurant they went to, but also way nicer on his wallet. They’re not hurting for money after basically not spending any of it last year except on necessities, but there’s nothing better than the feeling of eating good, cheap food and drinking good, cheap drinks.

Kaoru scoffs and steals some tartare from Kojiro’s plate. “What is this we? I found it.”

“Okay, fine, you did good, mon cherí,” Kojiro says, just to watch Kaoru duck his head and flush cutely.

“You and the nicknames,” Kaoru says.

“You don’t like them?”

“I—don’t dislike them,” Kaoru says. “I’m just not used to them.”

“Guess we don’t really have them in Japanese, huh?” Kojiro says. “Or maybe we do. Does idiot count as a nickname?”

“Idiot,” Kaoru says, then seems to realize what he said and looks away, annoyed and embarrassed.

Kojiro laughs.

“Do you want a nickname?” Kaoru says. “A better one.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Kojiro says. “I like how you say my name.”

“Kojiro,” Kaoru says quietly.

Kojiro takes his hand under the table. “I’ll have to kiss you if you keep that up.”

Kaoru smiles a little, but his eyes dance around the bar, taking in all the other people there, and Kojiro can see something in him shy away.

“Later,” Kaoru promises.

Kaoru keeps his promises.

“We should skate,” Kojiro says to Kaoru, once he feels confident enough in his French to explain that they’re lost tourists if they run into any trouble on the streets. “You have your board, right?”

Kojiro’s own board is sitting at the bottom of his suitcase, untouched since they left Okinawa. He hasn’t seen Kaoru bring out his, either, but skating’s been such a big part of their lives that he can’t imagine Kaoru would leave it at home.

“Where would we go?” Kaoru says, frowning, which means that he both has his board and is into the idea.

Kojiro pounces. “I asked around the restaurant. There are some nice spots near the Seine some of the locals skate. Not the smoothest streets, but it shouldn’t be a problem for us.”

“Right now?” Kaoru says, looking at his suitcase. “My board probably needs to charge.”

“We could go after dinner, bring some drinks and sit on the shore,” Kojiro says. “Although, we’re just skating for fun. Do you really need your AI for that?”

“You’ll regret saying that if we get lost.”

“That’s what we have phones for!”

Kaoru scowls. “Do you remember what happened last time you tried to use a phone while skating?”

Okay, Kaoru has a point, but— “That was one time!”

“And it’s only ever going to be one time!”

“All right, all right,” Kojiro says. “Charge your board. Are you okay with tonkatsu for dinner?”

The annoyance on Kaoru’s face dissolves to a homesick longing Kojiro feels in his bones. “That sounds good.”

Kojiro kisses him softly. “I’ll be in the kitchen, okay?”

“Yeah,” Kaoru says. “I’ll see you there.”

Skating with Kaoru is the best feeling in the world.

It’s the only time and place that Kaoru ever lets himself go, lets himself feel the freedom of what it’s like to fly, unstoppable, through the streets. Kojiro sees him, windswept and flushed and grinning wildly, and wants to kiss him with everything he has.

He restrains himself, though he thinks it’s impossible for Kaoru to miss the want in his eyes.

They carry their boards down the banks of the Seine and find a spot on the shore. It’s a pretty popular place: around them, people are strolling up and down the banks, or sitting in groups all along the shore.

“A lot of couples here,” Kaoru says.

Kojiro shrugs. “It’s a romantic date spot. But then again, that might just be most of this place. Paris is the city of love and romance, after all.”

“Is that what you want?” Kaoru says, hand tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “More romance? I know we haven’t… done much.”

“Mon rêve,” Kojiro says, and he wants to hold him so much it aches. “What we have is more than enough for me. And it’s mainly my fault, anyway. My work schedule hasn’t been helping.”

“I suppose,” Kaoru says.

When he puts his hand down, their fingers are almost touching.

They’re only in Paris for a little over a year.

In that time, Kojiro thinks Kaoru’s gotten more serious, but whenever he tries to poke at it, Kaoru waves him off with an I’m fine, and the conversation ends.

Kojiro is itching to take him back home to Okinawa, but he’s not sure if he’s really ready to handle his own restaurant yet, and Chef Pic has another opportunity for him to work as a fully-fledged chef—not an apprentice—at her friend Chef Nakayama’s restaurant in America.

“You should do it,” Kaoru says when Kojiro tells him about it.

“It would be another year, at least,” Kojiro says. “And we haven’t gotten to go home at all. I know you’re…”

Tired? Homesick? Sad? Kojiro isn’t entirely sure, and Kaoru still doesn’t want to talk about it.

“I’m okay,” Kaoru says. “Do you need me to book the flights?”

“I’ve got it,” Kojiro says, and watches Kaoru nod once before disappearing into the bathroom.

Something’s off.

Something’s off, but he has no idea what it is.

When he arrives in LA, Kojiro learns that Chef Nakayama has decided to retire early, but she sends him to her nephew, Chef “call me Kevin” Takahashi, who’s recently started his own venture, and who Kojiro is surprised to see is barely any older than he is.

Kevin, for his part, is excited to hear about Kojiro’s plans to start his own restaurant, and is more than happy to share his knowledge.

“I didn’t really know what I was doing in the beginning, TBH,” Kevin says.

“Translate TBH, please,” Kojiro says. It’s nice to have someone at work he can speak Japanese with again, but language learning was part of his goal here, so Kevin has been mainly speaking English with him.

The problem is, Kevin’s English is… non-standard.

“It’s hip,” Kevin says. “I’m youthful. Trust.”

Questionable English aside, Kevin is full of information about all the pitfalls of starting a restaurant. He makes sure to emphasize that his experience is American, and things are probably different in Japan, and Kojiro tries to absorb as much of it as he can, as quickly as he can.

He’ll be ready soon. He knows it.

It’s in LA that Kaoru starts having trouble sleeping.

Kojiro doesn’t know how often it happens; only knows that sometimes he’ll wake up in the middle of the night, and Kaoru will be sitting up, wide awake and on his phone.

“Kaoru?” Kojiro says. “What’s wrong? You can’t sleep?”

“It’s just like this sometimes,” Kaoru says, running fingers gently along Kojiro’s scalp. “Don’t worry. Go to sleep.”

“How can I help?”

“You can’t,” Kaoru says. “It’s okay.”

Kojiro refuses to believe that. He pushes through his foggy mind and tries to think of what’s helped him sleep in the past. A song comes to mind—a lullaby from Okinawa that his mom used to sing.

He starts humming the melody, and, when Kaoru doesn’t protest, starts singing quietly.

Kaoru’s fingers fall lax against his head.

By the time Kojiro finishes the song, Kaoru is fast asleep.

In the evenings, Kojiro starts working on his plans—looking into the different licenses he’ll need and figuring out his space requirements and budget so he can start exploring buildings for rent near their hometown.

Don’t worry, Kaoru. We’ll be home soon.

“So,” Kojiro says, collapsing on the couch of their apartment. “That was… probably not the greatest choice of restaurants.”

“Understatement,” Kaoru says.

The food was very dry, a little burnt, and not flavorful at all, so Kojiro has to give him that.

“Where did you even find it?” Kaoru says.

“Well,” Kojiro drawls out the word. “I’ve passed by it a few times on the way to work and had a hunch that it would be a good place.”

“That,” Kaoru says, “was a terrible idea. Your hunches are terrible.”

“Hey!” Kojiro says. “Whose hunch found your wallet in middle school, again? That’s right, mine!”

“If you only ever have one example of a good hunch, it’s probably a good sign that your hunches are off the mark.”

Kojiro rolls his eyes. “Well, it seems like my hunch about you was right.”

“What hunch?”

“Something’s going on,” Kojiro says. “You’re pricklier than usual.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Kaoru says, even though Kojiro could practically see Kaoru’s spine prickle at the statement.

Kojiro crosses his arms. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but don’t lie to me about it. I deserve better than that.”

Something shifts in Kaoru’s expression and in the air around them, a sudden chill settling in.

“Yes,” Kaoru says. “You do.”

He stands from the couch and walks toward the door.

Kojiro scrambles to his feet. “Kaoru, what are you—”

“I’m going for a walk,” Kaoru says, looking down at his shoes as he pulls them on. “Don’t wait up.”

“Kaoru—”

Kaoru turns his head then, his gaze sharper than any of Kojiro’s knives. “Don’t.”

“At least put on a coat,” Kojiro says.

Kaoru doesn’t respond, but he opens the closet by the door and takes his jacket before he leaves. The door closes behind him with a soft, gentle click.

The slam of the deadbolt sounds final.

They fight all the time, but this one’s different.

This one’s real.

But Kojiro doesn’t even know what the hell they’re fighting about.

Two weeks of stiff, awkward silence later and six months before they’re meant to return to Okinawa, Kojiro comes home and finds Kaoru sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded neatly in his lap, suitcase packed beside him.

Then Kaoru says words.

A lot of words.

Kojiro’s head is pounding and his brain feels like it’s full of static. He hears, but he—he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t take it in. His ears catch on a few choice phrases—”we were too young” and “this was a mistake” and “I’m sorry” and “goodbye”.

“You’re leaving?” Kojiro says, sounding as lost as he feels.

Normally, Kaoru would be annoyed that Kojiro is clearly not paying attention to what he’s saying. Normally, Kaoru would snap automatically, his temper as quick as his mind.

The fact that Kaoru just looks tired is bad.

Really bad.

“My flight is in a few hours,” Kaoru says. “I’ll keep sending money for the rent, so you won’t have to worry about that.”

“That’s not—I’m not worried about that,” Kojiro says. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “I’m worried about you. Kaoru. Can’t we talk about this?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Kaoru lowers his head, hiding his expression. Then he looks up again, expression blank behind the shine of his glasses. “I’m sorry, Kojiro.”

“You’re not looking so hot,” Kevin says while Kojiro lethargically stirs soup. He wonders if he looks as pitiful as he feels. “You okay?”

“My husband left,” Kojiro says.

“Aw, that sucks, man,” Kevin says. “Where’d he go? How long will he be gone?”

“No,” Kojiro says in Japanese, because his brain isn’t working right now. “He left. Me.”

“Oh. Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

Kevin squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. I’ve been through this before. I know exactly what you need.”

According to Kevin, the first thing Kojiro needs is a good, terrible hangover.

They go to Kevin’s apartment, get drunk off their asses, watch an awful action movie that Kojiro barely understands because he’s drunk and it’s in English and the subtitles are in Chinese, and pass out until Kevin’s alarm clock wakes them up to get ready for opening.

The second thing Kojiro needs, says Kevin, is to “get swole”.

“Are you sure this will help?” Kojiro says, looking uncertainly at the rows of equipment in the gym Kevin had dragged them to at five in the morning.

“Nothing gets your endorphins pumping like pumping weights,” Kevin says. “Trust.”

Kojiro almost says he’d rather skate, feeling for one second the wind flowing around his body, the rush of adrenaline, the pure joy he feels when he turns to see Cherry—Kaoru—at his side.

He remembers, suddenly, why he isn’t skating.

“I see sadness and I don’t vibe with it,” Kevin says. He claps his hands. “Come on, it’s time to replace those pains with gains.”

Kojiro has to admit the exercise works. It gives him something else to think about, something else to look forward to. And it helps that his body picks up the changes quickly—every week he sees progress.

Eventually, he has to ask for a new uniform from Kevin, because his old one doesn’t fit anymore. He’s had to replace all his clothes.

“High-key jealous,” Kevin says as he hands Kojiro an extra-extra-large shirt. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to see those kinds of gains in my life. You’re gonna be a beast in a couple years if you keep this up.”

Kojiro smiles. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“You'd better,” Kevin says, “But for now, I think you’re ready for the final phase.”

The final phase is clubbing.

In another lifetime, Kojiro thinks he would have found this fun. He tries to force himself into it, flirting at the bar and buying drinks, and it’s nice to be able to capture someone’s interest for a little while, but when it comes down to it, he isn’t interested in return.

He’s always seeing a flash of pink.

They don’t go out every night. Kevin says he doesn’t have the energy for it, and Kojiro doesn’t either. When he’s alone in the apartment, he finds himself opening up his messages, thinking about what he would share from his day, if he could.

I added a new recipe to the menu. It got popular enough to be featured in the local newspaper! There’s even a picture of me. Would you want to see it?

I’ve been lifting weights more. I can lift over 90kg now! That’s about how much you weigh, right? It would have been fun to try lifting you.

I’ve been talking to Kevin about the planning I’ve done for my restaurant back home. I think I’m ready. He thinks I’m ready, too. Are you proud of me?

In another life, this is what they would be doing—sending messages halfway across the world. Would they have been happier then?

In the end, he doesn’t send any of the messages, but he doesn’t want to delete them, either. He sends them to himself, collecting a digital log of what could have been, and closes his eyes.

He’s pathetic.

“We gotta get you some kind of souvenir,” Kevin says, a month before Kojiro’s flight back to Okinawa. “How about a tattoo?”

“Is that really considered a souvenir?”

“You've undergone an important and permanent self-transformation in your time here,” Kevin says solemnly. “It’s only right that it leaves you with a permanent mark.”

“Well,” Kojiro says, “when you put it that way…”

Kevin convinces him it wouldn’t be a good idea to put cherry blossoms on his arm, even though Kojiro finds it fitting in more ways than one.

“You’ll thank me when you’re older,” Kevin says.

“You’re not that much older,” Kojiro grumbles, but he dutifully looks for a different design. It’s an impossible task, because his heart isn’t in it—his mind is stuck on Kaoru.

Kevin proposes a sun design that will take up the whole of his upper arm.

“Even if the sun sets, it’ll always rise again, and bring the light back with it,” Kevin says. “It’s a message to yourself. You’ve risen again once from your darkest night, and you’ll rise again, every time. It’s also an important lesson if you want to start your own restaurant. Shit sucks. We’re idiots for doing it.”

Kojiro snorts. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called an idiot.”

He studies the design.

Darkness doesn’t last forever. Eventually, the light will return.

“I like it,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

Kevin drives him to the airport on the night of his flight, and they say their goodbyes at the curb of the airport while the parking officer glares at them.

“I’ll miss you, man,” Kevin says, clasping his hand and pulling him in for a one-armed hug.

“Me, too,” Kojiro says, patting his back. “Let me know if you’re ever in Okinawa. It’ll be my treat.”

“It better be!” Kevin says. “You come up with a name for your restaurant yet?”

“I have a few ideas,” Kojiro says, “but the one I like the most right now… what do you think of Sia la Luce?”

Let there be light.

Kevin smiles, gentler than his usual bouncing-off-the-walls beam. “It’s perfect.”

The location of Sia la luce is an accident… sort of.

It’s not like Kojiro was actively looking for a building near Sakurayashiki Calligraphy. But he wasn’t actively not-looking either, and if it just so happened that a restaurant a few blocks away was closing its doors, leaving behind a perfect space exactly in Kojiro’s price point… well, he wasn’t going to say no.

He just wasn’t going to tell Kaoru about it until after.

It’s worth it for the look on Kaoru’s face when Morioka Haruto, a businessman who’s already come by for lunch four times since opening, each time bringing along a new business partner, decides to now bring along Kaoru.

Kaoru looks somewhere between elation and homicide. It’s such a Kaoru expression that it makes Kojiro grin despite himself.

He takes any slim excuse he has to come to the table and serve them personally, taking in all of Kaoru that he can. It’s been only a few months since his restaurant opened, but over a year since he left LA, which means he hasn’t seen Kaoru for nearly two.

He’s kept his hair longer, Kojiro notices, and it’s tied off over his shoulder. Everything about him screams elegance—from his posture, to his yukata, to his missing piercings and the polite slant of his smile.

It’s that smile that annoys Kojiro, and the way he says, “It’s good to meet you,” smooth like glass, when Morioka introduces them.

Kojiro has a sinking feeling that, once Kaoru leaves, he isn’t going to come back. He catches himself hoping that Morioka will go to the bathroom or something so that he can at least have a few minutes of Kaoru acknowledging his presence.

And then, as luck would have it, Morioka has to leave early—though he’s already ordered a plate of dessert.

Kojiro sets it on the table, in front of Kaoru, as a trap. “I’m home.”

“Good for you,” Kaoru says.

“Not going to say welcome home?”

“I’m glad you made it back safely,” Kaoru says instead. “You’ve gotten… larger.”

Kojiro’s managed to keep up his routine since returning home, and Kevin was right—his gains only kept increasing. “You like it?”

“You look like a gorilla.”

“But an attractive one.”

Kaoru stabs into the dessert. It’s cannoli, which isn’t exactly his favorite, but he graciously let Morioka do the ordering. “No comment.”

Kojiro watches him suffer under his curse of not wanting to let food go to waste for a bit longer before taking the plate from him, knowing while he’s doing it that he’s opening the door for Kaoru to leave. “I can finish it.”

Kaoru doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t stand up right away, either.

Kojiro takes the opening, unexpected as it is. “You’re still sending me rent.”

“I’m not in need of the money,” Kaoru says. “My business has already been well-established. It would be helpful for you to not have to worry as much about paying for a residence while you’re establishing yours.”

It’s kind in that clinical, Kaoru-like way.

Somehow that kindness pisses Kojiro off more than anything else. “I don’t need your charity.”

“Don’t cause a scene in your own restaurant, idiot,” Kaoru says, eyes cutting past him to the other diners for half a second. “And it’s not charity. Originally, you were expecting to have my financial support while you were getting your restaurant on its feet. I saw no reason to take that away from you, just because of… what happened.”

“That sounds a lot like charity to me.”

“You can pay me back if it really bothers you so much,” Kaoru says, “but, as I said, I don’t need the money, and I think you do. Don’t be overconfident.”

“You,” Kojiro says, “are a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

Kaoru’s eyes glint. “Of that, I’m well aware.”

It is, surprisingly, not the last time Kojiro sees Kaoru in the restaurant.

He’s underestimated the number of stuffy, businessman clients Kaoru has, and how often they bring him to Sia la luce for lunch or dinner. Every time, Kaoru does the formal shuffle of pretending not to know him, and every time, Kojiro has to grin and bear it.

He did this to himself. He wanted to be close. He wanted to be able to drive by Kaoru’s studio on the way to work, to catch a glimpse of him through the window and wonder how he was doing.

He was not planning on seeing the face of his dreams every other damn day.

Eventually, Kojiro decides enough is enough.

It’s the dinner service, and Kaoru’s dining buddy has left early, again, leaving Kaoru looking at a dessert menu by himself.

Kojiro snatches it out of his hands.

“I have words about your customer service,” Kaoru says through gritted teeth.

“Shut it,” Kojiro says, and sets a small plate of tiramisu down in front of him.

Kaoru’s jaw slackens once he sees it, and looks rapidly between it and Kojiro.

“Thank you,” he says eventually, because he is the more well-mannered of the both of them, even if Kojiro is the more even-tempered.

“Can I sit down?” Kojiro says.

Kaoru gestures to the chair across from him.

“Look, Kaoru,” Kojiro says, sitting. “If you’re going to keep coming in here—”

“It’s not like I’m asking to come in here,” Kaoru says. “But if you want me to turn down their invitations to bring you business, then fine.”

“I don’t care if you come,” Kojiro says, and Kaoru crosses his arms. “Just—does it have to be like this every time? You ignore me even if we’re alone. Can’t we just be friends again?”

Kaoru fidgets with his fork. Kojiro doesn’t think he’s ever seen him fidget with anything in his life. Then he sighs and sets it down. “We can try.”

Kojiro has tried going to S since he got back, hoping to run into Kaoru, but everyone tells him the same thing—it’s been a long time since anyone has seen Cherry Blossom around. With is restaurant now, he finds it hard to work up the energy to go back.

He’s not sure if S holds anything for him anymore.

But then, by chance, he hears a bike come up the street while he’s locking up, and when he turns, he makes eye contact for a brief second with Kaoru before he’s gone, pink ponytail streaming behind him.

The mask, the arm guards—that was Cherry Blossom.

Kojiro scrambles to his car, thanking every god he knows that his gear is already in the trunk, and speeds down to the abandoned mine.

The race has already started when he gets there, and Cherry’s apparently taken off for the warehouse on his bike with some kid. It’s probably not worth heading down to the warehouse himself at this point, so he watches the race from a vantage point above with a group of other fans who flock to him.

By the end of the race, he knows exactly who’s caught Kaoru’s attention.

He has the luck of seeing Kaoru at the restaurant the next day, and even though Kaoru’s not interested in talking to him, he can tell this rookie has Kaoru invested.

He corners Kaoru outside the restaurant under the guise of returning his wallet and says, “Were you thinking of going to S tonight?”

Kaoru’s expression is completely unimpressed. “Looking forward to getting beaten again already?”

Kojiro scoffs. “You wish. If you meet me here fifteen minutes before, I can drive.”

Kaoru’s expression morphs into suspicion. “What’s the catch?”

“Consider it my repayment for the rent.”

There’s a long moment where Kaoru considers, and Kojiro desparately wants to know what’s going on inside that overactive head of his.

Then Kaoru says, “Fine.”

He shows up that night, as promised. He’s not wearing his mask, and he has a jacket on over the top of his skating outfit and what Kojiro is assuming is his board in a black, zippered nylon bag, which he puts gently in the backseat.

Kojiro looks pointedly between it and his own skateboard, sitting bare on the ground under the driver’s seat.

“She deserves care,” Kaoru says.

“She?” Kojiro repeats, but he doesn’t get any explanation until they get onto the track, and he realizes that she is Kaoru’s newest iteration of his AI board.

She is named Carla, is much more intelligent than the bracelet controls that Kaoru used in high school to connect with his board, and she pisses him off to no end for many reasons, not least of which because she apparently recognizes him as the idiot.

“I swear, if she insults me one more time—”

“Carla, tell the idiot what will happen if he tries to touch you.”

“Electric shock!” Carla says cheerfully.

Kaoru gives him a pointed look.

“That’s messed up, man,” Kojiro says.

They make it through the night without him committing Carlacide, but just barely. Kojiro drives them back to the restaurant, but as soon as he parks, he realizes that he doesn’t want things to end like this.

He hesitates by the door. “Do you want to use the bathroom or something?”

Kaoru hesitates too. “I do have to charge my board.”

“What, you’re just going to freeload off my electricity bill?” Kojiro says.

“You’re the one who invited me in!”

Kojiro doesn’t have a good argument for that. He does want Kaoru to come in, and charging his board is as good of an excuse as any to stay for a while.

He lets Kaoru in to charge his board, and while Kaoru’s finding the outlet, Kojiro goes behind the counter and pours himself a tall glass of wine because he needs one. And then, because he’s a good host, he pours Kaoru a glass, too.

Across the counter, Kaoru’s stomach grumbles.

Kojiro stares at him.

Kaoru looks resolutely at the wall.

“Did you not eat dinner?”

“Some of us can’t eat while we work, idiot.”

“Keep that up and I might have to reconsider giving you the friends discount on your meals, you cheapskate,” Kojiro says.

He can see Kaoru’s temper fray in his eyebrows. “I never asked for that benefit in the first place, you presumptive primate.”

“Well, too bad, because I’m giving it to you, asshole!” Kojiro snatches his apron from under the counter. “What do you want to eat?”

Kaoru thinks for a few seconds. “Can you make tonkatsu?”

Kojiro scowls. “This is an Italian restaurant!”

He makes the tonkatsu anyway.

The next night, they go to S again, and afterward, they eat a late meal together as Kaoru’s skateboard charges against the wall.

And they do it all again the next night.

And the next.

And the next.

They’re still married.

Kojiro’s not sure if Kaoru’s somehow forgotten about it because they never talk about it, and Kojiro sure as hell isn't bringing it up first. He never wanted things to end in the first place, and as things are now, he can almost pretend they never did—almost pretend that the fact that he and Kaoru are skating together again before eating and drinking into the night, just the two of them, means that there’s something there that never left.

Kaoru is older and somehow even more terrifying, but he’s still the same Kaoru that Kojiro loves.

Kojiro’s ring hangs on a chain around his neck that he only takes off when he skates so that there isn’t a chance it could get lost—and so there isn’t a chance that Kaoru could see.

He wonders if somewhere, sometimes, Kaoru still wears his, too.

Something changes between them after the trip to Miyakojima.

After whatever the hell that was at the hot spring, they’d quickly rinsed off and sped back to the street with the inns, collecting the other skaters along the way.

“Are you at the Guesthouse Inn too?” Kaoru says once they’ve gotten everyone into their rooms.

“I… may not have booked a room for this trip.”

“You—!” Kaoru pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just. Come with me.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for Kojiro to respond, just turns on his heel and heads into the Kaisai Inn Miyako, and then into the lavish suite he’s staying in.

“AI calligraphy really pays well, huh?” Kojiro says.

“I don’t want to hear that from you after you had a banquet on my dime,” Kaoru says, throwing back the blankets on the bed. “Who’s the freeloader now?”

“I saw your demonstration,” Kojiro says. “It was beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Kaoru says, after a moment. Then, “This is the only bed.”

Oh.

“It’s a big bed,” Kojiro says.

“You,” Kaoru says, “are oversized.”

“I could sleep on the floor if it’s going to bother you that much,” Kojiro says, “but it’s nothing we haven’t done before.”

“I know that,” Kaoru snaps. “I just don’t want to cause problems if you’re… with. Anyone.”

“Kaoru,” he says, and he feels like his heart is being stepped on. “We’re married. The only one I’m with is you.”

“Idiot.” Kaoru turns off the light, plunging the room into darkness. “I’m going to bed. Sleep wherever you want.”

Kojiro decides to take his chances. He slowly, carefully climbs into bed next to Kaoru. When he settles, there’s still enough room that they’re not touching, but he’s close enough to feel Kaoru’s heat. It would be so easy to sling an arm over his waist, pull him close and wrap around him like they used to.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he says, “Good night, Kaoru.”

In front of him, Kaoru takes several long, deep breaths. Kojiro knows him well enough to know he’s not actually asleep.

Then, so quietly Kojiro could have imagined it, Kaoru says, “Good night, Kojiro.”

Next in the long list of things that Kojiro should have expected but didn’t: the way Kaoru starts avoiding him after they leave the inn.

He’s polite enough, but the brief closeness they had the night before is gone, and when they get back, he messages to say that he’ll be going to S on his own.

The next day, there are no messages from Kaoru, and when Kaoru goes by the studio, he sees it’s closed early. It only takes a brief moment of thought—

(Why would Kaoru close early? He’s upset.

Why would Kaoru be upset? Adam.

Where would Kaoru go if he were upset about Adam?)

—before Kojiro figures out where Kaoru must have gone, and he hops on his bike toward the abandoned drive-in.

Sure enough, Kaoru’s there, and in a somber mood, though he doesn’t seem upset or surprised that Kojiro’s found him.

“Do you still think he’s beyond saving?” Kaoru says.

Kojiro remembers Kaoru’s calligraphy demonstration, the clarity with which he’d painted and said the words.

Repent and make efforts.

“I don’t know,” Kojiro says.

For Kaoru’s sake, Kojiro hopes he’s not.

Kojiro never expected Kaoru to casually bring up their time in LA, but he does, and during one of their ridiculous arguments about something completely unrelated, too. In fact, Kojiro almost doesn't realize it until their spat is over, but once he does, he wants to see how far he can push.

They’ve been talking about it in pieces—their past, their marriage. And ever since Adam showed up with his tournament, Kaoru’s been more quietly reflective.

Maybe he’s ready to reflect on this, too.

“That was mostly a good time, wasn't it?” Kojiro says. “LA, Paris, Italy.”

“It was,” Kaoru says, and Kojiro latches onto his quieter mood for all he’s worth.

“Kaoru,” Kojiro says. “Why'd you leave?”

Kaoru doesn't immediately explode, but he doesn't immediately answer, either.

“You deserved better,” Kaoru says into his glass. “Someone... kinder. Someone who would love you properly.”

“Love me, as in, travel the world with me for four years until I knew what I was doing enough to come back home?” Kojiro says. “That was you, by the way.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Kaoru says.

“Then explain.”

“I don’t know,” Kaoru snaps. “Be the one to take you out on dates. Say nice things to you instead of yelling at you for every little thing. Bring you flowers. Send you photos of objects shaped like hearts. Whatever it is that people who actually understand romantic relationships do. I. Don’t. Know. That’s the point.”

“Kaoru, you—” Kojiro crosses his arms and sighs. “You damn four-eyes, what do you wear those glasses for if you can’t even see this clearly? I don't care about any of that. I already knew what you were like when you asked me to marry you, and I still said yes. Why do you think that was?”

“For the visa,” Kaoru says.

“Because I love you, you asshole, then and now and all the time in between.” Kojiro leans over the counter. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

Kaoru stands, slamming his hands onto the table and leaning in. “You’re the one trying to piss me off, saying something like that while you’re out here flirting with every woman you see.”

“What was I supposed to do? I’m not some kind of idiot who’ll sit around waiting for the guy I love to love me back, life’s too short for that!” he says, even though he’s exactly that kind of idiot.

Kaoru scowls. “So you’re calling me an idiot?”

Kojiro’s going to punch him, he really is. “Yes! The biggest idiot I’ve ever met! Why didn’t you just tell me how you felt?”

“Why didn’t you just tell me what you wanted?”

“I did!” Kojiro’s hands are balled up into fists. He relaxes them, and looks up into Kaoru’s face, which still seems mostly pissed. “Listen to what I’m saying, Kaoru. I wanted you. All I ever wanted was you! You’re the one who decided that wasn’t enough,” he says, shoving his finger into Kaoru’s chest. “Not me.”

Kaoru looks down, his hair falling over his face to hide his expression.

Kojiro draws away, but takes Kaoru’s glass of wine with him. Kojiro’s glass is already empty, but if anyone needs more drink, it’s him.

“It’s not an accident that we’re still married, is it,” Kojiro says after he’s drained the glass.

“When have I ever done anything by accident, you imbecile,” Kaoru says, still looking at his lap.

Honestly, the both of them.

Kojiro rounds the counter and stands in front of Kaoru’s chair. “Come home with me.”

Kaoru scoffs and crosses his arms. “Aren’t you presumptuous.”

“Look, do you want to or not?” Kojiro says. They’re getting too old for this. “If you don't, then I won’t bring it—”

“Take me home,” Kaoru says. His expression is soft. “Idiot.”

For all his prickliness, Kaoru falls as easily into bed with him as he ever did. Kojiro pries open his yukata and puts his lips to the hot skin underneath. His own shirt is already off, and he feels Kaoru’s hands moving symmetrically, lightly mapping the shape of his body.

Kojiro puts his mouth close to the junction of Kaoru’s shoulder and neck and sucks until Kaoru hisses and squirms. There’s an angry red mark when he pulls back.

Kaoru scowls and rubs at it. “First chance you get, you’re already marking me?”

“I’ve been waiting,” Kojiro says, nipping at his jaw, “years.”

Kaoru squirms again. His fingers are gentle where they’re curled against Kojiro’s cheek, and the pressure is light when he pulls Kojiro down to kiss him.

“Not outside the yukata,” Kaoru says quietly when they part.

“M’not an idiot,” Kojiro says, and kisses him again so he can’t argue back.

He gets back to work, traveling down Kaoru’s chest to his navel to the soft skin of his inner thighs. Kaoru’s legs tremble when Kojiro shoulders his way between them, and Kaoru’s hands clench and unclench in Kojiro’s hands when Kojiro uses his mouth.

“Stop,” Kaoru says when he’s tense and close.

Kojiro pulls back.

Kaoru draws him back up the bed, rearranges them until their bodies slot together. “I want—”

He reaches down and takes them both in hand.

Kojiro squeezes his eyes shut, grabs Kaoru’s waist, and presses his head against the top of Kaoru’s shoulder. It feels so good. Kaoru always feels so good.

A desperate feeling grows inside him, something important that Kaoru needs to know, in this moment, now. It bursts from his gut to his heart through his lips.

“Kaoru.” He cradles his face in his hands and kisses him the way only a man who’s been waiting years to kiss him again can. “I love you.”

Kaoru gasps against his lips, and comes.

“You shouldn’t have left,” Kojiro says, after.

Kaoru regards him silently. His eyes look brighter when he’s not wearing glasses. “You’re upset.”

“I’m fucking pissed,” Kojiro says. “We’ve been wasting so much time when we could’ve been together, and for some small thing that doesn’t even matter—”

“It matters to me,” Kaoru says, sitting up. “And it’s not small to me. I’m not like you. I’m not confident that I’ll get everything right and that everything will be okay in the end. My default nature is to screw things up, and I have to work hard if I want it to turn out otherwise.”

“That’s not true—”

“I know it’s not true, but it’s how I feel,” Kaoru snaps. “Now shut up and let me finish.”

Kojiro waits.

“In LA,” Kaoru says, “I was spending every day thinking about all the ways that literally anyone else would be able to do better by you.”

Kojiro presses his lips together to keep himself from arguing at Kaoru’s assertion of literally anyone.

“I thought about the kind of person that would be best for you, and then I realized that I would never match up to the image I’d created in my head,” Kaoru says. “Fundamentally, there are things about myself I can’t change.”

He looks to Kojiro, waiting for a response.

“Kaoru.” Kojiro reaches up and cups his cheek. “I’m not and was never asking you to change them.”

Kaoru slumps a little.

“C’mere.” Kojiro draws him back down to the bed, against his chest, and pulls the blankets over them both. “I’m sorry, too.”

Kaoru snorts. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I was caught up in a lot of my own stuff when we were younger,” Kojiro says. “I should’ve noticed this was bugging you. The signs were there. I should’ve taken it all more seriously. I just thought…”

“What?”

“I thought we were it, you know?” Kojiro says. “You and me against the world. I took you for granted, and I’m sorry. I know better now.”

“That,” Kaoru says slowly, “was a very mature apology.”

“I’m very mature,” Kojiro says.

“Debatable.”

“Oi!” Kojiro says. “At least I apologized! That’s more than I can say for you!”

“I’m not sorry for what I was thinking,” Kaoru says. “It’s how I felt at the time. But I’m sorry for not trusting you enough to tell you instead of leaving. And I’m sorry for…” He trails off and swallows, throat bobbing. “I’m sorry for not telling you how much I love you.”

Then, later:

“I’m not going to show affection in public,” Kaoru says.

“I wasn’t expecting that anyway.”

“And it still might take me some time to feel more comfortable saying… that.”

“I’ll say it enough for both of us.”

“And I’m not sure if I’m ready to move in right away.”

Kojiro tries to remember how long it’s been since he cleaned the bathroom. “Please tell me in advance.”

“You can still flirt around or whatever it is that you do. But if you’re considering getting serious with anyone else then I want out.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Kojiro says. “And it’s not like I need to flirt or I’ll die, what do you think I am?”

“Do or don’t, I’m saying I don’t care.”

“I want you to care,” Kojiro says. “I want you to tell me what you like, or don’t like. Everything you hate and everything you love. That’s what you want from me, too, right? You’ve been yelling at me for twenty years. Don’t stop now.”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me to yell at you,” Kaoru says.

“It’s how you show love,” Kojiro says.

“It is not!”

“Sure,” Kojiro says.

Then, even later:

“Do you remember how we met?” Kojiro says, combing Kaoru's hair with his fingers. He’s missed the feeling of the strands running across his hand.

“Of course I do,” Kaoru says. “Why?” He frowns at Kojiro’s silence. “You don't remember, do you.”

“It was a long time ago!”

Kaoru’s jaw clicks in irritation. “You feeble-minded...”

Kojiro tugs him closer. “Remind me?”

“I got lost at the market,” Kaoru says. “I tried to find my mom and got even more lost. You saw me crying and asked if I was okay.”

“Wait, I think I'm starting to remember that,” Kojiro says, the image of a much smaller Kaoru in a pale blue yukata standing in the market flittering across his mind. “I don't think you were crying, though. You just looked really scared, and quiet.”

“Sounds like me,” Kaoru says quietly. “Anyway, I told you I last saw my mom by the fish balls. You asked in specific detail about the fish, which I, being five, did not know the answer to, but it was confusing enough to stop me from being so upset. Eventually, you were smart enough to ask me about shapes and colors. You took me to the right stall and waited with me until my mom found me. And then we had to help you find your parents because while helping me you got lost yourself.”

He gives Kojiro a look, and Kojiro shrugs. “What can I say? I got distracted by a cute boy.”

Kaoru rolls his eyes. “In any case, our parents were both very grateful, and when my mom mentioned we were looking to move closer to your area after the divorce was further along, your mom recommended your school. When I transferred there, you introduced me as your friend, and that was that.”

“I can’t believe you remember so much,” Kojiro says.

Kaoru tugs at a strand of his hair. “I think... I've always been a little bit in love with you from the start.”

“Just from that?”

“I don't know many people who are as selflessly kind.”

“Well, what about you?”

Kaoru gives him a flat look. Elaborate.

“You uprooted your entire life for me for four years. That seems pretty selfless to me.”

“I had selfish reasons,” Kaoru says, lashes lowered. “I... wanted to be with you.”

“And then when you decided I was better off without you—still not true, by the way,” Kojiro says, “you left. And while I still think that was a dumbass selfish move, you were doing what you thought was best for me.”

Kaoru doesn’t have a response to that.

“I know you, Kaoru,” Kojiro says. “You’re my best friend. And I love you. Not who you could be. Not you-except-that-one-thing. You. That’s who I promised myself to. Okay?”

Kaoru’s eyes are shining. “I’m never going to be as good at that as you are.”

Kojiro kisses him softly. “Ask me if I care.”

Then, even later:

“You promised me forever when we took our vows,” Kojiro says.

“I know,” Kaoru says, and smiles weakly. “I’m back, aren’t I?”

Kojiro pushes his face against Kaoru’s neck. “Please don’t leave again.”

“I won’t,” Kaoru says. “I won’t.”

S is as crowded as always after Langa started kicking up all the interest, but Kaoru is hovering suspiciously closer than usual. Kojiro looks around to see if anything could be the reason for it, but it’s a pretty typical night, as far as he can tell.

He almost jumps out of his skin when Kaoru touches his arm. It's barely a touch, his fingertips glancing lightly across Kojiro’s skin, but his eyes are heavy with promise.

“Joe,” Kaoru says, and smiles wide enough Kojiro can see it under his mask. “Let's have a beef.”