Work Text:
thought last semes would be a lot busier but there’s jackshit to actually
how’s neesan? she’s aimin for the top of the line right btw I
>> bro having no extracurrics sUcks but on the other hand i went to the practise gym today 2 spectate n i swear the first years thought I was there just to cut em down lmao
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“Now, I understand you must be stressed to have left things so late.”
It’s nearing on evening, but early March means it’s not even golden hour yet, and the bright light streaming in from the windows works incongruously against Heiji’s sleepy mood. The muffled murmur of the students milling in the hallway doesn’t help.
He blinks blankly at Tachibana, his homeroom teacher, from the other side of her desk. She’s got her hand over the sheet of paper on her desk, but he thinks he can recognise his name at the top.
“Fortunately, you’ve got good options.”
Heiji frowns at where this is going. Tachibana seems to take it as worry, as she presses on before he can interrupt.
“With the combination of your kendo and class performance, plus your local fame,” she inclines her head towards him at this, “there are representatives from various institutions interested. And I’m confident that there are very good schools still running sign ups for entrance exams.”
She’s smiling at him as though expecting an outpouring of relief. Heiji’s a little sorry to disappoint her. Mostly, though, he’s kind of annoyed.
“I already reported that I won’t be taking any entrance exams,” he says briskly, and hesitates for a half-second before tacking on a quick, “ma’am.”
Her expression falters for a moment in a way he recognises, the one that says this information was heard and not believed, that he is deciding but it isn’t really a decision.
“Hattori-kun,” she starts again, too delicate to be gentle. Both her hands fold carefully over her desk, shifting over the sheet of paper. A scanned, handwritten section peeks out between her fingers - his career form answers.
“I talked to my folks about this already,” he says impatiently before she can formulate her question. “They can vouch.”
“We don’t really like involving parents in career discussions-”
“-because the student should be the intermediary, righ’?” Heiji cuts in neatly, making sure she’s not mid-word. He’s gotten really good at skating the boundaries of rudeness over the years. “Trus’ me when I say I’ve got it handled.”
There’s the ghost of a frown. “I don’t mean to be prying,” she says, and she actually sounds like she means it, “But I’m a little worried. You have a lot of potential, Hattori-kun. Do you have any plans to enter higher education at all?”
“Yeah, course,” he assures her. “Jus’ not right now, you know?”
The space between his teacher’s brows creases as she stares at him in costernation. He stares right back.
“May I ask when?”
Heiji fidgets. “In a year?”
“Is that a question?”
“Within a year,” he amends, annoyed at himself.
“Sports-based scholarships are less likely to be offered if you’re not fresh out of high school,” she remarks.
“I know that.”
“As for this year-”
“Tha’s personal.” He leaves no room for argument, voice completely flat.
Unfortunately, high school teachers have a lot more practise than the average joe when it comes to poking at teen boundaries.
“It’s important to ensure clarity in your activities,” Tachibana says, a practised gentleness in her tone that stops it from sounding like a lecture. “Outside of students who feel they have low chances at passing university exams, gap years aren’t common.”
“Neither am I,” he quips, his fingers tapping restlessly on his knee.
“Hattori-kun.” The rebuke is neutral. He grudgingly inclines his head, and she continues.
“Your year won’t necessarily be scrutinised for work experience, but if you’re aiming for selective institutions,” which you should be went unsaid, “they will expect some clear intention behind it.”
Something about the genuine concern in her eyes makes him relent. “I’ve got work. Good work. There’s jus’ some personal stuff for me ta take care of too, s’all.”
“I see.” From the look on her face, she really doesn’t. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to tell me what it is?”
“Nah,” he says bluntly. “Sorry.”
“No apologies needed,” she sighs. “Well, if you are truly certain you’ve got this handled-”
“I am.”
“-and everyone at home agrees-”
“They do.”
“-then it seems I must trust you.”
He blinks in surprise. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting her to say.
She gives him a small smile. “I’ll be expecting good things from you, regardless of when or where. I’m keeping an eye on your final results.”
“Thanks,” Heiji says, for lack of anything else to say. It’s clearly a dismissal, so he stands from the chair and bows his head to her before making his way to the classroom door as fast as possible. He’s about to slide it open when her voice stops him.
“I can’t convince you to change your mind? It’ll be difficult regardless of how well-planned it is.”
He’s barely turned to face her when she quickly shakes her head at what she must see, expression surprisingly at ease.
“No, I suppose I can’t,” she muses. “Have a good evening, Hattori-kun.”
You can’t. Heiji agrees silently even as he gives her a last nod before leaving.
Which isn’t to say that no one else will try. At least one person in particular, he knows.
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why even ask for a career form if ur not gonna believe it wht the
hey! didnt tell you but i basically told all my teachers that im
>> my hr teacher kinda talks like you?? not even just cus she’s a tokyoite but she sounds all flowery like you. wack
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Let it be noted, as a general fact, that Heiji’s never been the deliberating type. He knows how to think, there’s that, but when it comes to his own personal decisions he operates mostly on shrugs of why not.
He doesn’t believe it’s a bad thing. There has to be some intuition behind a why-not , and if he scrambled his brains trying to unpack it each time he feels like he’d just go bald. It’s not like he doesn’t have a plan for this particular why-not - unlike others, he had needed one, if he wanted even a remote chance at going through with it and coming out clean.
That doesn’ sound all that ’mpulsive, Kazuha said to him, when he’d actually elaborated for once. For all her irritation with him, she’s always willing to listen to him puzzle out his own head.
I mean, it’s still the firs’ thing that pops to mind, Heiji had refuted, but if ‘m set on following it, gotta make it happen, right?
Sounds less like a why-not and more like a, I-gotta. Or maybe a what-else?
The point is, this decision was easy. He woke up one morning in late October with his future-form laying on his desk, thought, I’m not going to college next year, and that was all. He had a clear picture of what was going to happen in his mind, and it was only an hour later when he had the less-clear thought of I should probably make that happen.
What’s really bothering him more is that as he approaches the end of the semester, all his plans are running without a hitch. He’s practically waiting for something to slip, but every day is mind-bogglingly casual, everything prepared for the day he grabs his diploma and dips.
It makes it all the more apparent that there’s still one more thing he really, really needs to take care of. Which won’t really affect what he does at all, should be easy, really. Yet for the umpteenth time, he locks his screen on a blank draft of a new message.
Sighing, Heiji drops on his back onto the floor next to his table, letting his phone fall out of his hand.
He hears the approaching socked footsteps on hardwood far before the click of his bedroom door, so he doesn’t react at all when it’s unceremoniously shoved open.
“I will bet,” he says without looking up, instead scanning the floor for anything- aha, “two thousand ‘en,” he brandishes the bills in the air triumphantly, “that you didn’ mess up what you’re boutta tell me about.”
Kazuha sticks her nose in the air, irritation pushing past the unease that had been plaguing her face. The key thing is that she doesn’t take his bet, not quite certain , and being faced with that means she’ll cheer up soon enough. It’s a tried and true tactic from every set of exams to date.
Nevertheless, she drops cross-legged onto his floor with a heavy sigh. “I jus’ wasted so much time, ” she bemoans. “Used the wrong initial equation for a multi-parter, an’ got so wrapped in it I couldn’ even double-check it was right! And then I los’ essay time-”
“Kazuha, it was a practise exam, ” he growls impatiently, rolling to sit up. “Ya got it now. Tha’s a guaranteed ace for the real one, so what’s the problem?”
“‘Tha’s a guaranteed ace,’” she mimics him in an annoyingly smug tone, crossing her arms, before dropping it with a tired, “you don’ get anythin’ at all.”
Heiji shifts uncomfortably. The stress of the study period is getting to Kazuha more and more each day. Her regular aikido practise used to give her reason to enforce strict sleep schedules and calorie-intakes, but as a retired third-year there’s purple gathering like rain clouds under her eyes, and she’s looking pale more often than not. He’s still studying for final exams, yeah, because like hell he’s not going to be at his best, but he knows enough to know it’s not the same.
“Then talk about it to some’un who does,” he suggests, not unkindly. “Like- whassername - Sasagawa, or something.”
Kazuha doesn’t bat an eye at his vague allusion at her friends, as if he needed any more signs she was off. “They’ve heard enough already,” she admits, sounding a little embarrassed.
He scrunches his nose, figuring it really can’t kill them to sympathise for a bit, especially for a friend, but casts around for another solution nonetheless. He lets his gaze drift over the room again until a glint of light catches his eye. He follows it to the mirrored phone charms trailing out of Kazuha’s bag. The solution clicks in his mind, and he wonders why Kazuha didn’t think of it first.
“Then call up Nee-chan,” he waves at her bag. “I know for fact that two of your top three match. Make a week‘nd out of it or something.”
Kazuha lights, but then her face falls into something sceptical. “Head to Tokyo? Now?”
“Y’can get in some study time on the damn bullet train if you’re so worried.” He’s set on this now - anything to have Kazuha both out of his hair and maybe to some real help. “Just call her.”
She bites her lip. “Wouldn’t I just be bothering her?”
“She literally loves you, dumbass,” he points out. “You saw each other a’least twice a month durin’ the year, I wouldn’ be surprised if she were hittin’ withdrawal.”
“Shut it, Heiji,” she snaps, but there’s a bit of a rueful smile tugging her lips, and the wrinkle in her brow is (finally!) smoothing out. She hesitates again, but only briefly, before snatching up her phone by its chain.
Ah, shit, “wait.”
Kazuha pauses in the middle of typing out her passcode, head tilted.
“Ya haven’t told her right? ‘Bout me not takin’ exams.”
She furrows her brow, and though her fingers move restlessly over her screen, Heiji feels the full shift in her attention.
“Hasn’ come up,” she affirms.
“Alright, cool. Keep it that way?”
“Why?” Her tone isn’t demanding, just confused.
Heiji gives a harsh, reluctant sigh, brushing a hand back through his hair. “Be kinda messy if Kudo found out ‘fore I told him.”
“I thought ya told him everythin’.” It’s a question without the interrogative, so he just shrugs.
Kazuha isn’t dense, and she’s his childhood best friend. “Okay,” she nods. “She won’ hear it from me.”
And the matter is closed, just like that. She turns away for her call, and Heiji fishes her test out of her bag, preparing to go over it with her after she’s done.
It’s honestly the last thing he wants to do, but he kind of loves her. And more importantly, he owes her for this.
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are you still
when you get out of
hey so i was meaning to tell you this but it’d be kinda wack to do it over text so can we
>> sending Kazuha ur neesan’s way hope she has better luck thn me in getting her to chill out. unless she’s the same in which case rip
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Shizuka Hattori is standing by the school gate, hair neatly pulled back and pinned in just the right way so it looks effortless. More than a few students are stopping to glance as she absentmindedly brushes nonexistent dust off the cleanly pressed fabric of her kimono, fan clutched delicately in the fingers of her other hand.
“What the fuck?” Heiji asks. In a whisper, still well aways, because he’s not idiot enough to swear within three metres of his mom.
His mom.
“Kazuha,” he says, or maybe pleads, staring uncomprehendingly at his mom, who hasn’t dropped by the school since the last parent check-in and before that, his enrollment.
“D’ya forget plans, Heiji?” Kazuha defaults to suspicion even as she tugs him sharply from where he paused. “Shoulda rushed out first, ‘stead of keepin her waiting!”
“I didn’!” He protests even as he’s dragged steadily to the gate. He distinctly remembers the last time he talked to his mom, and she never mentioned anything remotely like meeting him after school.
“You didn’,” she confirms herself once they’re face to face.
Then what the hell, he doesn’t say, but instead fixes her with a bit of a suspicious look. He was on his way home anyway?
“There’s somewhere I’d like to go,” Shizuka explains vaguely. She turns to Kazuha, voice gentling. “Kazuha-chan, you would be more’n welcome later in the evenin’ for dinner.”
The thinly veiled request for privacy makes his eyebrows shoot up, and he can see Kazuha visibly processing it as well.
“Thank you, Oba-chan,” she bows a little. For all her closeness with his mom, she’s always had a habit of slipping into much heavier formalities with her, and no doubt the odd atmosphere isn’t helping. “But my folks’ll be expectin’ me.”
His mom inclines her head, accepting this. “Another time.”
Kazuha nods, glances between them once, slowly backs away with an uncertain wave, before finally turning fully to walk home.
“Well,” Shizuka says after a moment. “Shall we?”
At least it’s not Dad, Heiji thinks, before shrugging and following.
They end up at a tea house, traditional decor against the surge of younger businesses opening up. He orders a cool barley tea out of habit, watching as his mom orders her own oolong. She doesn’t look harried or concerned about anything, but then again, she never does. Unlike his dad’s constant deep-set frowns, Shizuka uses her expressions with purpose.
“Okan,” he finally prods when the waiter leaves after bringing them their drinks, “wha’s going on?”
She puts her cup down after a sip, meeting his eyes fully. “I wanted to talk to ya about what you’re doin’ after graduation.”
He immediately feels his hackles rise. He’s fought long and hard about this already, and he’d really, really rather not have to go through it again.
“Come on, Okan, I’ve already-”
“Without your father gettin’ in your business.”
Heiji freezes. He feels like this is the moment where his mom should be taking a sip of her tea, eyes shut, the picture of nonchalance, but for all the games Shizuka may play with anyone else, she keeps her hands folded on the table, meeting his gaze head-on.
“It’s not that I’m not believin’ you,” she says, and her tone is uncareful: fact. “Or that’m lookin’ for a reason to stop. But I know that you’re disappearing from home right after the ceremony.”
She says it like it's a fact, without any condemnation. He shifts a little guiltily.
“It’s fine,” she stresses, though her lips tighten briefly. “But I want to hear more about it. I want to know.”
And it reminds him that for all the mess his house was for a bit, the grand family drama was less a debate between Heiji and his parents and more a debate between just Heiji and his dad , with his mother playing cool mediator. Not prodding, just listening.
He makes the effort to soften his tone. “I seriously have already told ya everythin’. M’buddy needs help, and I’m already involved-”
“You were in the know and your friend’s in it ta his ears,” she corrects.
“Same difference,” Heiji waves a hand. “I’m goin’ about it all official-like, contacted the cafe dude, and I’ll be over there before April, working with- working. And it’s-”
He stops: his mom has raised a hand.
“I trust that. It’s the bits in between that worry me.”
A breath in, tightrope of air that she doesn’t let go. And then she cuts to the heart of the matter with the grace of a smooth blade, with all the ease of a neatly uttered,
“Have you told him?”
Heiji doesn’t have to ask who she means. He doubts he’s even told her who she means.
He shrugs.
Shizuka doesn’t raise an eyebrow, doesn’t even bother with a stare. She just waits, eyes turned towards her tea, and Heiji folds like a worn playing card.
The responses lay on the tip of his tongue. Maybe I’m trying or I don’t know how . Folding his arms over the table, he drops his chin and chooses none of them.
Warm fingers card gently through his hair. “Figures this’d be where the hole in your plan is.”
Leave it , he might have snapped at anyone else. But Shizuka’s voice is satin understanding, hands comfort with no chiding.
“Ain’t a hole,” he protests without much heat. “Don’t need his permission to do any of it.”
“Tha’s true,” his mom agrees readily. “How long ago did you decide?”
She doesn’t say how long before you told us, but Heiji can hear it in her voice. “A while.”
No push from her, just a little resignation, and he answers properly before he can think.
“Middle of secon’-year.”
Shizuka closes her eyes a brief moment, accepting the answer. “Will you be on lockdown?”
“Contact-wise, no. Travel-wise, not totally. It’ll probably be a hassle though.”
“I see.”
There’s another pause.
“Will you call?”
“I-” He can’t quite say anything. He didn’t mean to put her in a position where she had to ask him that question.
This time, though, she isn’t accepting his silence. She stares at him steadily, an intense look in her eyes that says make time.
“Yeah, okan.” He replies, steadied by that look. “Sure I will.”
She nods, satisfied. “It doesn’ have to be both of us at once. We’ve cell phones for a reason.”
“Yeah.”
“There ain’t no point in arguing with family when you’re away. So if you need ta pass stuff on to your father ‘stead of talking, I get it.”
“Yeah.”
“He’ll get it.”
He swallows. “Yeah.”
“Don’t skip out the end of the ceremony completely. Let me get a couple photos of you with Kazuha-chan, a’least.”
“Yeah.”
“Sayin’ yeah, yeah, it’s like you forgot we taught ya to speak.”
“Okan,” he complains, but his mom’s looking a lot brighter than when they sat down, and the heavy stuff seems to have finally lifted from the table. He downs the rest of his chilled tea, the ice cubes half melted.
“Not long, now.” She says, soft, and she isn’t quite smiling, but there’s no pain.
“Yeah,” he replies, just to see her lips quirk, before waving a waiter over.
His mom’s finished her tea, and she’ll need a refill if they want to stay longer.
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look there’s no way you dont at least suspect that
grad’s seriously coming up now so should probably tell you that im
>>okan thinks im a dumbass but im p sure she thinks you are too so ha
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it’s been like 7 months bro it’s the long con at this point
where dyou think im even going? it’s not like i told you anything
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cafe guy is kinda annoyed but he’s decided that
you getting these? bro gotta wonder if you changed your number and didn’t
it’s part of the bro code to tell me if u signed an nda
>>kazuha got in dude!!!! she was on the phone with neesan for like an hour m pretty sure they’re tryna roomshare
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my dad’s not saying anything to me anymore and okan says it’s his way of freaking out which???
am i supposed to be freaked? im more pissed off at this point answer my goddamn
>>i think everyone’s starting to freak out man it’s almost may
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it was cool of neesan to come up for kazuha n me lucky we had different ceremony days huh
duffels on a motorcycle are kinda a pain
traffic is hell in this country i miss u @shinkansen
>>say your fuckn prayers
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The cafe’s empty when Heiji steps in, the closed sign ignored behind him and the ring of the bell like a gong in the late evening hush. He resists the instinct to stride straight past the counter to the office upstairs, instead parking himself in one of the round high-stools.
“Hi,” he grins brightly at the man behind the counter.
Furuya Rei’s face clouds in a brief scowl, clears into cheer for 1.5 seconds, then falls into its scowl again once his eyes have ascertained that no one’s looking through the windows. Heiji’s flattered.
“Couldn’t you have arrived a little later?” Furuya asks, aggressively wiping off the last of the moisture from a fresh drinking glass.
“An’ given you the excuse to call me irresponsible and send me away?” Heiji’s grin stretches wider. There’s something comfortably familiar about Furuya’s cocktail of feigned cheer and sarcastic hostility - no wonder he and Kudo hit it off. “Not a chance.”
Furuya rolls his eyes, not bothering with even a token denial. He puts the glass down, the sound surprisingly muted for the speed of the movement, and gives Heiji a long look. Heiji lets it happen. It’s kind of a thing now.
And then the pensive expression slowly starts stiffening into something that might be apprehension on any other face, and that’s a bit dangerous, so.
“Notes,” Heiji reminds him.
The blankness clears, and Furuya scrunches his nose in a grimace. “Yes, the notes. I remember,” he waves a hand. “I’m not going to try and send you home now, ” he adds, lying.
“Nah, yeah,” Heiji nods along. “’Cause I mean, it wouldn’ work.”
“Of course not,” agrees Furuya sourly.
It’s hard to get mad at the attitude when the begrudging respect is there too. Besides, Heiji once tried to imagine actually working on cases with a seven-year-old and almost threw up in his mouth. He doesn’t exactly appreciate Furuya’s parallel to his own situation, but he gets it.
Furuya turns without ceremony to the door leading to the storage room, and Heiji immediately hops off the stool to follow him.
“So how’re things?” He asks as Furuya pushes open the door.
“Is that rhetorical?” Furuya asks as the door shuts behind Heiji. “Don’t answer that. They’re where they were expected to be.”
“So, zilch plus a teeny bit of not-zilch.”
Furuya gives him a Look. “Where they’re expected to be. Where’s your motorcycle?” His mouth twists on the word, car-snob he is.
“Up the block. Wanted ta shake out my road legs.”
Furuya nods. “I have a new plate for it - leave it here for the night and I’ll drive it to yours tomorrow.
“Aces.” A pause. “So, where’s ‘mine’?”
“Where you said it should be, though I’m still doubtful.”
“Nah, don’ be!” Heiji assures cheerfully. “I texted n everything.” To prove it, he pulls out his phone to brandish the logs in Furuya’s direction.
He can see the exact moment the last message registers in Furuya’s face. It takes oh so much willpower not to snort.
“I’m not touching that,” he finally decides evenly, reaching into his apron pocket. He pulls out a sticky-note pad and a black pen, quick scrawling something onto the pad before tearing off the sheet and handing it over.
Heiji takes it, and for a moment neither of them do anything. A little bewildered, he looks expectantly back toward Furuya’s pocket before glancing up.
“What, you thought I was just going to carry around a security risk like that?” Furuya huffs. “You’ll have to text and knock like everyone else.”
“Fair,” Heiji agrees, tucking the little note into his pocket. His hand lingers there, tracing the fold of cheap paper in the lined fabric. He’s very specifically not fidgeting, which of course means that Furuya raises an eyebrow at him almost instantly.
“What is it?” The agent’s voice is pointed but unclipped. Heiji’d almost call it patient.
“You talk t’him lately?”
Furuya blinks. “Well, yes.” He doesn’t elaborate, which Heiji thinks is fair.
Heiji chews on the question for another moment, wondering if it’ll get a straight answer, before just deciding fuck it and asking,
“How come ya haven’t told him? About me, or any of January.”
If Furuya’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “I don’t usually bother consulting all of my allies about a new recruit.”
“Tha’s not it,” Heiji says impatiently. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” Furuya agrees. “My point still stands. Your relationships aren’t my business, and even if they were…”
The pause isn’t deliberate. Furuya’s hesitation stands out like a spreading ink blot on a blank conversation.
“There are two clear things I can tell in hindsight when I look back on my early days in the PSB,” Furuya restarts abruptly. “The first is that I was never sure when I needed a friend. The second is that there was never a moment when I didn’t.”
He’s clearing his throat before Heiji can even fully process the statement, brain only throwing him a vague oh.
“Furuya-han-”
“That’s all I’ve got for you,” Furuya continues, louder. “Mind that I won’t be happy if you end up coming back here today.”
But we’ll figure something out if you do, Heiji hears. And it’s what lets him relax despite the increasing pace of his heart, despite the nervous anticipation that he quells with a bright grin.
“I won’t,” he promises.
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<<Hattori?
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It’s luck that gets Heiji through the lobby entrance, a resident leaving just as he arrives. The tall, somewhat elderly woman nods genially at him as he gives her a smile and a wave, sighing with relief as he slips past her and towards the stairs.
Third floor, he remembers in Furuya’s handwriting. 320, closest to the emergency doors.
He’s stepping onto the third floor in seconds, but the walk down the hallway seems to slow as he takes in his surroundings. The apartment complex is neat and clean, but like most buildings it saves power and money by dimming the lights in the hallway to the point of shadows in every nook and corner. Lights of various brightness shine out from underneath door cracks, moving feet moving patterns along the floor.
Room 320 is dark, like someone’s stuffed the gap with cloth. He shifts his bag to hang over his shoulder, lips pulling into a rueful grin.
Knock twice, then wait a moment, then a third time. He won’t check the look-hole otherwise. Or you know, just text him.
His phone stays untouched, and he knocks solidly on the door. Then again. There’s no answer from the other side, but rather a buzz from his pocket.
<<Hattori.
<<Please don’t tell me this is you.
His grin widens, and he gives up on any codes, rolling his fingers on the door in a quiet drum.
>>this isn’t me?
It opens a second later.
Kudo’s in a loose t-shirt over sweats, hair still set in bed-head and he’d look like he’d just woken up were it not for the tell-tale shadows under alert eyes. He’s been awake for more than a while, Hattori knows, and dressed like that much longer. For a moment, Heiji can only stand here. It’s been a long time since he’s seen his best friend in person, and even longer still since he’s seen him as himself.
On the other side of things, Kudo hasn’t said anything, staring at Heiji like he’s still not sure if he’s there, gaze roving over him like it does when facing someone new. The wrinkle between his brows is steadily deepening.
“Wh-”
“Prob’ly should do this inside, right?”
Heiji doesn’t wait for approval before slipping past his friend and into the apartment. To his credit, Kudo immediately shuts the door behind him, nudging some cloth on the ground with his foot so it’s back in the crack of the door. Then he strides straight up to Heiji and pinches both his cheeks.
“ Ow, christ. That necessary?” Heiji complains as Kudo releases him, rubbing his palms over the abused skin.
“No,” replies Kudo, the bastard. “Only you, Hattori. What are you doing here?”
“Ain’t that my question?” Heiji quips, inclining his head towards the room at large.
The room is for all sakes and purposes a perfectly normal living space, with no real personality anywhere. The curtains have been pulled shut, the lights are bright, the open-kitchen is clean, and it could easily find itself on the basics page of an Ikea magazine - but the tables give it away. The dining table is covered in random pages and folders, and the coffee-table has a piercingly bright desk-lamp propped on it over a veritable explosion of notes.
“On vacation?” Heiji asks, and he wants to grimace at the tone of his own voice; the buried frustration of the past few months is rearing its ugly head. “Looking for yourself?”
“You know I’m not,” is the tense reply.
Heiji nods willingly. “Lookin’ for a solve?”
“Like I have been for the last two years, you mean?” Kudo clips. “Yes. Now answer my question. I thought today was graduation?”
“You got my texts, then.”
There’s a pause. Kudo’s gaze swipes Heiji’s face; quick, cautious.
“Ran was texting about it too.”
Not an answer. “Uh huh.”
Kudo breathes a rough sigh out through his nose, hand raising to his skull to scrub roughly at his hair. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating? Scoping out living space? Doing anything that isn’t being on the east side of the country?”
Heiji feels a twitch in one of his fingers. “No way you’re this much of’n idiot.”
A pause again, only this time Kudo’s face tenses into something defensive, into something bordering angry.
“Wha’ college did I even say I was goin’ to?” Heiji tosses. “Toudai? Soudai?”
The answer, of course, is neither, and it’s as clear in Kudo’s expression as it is in Heiji’s mind. But Kudo doesn’t humor the flippant question; his hands are curling into loose fists, fire flaring in his eyes.
“First of all,” he doesn’t shout, instead drops his voice to something low and tense, “ you’re that much of an idiot. I’m clearly in hiding , Hattori. What the hell are you doing here.”
“Ain’t it obvious?” Heiji throws his hands up in frustration. “I’m-”
“If you say you’re here to help me with the case, I swear to God I’m going to skewer you where you stand.” Kudo hisses.
“I’m here to help with the case,” Heiji finishes easily, before tacking on a much-needed, “asshole.”
Kudo pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a soundless breath like he’s praying for patience, and the paleness of his nails somehow makes the circles under his eyes stand in even sharper relief. And then Heiji’s concerned all over again, and it’s easier to remember why he even did all this in the first place.
“Okay,” Heiji says. He’s supposed to be laying everything out in explanation, not calling his best friend an asshole, even if he super deserves it. “Okay so. ‘M not goin’ to college-”
“What.”
“-yet, ’m not goin’ to college yet, ” he pushes hastily. “I’m taking, y’know, a gap year. For soul-searchin’. Pal-searchin’.”
Kudo stares at him blankly.
“Without all the backpackin’, though. So, here.”
Kudo doesn’t look as angry anymore, which is a welcome change, but now he’s just looking. Kind of frustrated. And a little lost.
“I didn’t,” he starts and stops, furrowing his brow in frustration. “I never asked you to-” he stops again, chewing on the words for a moment before the sharp clench of his fist.
“ No, you’re not.”
“Yeah, I am,” Heiji disagrees.
“This is going to throw your life off-track. You can’t do this.”
“Now you’re for real soundin’ like my homeroom teacher.”
“That’s not my-”
“Call,” cuts Heiji, his mom’s words coming to mind. “S’not your call.”
It’s silent again, and it strikes Heiji very suddenly that this conversation really isn’t going how he wants it to. Kudo’s staring at him like he kind of wants to kick him in the face but also like he wants to leave, get away, and this is Heiji’s anger maybe, but it’s something else too.
“I know you didn’ ask me to do this,” Heiji says, and it twinges to say. “But you didn’ need to. I’ve known since two years ago that I was gonna . S’just-” and the words don’t come to mind, he’s thinking about his conversation with Kazuha and I gotta, about the click of complete resolution in his chest. And he knows they must be things Kudo understands, and as frustrating as it is not to have the words for this it’s all the more frustrating to be needing words at all.
“Since when have you been planning this.” Kudo asks.
Swallowing, Heiji replies. “November.”
The surprise doesn’t show on Kudo’s face, but his fingers twitch slightly at his sides. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? Not even about all this. Just a ‘hey, I’m not going to college.’”
“Well, s’not like,” and this one burns in his throat, but he forces it out. “S’not like you ever asked.”
Kudo blinks.
“Or said anythin’ about this,” he waves a hand around to address the unfamiliar apartment. “You’ve already been set in hideout and gotten Furuya-han ta be your co-conspirator. Could’ve said something about planning to go silent.”
“You knew it would happen. I called you about the antidote.” And despite the dismissals, Kudo takes a step closer for the first time. “I know you’re my partner, but this is just more than a weekend fight on a shrine roof. It’s, it’s so much time . And it wasn’t even your screw-up.”
“This ain’t about me being your detectivin’ partner.” Heiji scrubs an uncomfortable hand through his hair. “I mean like, yeah that part’s cool ‘n all, but s’more the fact that you’re my best friend.”
Kudo’s unmoved, his face a clear expression of duh. “Yeah, I know that, dude. So I don’t want you involved.”
Heiji sighs. “’M here, bro. Who d’ya think I contacted before you?”
Kudo shuts his eyes and echoes his sigh.
“We’re gonna finish this together,” Heiji takes an uncautious step forward. “Won’ take longer’n a gap year.”
There’s a dangerous, hidden emotion in Kudo’s strained posture, and Heiji plunges into the chance that it’s hope.
“This isn’t-”
“Hey,” Heiji says suddenly, “do you wanna know how I even got Furuya-han to talk to me?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Kudo grouses, but his eyes square on him curiously.
“He saw me take my notebook out, an’-”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” agrees Heiji softly. “I dunno when you showed him your case notes but,”
“A quarter of them are in your handwriting,” Kudo finishes, quiet.
“Really, really can’t tell me ’m not involved.”
He’s realising now that he’s made his point a long time ago. Kudo glances over his face, and there isn’t any doubt in his eyes anymore. Just something a little defeated.
“I don’t want you to lose a year to being off-grid,” Kudo states, and it’s no longer an argument. “I really want you to be safe.”
“Kinda goes both ways. And-”
“Stuff is easier to ensure if it’s closer, yes.”
Heiji goes silent, warmed by the familiar feeling of Kudo picking up the tail end of his thoughts. There’s another moment where his friend seems to struggle with himself.
“I want you to be safe,” Kudo repeats slower. “But I want you here, too. Was kind of pissed off you stepped over me not doing it. Sorry if. You know.”
“Garbage apology,” Heiji says, just as evenly. “But cool. Sorry ’bout stuff too.”
And, the tension deflates.
“So,” says Kudo, rolling his shoulders and beginning to turn away. “The other key’s in my nightstand. I’ll give it to you later. I’m going to bed.”
Heiji blinks. “S’nine pm.”
“I’m exhausted. You’re exhausting. So exhausting. There’s a spare bedroom in this stupid apartment past the first door on the right in the hallway. Can’t believe I didn’t suspect. Asshole.”
It takes Heiji a moment to process the sudden outpour of words coming out of Kudo’s mouth, and then he can’t do anything but laugh, loud and obnoxious.
“Shut up,” Kudo groans. “There’s instant ramen in the kitchen.”
He tries to back away completely, but Heiji manages to catch him in a tight one-armed hug, still laughing.
“Thanks, Kudo.”
There’s no protest, just an arm encircling him to return the hug, if with a few begrudging pats to his back. “Yes, yes. Thank you too, obviously.”