Work Text:
"Hey, Kaoru?"
When Kojiro talks, his voice is low and sweet. There's a day's worth of stubble on him, and it bristles against Kaoru's chest. His head's heavy where it rests— his arms are lazily curled up around Kaoru's waist— and every few minutes, Kojiro tilts inward and presses a reverent kiss against his skin.
Kaoru's breath hitches. He doesn't answer him.
"Kaoru," Kojiro tries again, eyes suddenly trained upward. He kisses him so softly it tickles, but there's something cautious about it. He's doing that thing where he looks at him— stares Kaoru down with love and concern, like he always does before he says something stupid.
Duct tape, Kaoru thinks. For his mouth. He should buy a multi-pack, and keep it next to his futon.
"If you want to ruin the moment," Kaoru sighs, "Then by all means, go on." They're naked and warm, piled like noodles under sheets that need changing. Kojiro twists over, so he's flat against Kaoru's torso. His face is too close. His breath smells like sex.
"You haven't been sleeping lately, have you," he accuses, eyes soft.
Kaoru blinks. Stares him down, and suddenly wishes he'd taken his contacts out before they'd fucked. Kojiro's got all his attention fixed on him.
So he closes his eyes. He blindly cards his fingertips through his boyfriend's hair. When he hits a tangle, he tugs on it, just enough to bully Kojiro for being right about something.
"Ow, hey—"
"Maybe if you'd snore less, I'd get some rest for once," he chides, smushing Kojiro's head back down against his tits. "My circadian rhythm's been fucked since—"
"We started fucking?"
"The first time you spent the night. Age six," Kaoru deadpans. "Honestly, it's a wonder you haven't suffocated on your tongue by now—"
"That's not what I meant," he sighs. He rubs his thumb over the divots in Kaoru's ribcage, but it's not as soothing as he thinks it is. "You seemed a bit out of it earlier— and you feel a little clammy, y'know? Just wondering if everything's okay."
"Sex is tiring and sweaty," Kaoru says defensively. He swats his hand away and tries to roll on his side, elbowing Kojiro in the ear for good measure.
"You're so easy to read," the asshole laughs. "C'mon, I'm worried. You said you saw a doctor about this."
"Does being intrusive spark joy for you?" Kaoru grunts. "I'm sleeping enough. I'm aware of my limits."
"If you say so," Kojiro shrugs, like he knows something Kaoru doesn't... but at least he shuts up after that. He rolls away from him, letting their backs press together in a warm, tacky heat.
And then, they share a moment in limbo.
The streets outside are quiet at three am. Kaoru's flat is old and expensive, and most of his neighbors are pensioners. Silence hangs heavy between them, and Kaoru wonders if his friend's already fallen asleep— it never takes him long, especially after a workout.
He sighs. Scoots up against Kojiro's butt. Stares at the window, and all the power lines beyond it.
Then—
"Have your robot call me when you pass out at work, okay?"
Kaoru shoots upright, smacking Kojiro on the shoulder.
"Go to bed! Stop talking!" His face flushes hot, especially after Kojiro breaks out in giggles. The more he slaps him, the harder he laughs. "Where's your off switch— I swear to god—"
"Chill out," Kojiro snorts, bringing that brilliant smile back into view. And as if he could read Kaoru's mind— "You take your contacts out yet?"
"Why are you so adamant about babying me?"
"Why do you consider 'normal, human concern' to be babying?"
And for some reason, Kaoru freezes.
He feels the rise and fall of his chest. He knows Kojiro's staring at him, but he can't formulate words yet.
He decides to reach for his contact case, unscrews the lid, and pinches at his eyes.
"You'd open Pandora's Box, if you could," Kaoru settles on, before capping the case shut and heading to the bathroom.
-
He's three when his nightmares become chronic.
He doesn't like the dark. He doesn't like the quiet. He's always alone when he wakes up, until his screaming turns a light on in the hallway.
His mother never knows what to do with him. She brings him water, sings him songs, but never quite gets the hang of cuddling.
He likes to make her get up, though. By the time he's four, he realizes he can fake it; he starts screaming wildly into the night for help and attention.
It works until it doesn't. He kind of wishes he'd get punished. Instead, he's just ignored.
But he's bright, for his age. His teacher told him so. He's good at math, he's good at art, and he's good at getting what he wants.
(He never gets good at sleeping. He reads about machiavellianism, when he's twenty-two and wide awake.)
-
"It's not a problem," he insists, when his wrists shake suddenly and coffee burns his hand.
"Seems like a problem," Kojiro sighs. Neither of them panic, because they've dealt with worse— broken bones, bloody faces. Still, Kaoru's skin stings bright red, and his muscles begin to twitch in shock.
Kojiro snatches the french press off the floor, where it's glugged out a liter of hot, steamy liquid. Then, carefully, he cradles Kaoru's hand and walks it over to the sink. The water's lukewarm, but it feels like a knife cutting into his bones.
Somehow, Kaoru's glad.
When Kojiro first returned from Italy, he'd treated Kaoru like a skittish wild horse— as though he'd bolt if either of them got too close. It was odd, considering they'd been friends since childhood. Just because Kaoru resented him doesnt mean he suddenly hated him. And sure, he'd neatly tucked away every snippet of his life prior to age twenty. So what? Everyone compartmentalizes.
People change. Kojiro changed.
Kaoru evolved.
But something about Kojiro is trustworthy, despite all the red flags and warning bells. He could lead a wild horse through the city with blinders on— and he'd even done so last Saturday, when Kaoru left his glasses in a taxi.
It's... nice. It's familiar.
He watches Kojiro rinse the scalding coffee from his hand, and he wonders with amusement when exactly he'd been tamed.
"... Okay, hypothetically speaking," he starts, voice light. "If I hadn't slept in five days, would you make me go to the hospital?"
Kojiro pauses, totally rigid.
"Or can I get away with a virtual appointment—"
"Five days?" Kojiro puffs out, eyes wide. He almost drops Kaoru's hand onto a pile of wet dishes in the sink. "Are you kidding me? People die that way—"
"Well, if Death would be so kind—"
"No," Kojiro huffs. He turns the tap off with his elbow and wraps Kaoru's hand in a dish towel. "None of that. We're going to the doctor."
"We," Kaoru snorts, shaking his head at nothing. "Remind me why I signed up for a relationship. They're grossly heteronomous."
"Yeah, well, you're grossly full of shit," Kojiro snorts, scooping his boyfriend up in one hurried swoop. "You said you were sleeping "enough". Sounds like a fat lie to me."
"I didn't want you to be concerned. You pry."
"I ask questions that need to be asked. Hell, Einstein, what else have you been neglecting? Have you eaten?"
"Why do you invest time into other people like this?" Kaoru asks, voice bouncing off the walls. He idly kicks his legs in the air, childishly trying to knock over a dish or a mug. "What does it do for you?"
"Wanna know a secret?" Kojiro huffs, carting him into the living room and dropping him on the couch. "I'm happy when you're happy. I'm hurt when you're hurting. That's called empathy."
Kaoru rolls his eyes.
"Codependency," he corrects.
Kojiro ignores him. Kaoru knows he's won.
But seconds later, a pillow hits Kaoru in the face. He watches it fall in his lap— too dazed to register the movement in time, too coffee-burnt to catch it anyway.
It's followed by a heavy blanket and a heating pad. Kojiro doesn't throw those, but gently plops them down instead. "Stretch out," he instructs, looking just as dizzy as Kaoru feels. "Rest a bit. If you can't sleep, fine— but at least take it easy."
-
When Kojiro leaves for work, Kaoru's spiteful enough to work on commissions. He makes another pot of coffee, steadies his hand, and laughs when he knocks over an inkwell.
Expensive mistake, he thinks. It's a ¥7000 bottle, and it soaks down into his tatami.
-
He doesn't sleep that night, either.
He wonders if the moon has anything to do with it. It's bright and insistent, and it settles delicately on all of Kojiro's edges like snowfall.
Maybe there's something to lunacy after all. Looking at this man certainly makes him feel crazy.
-
Her bearings, he thinks, could stand to be replaced. They're jammed up with rust, despite his best attempts to keep them clean. Kaoru glances at the time— it's only eleven, so he pops off the shields and assesses the damage.
As a teenager, he thought the dirt track at Crazy Rock was raw and challenging. He hadn't yet memorized the hairpin turns, or timed the distance between them. He didn't know whether the warehouse scaffolding would break beneath his weight. And eventually, he'd notice the June winds knock loose rockslides, shuttling branches and dirt down the cliffside beside them.
He loved skating up against that edge.
(Kaoru and Ainosuke tried to explain it once. "The call of the void", they'd told Kojiro, was darkly attractive. A death like that would be quick and interesting, and in exchange for a brief moment of pain, all of mankind's questions would surely be answered on the other side.
Unsurprisingly, Kojiro called them both "sick fucks".)
But at age twenty-four, Kaoru just finds the track annoying. The trouble isn't danger— it's loose gravel. It's rain and mud gumming up his bearings, or ruining the integrity of the wood. S isn't dangerous anymore— it's expensive.
He fishes for a box under his workbench. He dumps out parts, finds his old skate tool, and stays up past midnight.
But that's nothing new.
While he's at it, her trucks could be tightened. She's made for speed, after all— sharp corners, technical landings off stairsets. Kojiro's a slob who rides loose, but his deck hits the wheels when he leans into turns. His pivot cup squeaks. His grip tape's worn down. A mess, Kaoru thinks— nothing like Carla. Nothing like him.
He spends hours adjusting his board to perfection. He spitefully thinks about Kojiro's terrible technique, and the way his deck's too small for his feet. Had he skated at all while he was away in Florence?
He takes a painkiller for his burgeoning headache, and blames it on Kojiro. At some point, he whips out his drawing tablet— leaves Carla abandoned on the table beside him, her parts laid out like highway traffic.
He paints until 6. He online shops until 7.
He sends Kojiro an email with a confirmation number. The purchase should ship in two weeks.
It's a pricey deck with pricey parts, screenprinted with artwork that Kaoru somehow conjured up in minutes. He doesn't hate it— his best commissions are always sudden and effortless, like the way he used to skate. He previews his order, zooms in on the fish (its fins; the sun; the moon) and wonders if Kojiro will derive any meaning from it.
Does it have meaning? Did he draw any of that on purpose?
Kaoru ignores the dryness in his mouth. He forwards Kojiro an invoice, just so he knows how much the board's worth. It's something Kojiro could never afford after opening a brand new restaurant. Not with the loans he's taken out, or his habit of splurging on wagyu and beer.
Enjoy your new complete, Kaoru types. With proper care, you might even stand a chance of winning for once.
When he closes his laptop, there's sunlight on his hands.
-
He can't sleep.
He thinks about work. He thinks about deadlines.
Last week, he'd fractured his wrist with a simple pop shuv-it. Maybe he's too old to be skating— or maybe he's ten, and trying to learn all over again.
-
He can't sleep.
He thinks about boys, and what it means to like them. He's only fourteen. Maybe things will change.
He'd never considered being gay before, but it certainly makes sense. Girls don't make him happy. They're nice enough— pretty enough to kiss, even, when he forces himself to try it. They're easy enough to get along with, if he ignores how jealous he is of their nail polish.
It's midnight when he looks up drag photos of Miwa Akihiro, and wonders if that's all he's allowed to be now.
-
At 5 am, he's convinced he's solved the "P vs NP Problem"— a lingering question in computer science, something with an answer no man has yet proven.
He stares at his laptop. His pulse jumps in excitement—
Then he remembers his psilocybin tea, sitting forgotten on top of the kotatsu. It's a substance he's not used to yet— previously, he'd tried to get classwork done on Adderall, only to discover he actually needed it.
I think I'm high, he texts Kojiro. Wanna grab breakfast soon?
Unfortunately, the number's disconnected. Kaoru remembers his best friend left for Italy two days ago.
-
The party at Oshida's house is fun, until Kojiro gets up to refill their drinks and never comes back.
Kaoru swings a leg off the edge of the engawa, patiently watching his classmates stumble through the front door. He tells himself it's only been ten minutes, but he's not an idiot. Over muffled music and gleeful drunken shouts, he hears a distant Koji-kun! and an explosive amount of whooping.
"Dude," a short guy from 3-A laughs, poking his head outside. He points a bottle at Kaoru, and something sloshes out onto his shoes. "You gotta get in here! Nanjo's killing it!"
"Killing what?" Kaoru snorts.
"The other team— YOOOO—" the kid suddenly shouts inward, throwing his fists in the air. Everyone cheers in unison.
"Should I report him for murder?" Kaoru asks dryly. To no surprise, he goes ignored, and his classmate joins the crowd again. He should've known this would happen— he's gotten used to Kojiro's popularity, but he hasn't adjusted to being ditched yet.
He sighs, bumping his head against a patio beam. There's probably splinters in his hair by now, and he'll use them to puncture Kojiro in his sleep.
Half an hour passes. Kaoru keeps telling himself he'll wait another five minutes. Truth is, he doesn't want to go home either— for all their usual negligence, his parents have been increasingly strict. After a string of business trips, they'd landed back in Naha for a month. He preferred it when they weren't home at all— he'd been forced into sitting seiza three times this week alone. If he gets caught drunk, past curfew—
Someone laughs. There's a heady stench of weed in the air, but the breeze is cool and salty. With the right people, or the right person, this moment could be perfect.
Kaoru wonders what it means to outgrow someone you love.
The thought makes him angry. He doesn't have anything to fidget with, so he flips open his phone, over and over, so it violently clacks against itself.
Then he sees it.
There's an unopened text message waiting for him. His heart leaps into his throat.
> Hey Cherry Pie. Busy tonight?
No, he immediately responds, figuring Kojiro could stand to be ditched for once— that is, if he even notices Kaoru's gone.
But it's hard to type when he's buzzed. He tucks his hair behind his ear, and wonders why it feels so hot. Meet you at the drive-in? he asks Adam, chest fizzing.
> Actually, I want to try something new. Do you like roses?
And it's as far as Kaoru gets this time, before he wakes up sweating.
-
It's four am, and he's wide awake.
Nothing's even wrong, but the world around him doesn't feel real. Logically, he knows he's in bed. He tells himself he's Sakurayashiki Kaoru, age twenty-six, perpetual resident of Naha, Okinawa.
He needs to ground himself. He stares at the ceiling, trying to be objective.
It's approximately three meters away. His head's on a pillow, and his body's on his futon, and if he reaches out to touch the ceiling, his hand's hardly close enough to reach it.
Presumably, if he were to do this ten times over, the result would be similar— perhaps his knuckles would hover more closely, perhaps he'd tilt to the side now and then. Nonetheless, the standard deviation should be low enough to predict the same outcome: he can't touch the ceiling from his bed.
So he tests it, to make sure he's not dreaming. He reaches up, stretches his fingers out, and tries to to graze the plaster. He ballparks some measurements, assuming his arm's approximately 70cm long. He calculates an average, and comes to a conclusion:
Given ten separate actions influenced by identical circumstances, all results are the same. It's basic cause and effect, right?
Then why does he wonder if life could've been any different?
In ten identical universes— would he still be Sakurayashiki-sensei, esteemed calligrapher? Would he still be Cherry Blossom, co-founder of an illegal skate organization?
Would Kaoru be any happier if life gave him everything he's ever wanted?
Would Kaoru still exist at all, if not driven by prestige and money and spite? Isn't that his reason for getting up in the morning?
His wristband suddenly vibrates, and he jumps— it's a text from Kojiro. His heart rate takes a moment to settle. He realizes his fingers have gone numb.
> Still up, brainiac?
"No", he answers after a long, dry swallow. He presses his palms against his eyes while Carla transcribes the message.
There's a pause. Seconds, minutes, it's all the same to him right now— Kaoru admits he's not feeling well.
Eventually, Kojiro texts back.
> Everything okay? Just figured I'd check on you. My spider-sense was tingling.
Of course it was. Kaoru exhales, rolls onto his stomach, and grabs for his phone near the outlet. He's not sure what he's feeling now, but there's a guilty pang like he's stolen something precious, and he's never letting it go.
Keep your tingling to yourself. Your mother taught you better than that, he types. Presses send.
> You're deflecting, he receives, almost instantly.
I'm fine.
> Call me if you need to.
I'm fine. Goodnight, Kojiro.
He re-reads his message, pulse thumping in his ears. He hadn't meant to call him by his name. They've sent thousands of insulting texts, and his muscle memory should be better than this.
In ten identical universes, Sakurayashiki Kaoru calls Nanjo Kojiro an "ape-man" and puts his phone away— but in the eleventh, something unpredictable happens. He uses his name, like they're kids again.
He reaches his hand up to the ceiling, just to make sure it's still 70cm from his shoulder. Soft purple pulses against his wrist, as Carla proceeds to read out three replies in a row:
> Sleep well, jerk.
Then
> Hey.
And
> I love you. Hope you know that.
-
He thinks about Carla.
He thinks about space.
He thinks about cavities, and whether he should buy an electric toothbrush.
It's two when he starts rearranging his closet.
It's four when he wakes up, and thinks about how he could've gone to Greece on holiday.
He reads about Santorini until his first alarm goes off.
It's ten pm when he falls asleep on Kojiro's desk, homework scattered across the floor in unfinished heaps. There's a skateboard in his lap, and a blanket around his shoulders.
It's ten pm when he falls asleep in Kojiro's arms, prescription opioids legally attaching to his brain receptors. There's a skateboard in his dreams, and a hospital bracelet around his wrist.
He wakes up at six.
He wakes up at four.
He doesn't wake up, because he never fell asleep to begin with.
-
"I thought about what you said earlier," Kojiro admits, sinking down onto the couch beside him. He still smells like work— tomatoes and flour, dishwater and sweat.
"... Which was?" Kaoru laughs, staring at the ink stain on his flooring. He can't remember anything beyond microwaving a pork bun for dinner.
"Me, nosing into your business all the time," he shrugs, passing Kaoru a thermos of soup. "I know I hover. Family instincts, I guess."
He unscrews the thermos cap and gently nestles it in Kaoru's hands, just to make sure he won't drop it. It smells like squash and spices, and Kaoru's never seen it served at the restaurant before.
"Family instincts," he scoffs. "We're not family. You don't need to worry like that." He brings his nose down to sniff the soup, and thinks he recognizes the scent of thyme.
Kojiro stays quiet. He waits until Kaoru takes a sip, his warm brown eyes keenly trained on cautious fingers.
"Aren't we?" he asks, hiding behind a smirk.
And it all clicks into place.
Kaoru knows the man values relationships— Kojiro serves people, he helps people, he charms people— until they've used up his oxygen and he spontaneously combusts. He's abandoned people without trying. He's an angel; he's a flake. He flits around for attention, and doesn't seem to realize when he's "helping people" for his own selfish peace of mind.
He's awful, Kaoru thinks. He needs to be needed. What a terrible way to live.
Kaoru smiles into the thermos. He looks at Kojiro, and can't help but see himself.
"I'll try my best to sleep tonight," Kaoru promises. "And, if I can't, I'll see a doctor tomorrow. You have my word."
-
He thinks about Kojiro, and the way he's settled innocently on Kaoru's chest. He watches the rise and fall of his breathing, until his eyes start to close and his vision gets dark.
He thinks about the sun, and he thinks about the moon, and he thinks about drawing a fish, until he thinks about nothing at all.