Archive of Our Own ^beta

April

It’s time to do something about the balcony, Yudai thinks as he stares out the living room doors.

The balcony is empty, currently. He’s only been living in the apartment for a month, still has unpacked boxes shoved by the end of his bed. He’s not actually sure what’s in them at this point - whatever it is clearly doesn’t seem to be anything he’s missing.

Unpacking has been slow, because work has been fast. This week had been particularly long and complicated, and he’d gone to bed far too late and far too noncommittally last night to not feel a little heavy-headed this morning. Too many late night thoughts about the project he’s left on his desk at work, about whether Taki had called a plumber like Yudai had told him to, about whether his sister has stopped seeing her therapist again and whether Euijoo had found a new flower vendor for the ceremony.

So he hadn’t slept much. It’s not new, and it doesn’t really affect him - most days he can simply hurricane his way through it all without feeling the strain.

He stretches his arms above his head, soft morning light filtering in. He likes this apartment a lot, so far. Most of it works, and the water pressure is good, and he has quiet neighbours. And of course a balcony, a sometimes rare thing to obtain in the part of Tokyo he lives in. The streets of Taito are overwhelmingly dominated by white-panelled buildings four or five storeys tall, straight up and down, no frills. The 90s building-frenzy special, where non-essential parts hadn’t been a priority.

Yudai had lucked out, finding this place. It’s older, orange-brick, and the little balcony off his living area overlooks the street. The view is nothing special, and the walls are low so there’s not much privacy, but he gets a lot of light and he hasn’t seen any of his neighbours yet. Plus, there’s enough room for plants. That’s today’s plan: obtain greenery. And maybe a table set if he’s lucky.

He pokes his head into the fridge and pulls out a Yakult. He’s still staring out at that empty balcony, mentally plotting where he can fit things in and how many, when a grown man about his age in sweat pants and a Gengar t-shirt climbs over the side of the little brick wall from next door.

Yudai would say he has never really known how to react to an intruder dressed in Pokemon merchandise. He just stares silently as the man brushes himself off and crouches down in front of the door, looking at something on the ground. Slowly, Yudai puts his Yakult down, but the movement seems to startle the intruder. He looks up, locking eyes with Yudai beneath the fringe of black hair feathered across his brow.

The two of them remain frozen.

He’s quite beautiful, Yudai thinks absently, which is a useless thing to notice when he’s likely about to be robbed or worse. The intruder is solidly built, features well-defined, full lips and a long nose and everything about him so definite somehow.

And then the intruder seems to finally shake himself. He points at the ground in front of him, something obscured by the lip of the sliding door. Yudai figures if he’s going to be murdered he’d at least like to know why, so he moves closer, all the way to the door, where he finally realises there is a small calico cat asleep in front of it. 

“Sorry,” the intruder says when Yudai opens the door a crack. His voice is low and a little scratchy with morning, and he’s still crouching as he gently scratches the cat behind the ears. The cat does not seem bothered by any of the noise or movement around it. “This place was empty for months. He still thinks it’s his.”

“That’s ok. He was here first,” Yudai replies, leaning in the door frame as any nervous tension leaves his body. “He’s welcome here, you don’t have to move him.”

“Oh. Thank you.” The man flicks a strand of dark hair out of his eyes, a self-conscious smile creeping onto his features. “We live next door. I’m Fuma. This is Yadon.”

Yudai finds himself staring at Fuma’s eyes. They’re dark, but they have an unusual clarity to them. Like they’d see straight through anyone and anything, though not unkindly.

“Yudai,” Yudai replies, a little slower than he meant to. “I’m going to get some plants for the balcony, he’ll have a better bed soon. If he likes pots?”

Fuma’s small smile grows larger as he finally stands. “You won’t be able to get rid of him.”

“Great, I’ve never had a cat,” Yudai replies, and now Fuma’s smile becomes a laugh. It’s a little goofy, the noise he makes and the way his eyes crinkle up. Yudai likes it. He wonders if he can get Fuma to do it again.

“You look like you’ve been up for hours,” Fuma says, taking in Yudai’s sportswear, the light sheen of sweat on his brow. Fuma stands in significant contrast, still in his pajamas with his hair a little messy from sleep.

“I have,” Yudai confirms. He’s been waking up at five to run most days since he was thirteen, and fifteen years later nothing has changed. “Best time to go running, though I don’t think I stretched properly. My calf is cramping.”

Fuma gestures at the sleeping cat at Yudai’s feet. “They say cat purrs are healing. Something about supersonic frequencies.” 

“That sounds very real and true,” Yudai laughs. 

Fuma just shrugs, an easy smile on his face. “I’m a vet, you can trust me.”

“Oh, in that case,” Yudai grins. “You think I should apply him like a poultice?”

Fuma’s smile widens as he nods. “It might be good for him. Humbling.”

Yudai can’t help but laugh. Despite the thoughtful way he speaks, Fuma clearly has a silly streak. Yudai likes that too.

“Sorry to have intruded,” Fuma says as he turns to climb back over the wall. He does it effortlessly, even in his purple slippers.

“It’s fine,” Yudai shrugs, all casual as though Fuma hadn’t scared the life out of him not three minutes earlier. “I like to know my neighbours.”

“Well. Now you do,” Fuma replies, back on his own side. 

“Now I do,” Yudai nods. He waves, and Fuma waves back, and then he disappears into his apartment.

*

That night, Yudai has his first gathering at his new place. Taki keeps referring to it as a dinner party, even though what it actually is the four of them - Yudai and Taki and Nicholas and Euijoo - sitting around on the floor eating takeout fried chicken while moving people around on Nico and Euijoo’s seating chart. 

“You can’t put Ricky there, Sunoo is afraid to talk to him,” Taki is saying around a mouthful of food as Nicholas tries to snatch the marker out of his hand. “He says he’s too hot.”

“The wedding is in a month, stop causing problems,” Nicholas complains as Taki resists his efforts.

“I’m not causing problems, I’m preemptively solving problems.” 

Euijoo turns to Yudai. “We met your neighbour on the way up,” he says, ignoring the other two, a skill he’s gotten remarkably good at in all the years they’ve known each other.

“The old lady?”

Euijoo shakes his head. “Fuma.”

Yudai finally pulls his attention away from where Nicholas has just climbed onto Taki’s back. “He introduced himself?”

“In the hall just now. Said you guys met this morning.” Euijoo thinks for a moment, and then he adds in his mildest Euijoo tone, “He seems nice.”

“He’s hot, is what he means,” Taki interjects, and Nicholas pauses in what looks alarmingly like strangling Taki to glance over and nod his concurrence.

“He’s super hot.”

“Sure, I guess,” Yudai says with a shrug. He has eyes, of course he does, and normally he wouldn’t be averse to leaning into the banter, making the others jealous of his good luck. But for some reason, Fuma feels strange to talk about with them. “Does it matter?”

Euijoo looks at him for a beat too long, his gentle eyes probing. “Hmm,” he murmurs, almost too quiet for Yudai to hear.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Yudai stares at him, waiting to see if it elicits a further response, but Euijoo is apparently done with whatever he’d been thinking. He gestures at Yudai’s bedroom. “Are you sure you don’t want help with those last boxes by the way? We could do it now.”

“I’m sure,” Yudai replies, waving a hand dismissively as he leans back against the couch. “I don’t like other people unpacking my stuff, I won’t know where to find it.”

“If you say so,” Euijoo replies. He’s gathering the empty bowls into a pile without looking. Yudai isn’t sure if he knows he’s doing it. Euijoo likes order. 

“Are you still coming to look at apartments with us tomorrow?” Nicholas asks from where he’s lying on his stomach. Taki is leaning on his back, apparently now annotating the seating chart with abandon. 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Yudai confirms. He knows both Euijoo and Nicholas find apartment hunting stressful, so he’d volunteered to come along as an extra level head. “I just have to stop by the office real quick in the morning.”

Taki looks up from his scribbles in horror. “On a Sunday?”

“The glamorous life of a big city lawyer,” Yudai shrugs. He’s long since learnt to appreciate the free time he does have, rather than lament the loss of it. It’s the only way to stay sane. 

Euijoo sighs from across the coffee table, but his voice is still gentle when he asks, “Do you ever slow down?”

Yudai stands to gather up the leftovers to send home with Taki for him and his roommate. He knows Taki is trying to learn to cook, but the emphasis remains on trying for now.

“You slow down, you die.” Yudai grins his most disarming grin. Euijoo gives him a pointed look, but lets him go.

*

May

Two buckets of water and a flimsy deck chair, that’s all Yudai needs to survive an unseasonable heatwave.

“You’re not going to fail,” he says into the phone wedged beneath his ear. He hears Taki whine on the other end. 

“I am. It’s over.” He can hear Taki opening a bag of chips on his end of the line. Comfort eating, presumably. “When I’m unemployable and destitute and homeless, can I live on your couch?”

Yudai laughs at this, shutting off the hose and surveying his setup. The sun had been setting as he’d left the office today, late, just like every other day this week. But the heat hadn’t dissipated like it should this time of year, the humidity arriving unusually early to keep it trapped like a blanket over the city.

“Of course,” Yudai agrees as he eases his feet into the cool water slowly. The buckets are different sizes, and the water climbs higher up his left shin than his right. It doesn’t bother him. He lets out a long, slow breath.

“What are you doing?” Taki asks.

“Watering the plants,” Yudai replies, leaning back in his chair. “How serious is this mental breakdown? Do I need to come over?” Taki had been so proud when he’d been admitted to study bio-engineering at Todai, but the pressure was no joke. Yudai had found him in tears more than once. Even though Taki always seemed to shake his lower moods off, bounce back even springier each time, Yudai still worried.

“No,” Taki replies plaintively. Yudai can hear him rustling around with something. “I have to go to my study group anyway.”

“OK.”

“I just want you to know that I hate statistics.”

“Everyone hates statistics,” Yudai tells him. “Have fun.”

“Ergh,” Taki says, and hangs up.

Near silence returns to the balcony. Yudai had brought his headphones out, but he hesitates to put them in just yet. Instead he lets his head fall back, leaning against the warm brick of the building, and closes his eyes. It’s too early in the year for crickets, just the man-made murmur of traffic and conversations from the street below. Taito ASMR.

It's peaceful. He needs that, after the day he's had. Yelled at by two different clients, once for something he deserved, once not. He'd found Jo crying in the bathroom after lunch. That boy was far too gentle for the world he'd ended up in. And then Taki and his student woes. Yudai is wrung dry.

After a few minutes, Yudai begins to fidget. The problem with peaceful is he’s not made for sitting still, not built that way. He considers going inside to get the crochet he’s been trying to learn. His sister’s suggestion, something to keep his hands busy. He needs to call her. He wonders what time it is in Australia.

As his mind begins to click-whirr through the endless shuffle of thoughts, he absently hears the slow roll of a balcony door, the plastic clink of a folding clothesline, the shuffle of feet in rubber slides.

And then, singing.

The voice is one Yudai has never heard before, sweet and soaring over surprisingly high notes, and he cracks his eyes open to discover it seems to be coming from Fuma. 

He’s taking his laundry down with his back to Yudai, a tub under his arm. It’s pink, and someone has stuck a series of tiny rabbit stickers on it. 

He’s never actually thought about it before, but Yudai can’t say he’d expected Fuma to be someone who could sing. He’s not sure why exactly, whether it’s his uneven voice or unassuming appearance or maybe his mannerisms that don’t quite match with the tone now coming out of him, pure and almost sweet. He's been living next to Fuma for a few weeks now, has chatted with him regularly over their shared wall since they’d first met, but he's never heard his voice like this.

He watches him in surprise and fascination, his chest buzzing a little the way it does when he sees Fuma. It takes Yudai a few moments to recognise the tune, something from an animated movie a few years back. Fuma gets through two verses and a chorus before he peters out, the last of his shirts pulled from the line.

“Don’t stop.” The words are out before Yudai had even known they’d been queued up. He winces at himself. This seems to happen often, around Fuma. His brain gets stuck on Fuma’s muscled arms and gentle eyes and doesn’t put any thought into functions like thinking and speaking.

Fuma whips around with surprising speed, eyes wide as he realises he’s not alone. “Yudai?”

“Hello.” Yudai waves awkwardly from his deck chair. “You have a great voice.”

“I- uh- thanks,” Fuma stutters, immediately self-conscious. “No one has ever told me that before.”

“Really? They should have.” Yudai smiles. “I was at a wedding on Saturday that had a karaoke machine on the dance floor. You would have killed.”

Fuma opens his mouth to say something else, but then he stops as he takes in exactly how Yudai is sitting, his uncertain expression turning to confusion.

“That’s an interesting setup,” Fuma concludes. He shifts the tub onto his hip, like an old washer woman, and a tiny smile creeps over his features. “Do you need a coconut with a little straw?”

“That would definitely improve the situation,” Yudai agrees. He swishes his feet a little in the icy water, enjoying the splish splosh noises it elicits. “But the live music was a nice touch.”

Fuma seems to choose to ignore this. He gestures at the buckets. “So…why?”

“My air conditioner is broken,” Yudai replies, stretching his arms up and behind his head. “I meant to fix it before summer, but summer seems to have started early.”

“Don’t you have a fan?”

“I leant it to a friend.”

Fuma blinks at him, expression growing ever more confused. “When you don’t have another?”

“He can’t stand the heat,” Yudai replies blithely. “And he’ll complain if he doesn't sleep properly, so it’s in my own interests.” 

Fuma seems oddly offended by this. “But he just took it from you?”

Yudai waves a hand quickly, uncomfortable at the idea of someone getting the wrong impression about kind, good-natured Taki. “He didn't know it's my only one.” He laughs a little at Fuma’s bewildered expression. “It’s fine, I’ll get another one tomorrow.”

Fuma is still looking at him as though he's trying to solve a puzzle. “But how are you going to sleep tonight?”

“With a lot of icepacks, I guess.” Yudai shrugs. “I can deal with that later.”

It will be an uncomfortable evening, of course it will. Yudai doesn't quite want to admit the unspoken part of his thoughts: that it feels better, somehow, knowing he's the one having the unpleasant night and not someone he cares about. That it makes it worth it, almost a little addictive somehow.

Fuma sighs, staring at Yudai for a few moments longer. Like he’s debating an intervention, but thinks better of it. He finishes collecting up the loose pegs into the peg basket, and then he and his tub of laundry vanish into his apartment.

Yudai leans back again, closes his eyes to the gentle hum of evening. 

The quiet lasts for only a few minutes, and then someone clears their throat over the sound of plastic creaking. When Yudai opens his eyes, Fuma is hovering near their shared balcony wall, holding a fan.

“Fuma,” Yudai begins, but Fuma shakes his head.

“Don’t say Fuma like that.” He holds the fan up. “Just take the fan.”

“But don’t you need this?”

“No, Yudai. My air conditioner is fine. Old, but fine.”

Yudai relents, sitting up in his buckets, but Fuma waves at him. “Don't get up.” He gently lifts the fan up and over, setting it down carefully on Yudai’s side of the wall. “Your friend - I think I saw him leaving this morning. Tallish, blue shirt?”

Yudai nods. “That's him. Taki.”

“And he's…” Fuma trails off, a little awkwardly.

“He's?” Yudai repeats in confusion, and then he realises what Fuma is asking. What a man leaving his apartment at eight in the morning probably looks like to a neighbour. “Oh my god, wow, no. No, god,” Yudai laughs. “I’ve known him since he was little. He’s like family.” 

They’d grown up in the same building complex, back when Yudai had been in the habit of gathering up all the stray kids left unsupervised for various reasons and keeping them under his eye. And maybe Yudai is still a little overprotective, sometimes insists Taki comes over early to pick up a fan or eat a proper breakfast. Sometimes makes him bring his roommate Maki, too. It might bother a normal person, if Taki were even remotely normal.

“Ah.” Fuma's expression is maddeningly neutral. In his heart of hearts, Yudai had secretly hoped this might elicit some kind of a reaction - relief, perhaps. But Fuma is either totally unreadable, or there's just nothing to read. 

“I'm not seeing anyone,” Yudai adds, as if him sitting alone on his balcony with his feet in two buckets of water isn't a dead giveaway of this fact. And then, because he hasn't made things awkward enough, he for some reason continues: “I don’t have much luck in that area.”

He regrets the words even as they leave his mouth. Something in him seems desperate for Fuma to know he is single, which makes no real sense. It’s one thing to think your neighbour is hot, but god knows a relationship is the last thing on earth he wants right now. He has no time and no energy for all that would entail.

That’s the point of a harmless crush. It’s silly, and light-hearted, and most importantly, not real.

Fuma just smiles at him, almost like he's trying not to laugh, which only adds to Yudai’s distinct sense of regret. But then to Yudai’s surprise, Fuma says, “I understand. My last date, I talked about camping supplies for forty minutes.”

Yudai had not been expecting this kind of admission. He feels like he's stumbled on a rare collectible. “Did they like camping?”

“No,” Fuma sighs quietly. “I just panicked. He blocked me before I got home.”

“Oh no,” Yudai laughs, and Fuma nods, smiling back at him. For a moment they're both quiet, just grinning at each other in the sharing of misery. “You like camping?” Yudai asks after a moment.

“I like camping,” Fuma replies. “My dad took me a lot. We still go sometimes.” It’s a simple admission, but with the way he says it it feels strangely personal. 

“That sounds nice,” Yudai tells him. He’s always fascinated by stories from people who grew up close to their parents. Like a strange fantasy novel.

“It is,” Fuma nods, and there’s a gentle smile to his eyes. “You like camping?”

“Never been,” Yudai admits. “Got any gear recommendations?”

Fuma laughs at this, a proper laugh. It's short and loud, staccato. And then he glances at his watch. “Don’t stay out too late, the mosquitos will get you.” He leans over the wall a little, taps the top of the fan to draw Yudai's gaze. His hand rests there. “And don't forget this.”

Yudai doesn't think he's ever really noticed Fuma’s hands before, not properly. They're beautiful, sturdy and masculine but still slender somehow. Yudai finds himself staring for a moment, his mind moving in slow motion, fixated. And then Fuma withdraws them, makes for his door.

“Night,” Yudai manages to call out, and Fuma nods, and vanishes.

Yudai sleeps well that night, the gentle whirr of Fuma’s fan a comforting white noise. He dreams of Fuma’s hands.

*

Yudai wakes feeling rested for the first time in weeks. When his eyes focus on the watch he keeps on his bedside, he realises with a start that he’s slept through his usual alarm to go for a run. It’s well past when he should be up.

He gets ready for work at top speed, almost tripping over his suit pants and not bothering to do up his tie. He can fix it on the train. He hopes he’s managed to grab a shirt without too many creases, given the important meeting he has first thing. 

He makes it out of the house on time, finally gets a second to actually look at his phone for the first time all morning. It’s then that he sees it. One missed call, Taki, 3:11 am. One voicemail, Taki, 3:11 am.

Yudai feels his stomach drop, feet grinding to a halt. His mind conjures images of Taki in tears again, or worse, a panic attack. It expands outward to Taki lost by the side of the road, in a hospital ER, in a police station. It calls up memories of Taki breaking down his first month at university. Of the night Taki had shown up at Yudai’s apartment door in tears because his first boyfriend had dumped him. Or long before that, when he'd come by Yudai’s place after school with a black eye, refusing to say what had happened.

Yudai wonders, as he waits for his voicemail to connect, how much trouble he'll be in if he doesn't make it to the meeting this morning. Borderline fireable, given the client. But he'll take the risk if he has to.

He bounces on his feet impatiently as the robotic voice tells him he has one message, and then it begins to play.

“Kei.” Taki’s voice is bright and energetic as the old nickname bounces off his tongue. He’s not crying, doesn’t sound anxious. “Kei, Keiiii. I just called to say thank you. Thank you. Thank yooouuuu.” The way he drags the last word out, Yudai can tell immediately. He's drunk. There's a gentle pulse of music in the background and a couple of voices chattering. The sounds of a normal university student's night. 

The anxiety drains out of him, a smile forming on his lips in its place. He starts to walk again as he listens.

“I’m so lu- oh, Maki wants me to say hi. Oh, Yuma wants me to say hi.”

“I don't know who that is,” Yudai says aloud.

“I know you don't know who that is,” Taki’s message continues as if he'd heard Yudai somehow. “I was gonna tell you about him yesterday morning but you had to go to work. Boo. Hiss. But it's fine, I have a plan. I am going to finish my degree, and get a fancy science job. Not one of the jobs nice people have.” He giggles at this. “I'm going to get one of the ones that's like, inventing evil plastic. Pow. And I'm going to make so much money. And I'm going to buy you a big house. Because then I know you'll be taken care of. Ok? Sound good? Ok. Good plan. I love you bye.”

Yudai stares at his phone for a moment, an indescribable whirl of emotions spinning through him. He saves the message. Then he pulls up Taki's contact and starts typing quickly.

Kei

Please don't become an evil scientist on my account.

Taki's response is surprisingly quick.

baby chick 🐥

is there a legal painless way to chop my own head off

Kei

hangover that bad huh

baby chick 🐥

do you think if I walked into a vet they could put me down

Kei

I'll ask my neighbour

baby chick 🐥

he's a vet?? hot

Kei

go back to sleep 

*

June

Fuma is not in his living room, but his TV is on and paused on something. Yudai can see it just in the corner of his vision from where he’s half-leaning over the side of the balcony.

He’s not spying. The opposite really, he would in fact like to be noticed.

He's not in the habit of trying to get Fuma’s attention, or at least not in any way he will admit. Certainly not in this manner, half leaning over a balcony at nine o’clock a night, cicadas screaming in his ear that he's probably being Too Much right now. 

Yudai understands that he could knock on Fuma’s front door. He knows this. It just. Wouldn't feel right. Feels more invasive, somehow. Like he’d be overstepping something.

It’s less than a minute before Fuma reappears, and to Yudai’s relief he immediately notices Yudai waving at him from out on the balcony.

He hurries to open the door. “Yudai?” 

“I have food,” Yudai blurts out without a greeting, quick to explain himself lest he come across as someone on the brink of hospitalisation. “Too much food. Do you like curry?”

“Of course,” Fuma replies, blinking at him slowly.

Yudai holds up a large bowl full of it, covered in foil. “I made too much.”

Fuma comes closer to accept the offering, inspecting its size. His low voice is dry when he asks quietly, “Did a dinner party for twelve fall through?”

Yudai laughs. “It’s for my friends. They just got back from their honeymoon in Hawaii, got sick from the plane and there’s no food in their house.” Yudai shrugs. “But I made too much, and I ran out of tupperware. So, here.”

He'd been aiming for three meals for Nicholas and Euijoo, and an extra for Taki and his roommate Maki. He’s beginning to think he might have misread the quantities. 

“Thank you,” Fuma says, meeting Yudai’s gaze with his own. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

He has this way of looking at Yudai sometimes that makes Yudai shiver. A pleasant shiver. It's something singular, focused. It's a look Yudai sometimes imagines receiving from a Fuma that’s leaning over him, no shirt, arms caging him in and bedsheets askew.

And then Fuma holds up his free hand. “Wait a second.” He vanishes inside with the bowl, and Yudai stands awkwardly at the low wall between their balconies, trying to find something to look at in the sudden silence that envelops him. He's pretending to inspect the water stains on the building opposite theirs with interest when Fuma returns, no longer carrying the curry. Instead, he's holding a six-pack of tiny plastic bottles in his hands.

“I got these for you,” he says, holding them up. “They were giving them out at work.”

Yudai squints at the bottles, wondering what vet freebies have to do with him. He has no pets, unless you count Maki. “At work? Am I a dog?” 

“It's for humans,” Fuma clarifies with a barely suppressed smile as he hands the bottles across the wall. “I promise. They sponsor the clinic.”

Yudai accepts the bottles and glances at the label. ‘Vitamin Shot!’ it reads in bold, excited lettering, and then, ‘For a calm mind.’ He glances up at Fuma with raised eyebrows, who looks suddenly embarrassed.

“I realise now this might seem like an insult,” Fuma mumbles, not quite meeting Yudai’s eyes. “But you’ve been so busy. You’re busy a lot, actually, and you never seem to sleep much. So I. Well, I thought of you.”

“Oh,” Yudai responds, suddenly lost for words. He hadn't thought of himself as someone Fuma would think of, outside of their balcony encounters. He supposes that's not fair - he thinks of Fuma often, after all, but he suspects not for the same reasons Fuma is thinking of him. “Murata Fuma. Are you worrying about me?”

“No, I-” Fuma begins, a little flustered, and then he seems to think better of it. “Ok. Yes. A little. Animals need rest.”

“I see,” Yudai murmurs, instead of one of the ten witty quips about being an animal that pop and fizzle in his brain, because something about the idea of Fuma in his workday stopping to think, to worry about Yudai is making him feel fuzzy at the edges. His cheeks feel warm, and he realises with horror there's a blush threatening to appear any second.

“Well,” he says, and it comes out sounding uncertain, almost nervous. Get a grip, his brain hisses at his body. “Thank you. I'll leave you in peace now.”

And he turns to make his exit, to beat a hasty retreat into his apartment, except. The big white pot.

He had known on Monday when he'd left it where he'd left it, right in the middle of the balcony, that he would probably trip over it. He'd looked square at the pot and thought, that is a tripping hazard, Koga Yudai. And then he'd done nothing about it. It was heavy, and he was going to move it on the weekend, so. Eh. 

Of course, now as he turns and walks straight into it as prophesied, and the heavy ceramic slams into his shin with bone-clanging force, he wonders when he's going to stop shooting himself in the foot. Or the leg, so to speak. 

He swears, and feels himself losing his balance, and then he's somehow sprawled on his side with a small torrent of blood carving its own new riverbed down his leg, the six-pack of vitamin drinks having landed neatly upright beside him.

Competent, capable, and reliable. That had been the summary of him in his last performance review. He wonders where that person disappears to sometimes. 

“Cool,” he mutters, shifting up into a sitting position, just in time to catch the back of Fuma’s head vanishing quickly into his apartment. For a beautiful second he thinks maybe Fuma had somehow not seen any of it, had already been leaving. But then Fuma reappears holding a first aid bag and looking deeply concerned, and Yudai feels the first sparks of alarm.

“Hold on,” Fuma tells him. His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks worried, and Yudai wishes he could appreciate how attractive this makes him look, but he’s far too distracted by the concerning way Fuma is approaching the wall.

“I’m fine,” Yudai assures him, trying to tamp down on his wince as he shifts his leg slightly. It doesn’t matter. He looks up just in time to see Fuma vault the wall between them in one go. It's smooth and effortless and Yudai knows he is staring, a strange heat flaring in his gut, the desire to be indistinguishable from the desire to possess. 

And then the strange thrill of wanting turns to full blown panic as he realises that Fuma is here, right in front of him, all of him. He’s standing on Yudai’s own balcony, like he had been the day they met, and he’s only coming closer.

Thankfully, Fuma isn't looking at his face to see the sudden alarm in his eyes. He immediately drops down beside Yudai, inspecting his leg with gentle seriousness. His hands frame the wound, so careful and restrained, long fingers mapping the outline of the damage. Yudai watches them, frozen, his heart beating a little faster with every touch.

So often these days he feels washed out, a little hollow and translucent. Bone dry soil housing a plant with nothing to grow on. But Fuma’s touch makes him feel solid again, for a moment. Too real, almost.

“Ok,” Fuma hums, seemingly more to himself than Yudai. His voice pulls Yudai’s attention back to the damage. There is a deep graze and two small cuts, enough to bleed convincingly but not enough to need stitches.

“It's really not that bad,” Yudai assures Fuma, wondering if he can somehow melt through the balcony and disappear. “I’m fine, I’ll just go inside now.”

But Fuma shakes his head, glancing up at him with concern still in his eyes. His hands press down a little on Yudai’s leg, as though to keep him in place. Somehow, the sensation burns more than if he was touching the wound. “There's some gravel in there, though. I'll get it out, just sit still.”

“You don't-” Yudai begins quickly, but Fuma shows no inclination that he cares about what Yudai has to say on the matter of whether or not he should help.

This doesn’t happen to Yudai. He’s used to people taking him at face value, following his words without second guessing him. People don't tend to think of Yudai as someone who needs assistance, and he's spent a lot of time making it so. 

But Fuma is apparently immune. He's kneeling on the tiles now, a look of intense focus on his expression, and Yudai watches as he tweezes a small piece of gravel out of the wide gash below Yudai’s knee. Yudai expects it to hurt, but by the time he tenses up ready for the pain the gravel is already gone. He's not sure if it's the adrenaline or if Fuma is just that good. His hands are steady, he is focused and calm.

“You must be a good vet,” Yudai finds himself musing out loud, trying to drown out the feelings of discomfort and something harder to describe, being so fully at Fuma’s mercy right now.

“I hope so,” Fuma replies, another piece of gravel coming away smoothly.

“Did you always want to be one?”

“A vet?” Fuma clarifies, and Yudai nods. He hums. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“It's the closest I could get.”

“To what?”

Fuma is quiet for a long moment as he pours some water onto Yudai’s knee, wiping the wound clean and patting it dry. It stings, and Yudai flinches slightly. Then Fuma sighs, and Yudai sees his shoulders loosening in defeat. “A Pokemon vet.”

Yudai laughs at this, legs shaking slightly, and Fuma emits a small whine as he tries to hold Yudai still. “Stop moving,” he insists, and Yudai tries to settle himself.

“Sorry,” he apologises. “Sorry, that's just so cute. Fuma, you're adorable.”

Fuma doesn't reply to this, just keeps his head down as he dabs iodine on the open skin. Yudai had thought this part would hurt too. This is the part where everyone always hisses, in the dramas. But it doesn't.

If anything, the gentle touch of Fuma’s fingers against his skin is calming, soothing. Yudai finds himself staring at Fuma’s hands as they reposition and straighten his leg slightly. His touch is firm, and he moves Yudai without asking, without any hesitation. How Yudai had imagined he might, under other circumstances.

Yudai is taller than Fuma, but the way Fuma handles him makes him feel small and delicate, and that in turn makes his face a little warm. He realises he's biting his lip, but he can't quite look away.

“There,” Fuma mutters, pressing down the corners of a large band-aid. “All done.”

“Thank you,” Yudai replies dazedly as Fuma leans back, starts collecting up his bits and pieces into his first aid kit.

“This is why people need sleep,” Fuma tells him without looking up.

“I know,” Yudai sighs. He does. He never used to be someone who felt tired even running on just a few hours sleep, but lately it really seems to be taking a toll. 

He wishes he didn't lie awake thinking about all the things he has to do. Wishes he hadn't been worrying about Nico and Euijoo and what they were going to eat while they were sick and how ordering delivery for a week would only make them feel worse. Wishes he hadn't pulled his phone out at 1am to look up some recipes, and ended up researching webcam models for Taki, not that Taki had asked him to. He wouldn't ask, that's the problem. Would just buy whatever's cheapest and it would break in six months.

He should have an easier job, Yudai often thinks. He spends all day Switched On, wired, jumping from thing to thing, and he has no room to think about all the other things he needs to think about, and so they pile up on him once the sun goes down.

It’s for nothing, really. His job is in media law, and he is certain this is important and fulfilling work to someone, but that person isn't him. He’d just followed the lights and the noise, the prestige and the whirlwind of Doing, and now he’s gone too far in one direction and doesn’t know how to turn around.

“Can I ask you something?” Yudai finds himself saying. Fuma looks at him expectantly, which Yudai takes as encouragement. “Do you like your job? I hear a lot of vets burn out.”

Fuma nods thoughtfully. “It can be tiring. But I have a good clinic, they support us. Set boundaries. I don't see myself changing any time soon.”

“Not unless Pokemon vet is suddenly a job?”

“God, I wish,” Fuma murmurs. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Yudai replies. “Just wondering what it's like to enjoy going to work.”

“I’m bad at advice,” Fuma tells him as he stands, stretching his arms behind himself slightly as he does so. His shirt rides up on his hip, a slice of waist making itself visible, and Yudai lets himself stare. Not long enough to be weird. Just for a second. Just to store the image away for later, with the manhandling. 

“I don't want advice,” Yudai presses, forcing his eyes away. “I just want to know what you think.”

Fuma seems a little surprised by this. He stares at something above Yudai’s head for a moment, thinking. “This will sound stupid,” he says slowly, “But you just have to like what you do all day. Not what you are. It's the mechanics. The little bits.”

“Oh,” Yudai replies quietly. He thinks he understands. That's how he'd ended up in media law anyway, chasing the big picture, the What You Are. Being a lawyer had seemed exciting and important and a bit glamorous if he's honest. He hadn't really thought about what it was made up of. All those little bits, the long days and late nights and fine details and paperwork - he tries not to think about it all too hard or too often, because if he does, he feels like he's drowning.

Fuma holds a hand out, and for a moment Yudai just stares at it, unsure what it's offering. And then he realises Fuma is just helping him stand. 

He accepts, and for some reason it's this that brings back his blush. He can feel heat in his cheeks, isn't sure how obvious it is to Fuma. He feels out of sorts, can’t pick which one of the many feelings clamouring inside him is to blame. He’s not certain, but he thinks he might desperately need Fuma to get back on the other side of their wall.

“Well. Thank you,” Yudai says, a little awkwardly. “And sorry that I disrupted your evening like this.”

“You're never a disruption,” Fuma replies, finally turning to hop back over to his own balcony, and Yudai feels something tense finally unwind inside him. Like he can breathe a little easier in the warm night air.

“You're the only one who would say that,” he tells Fuma with the flicker of a smile as he turns away. “Night, Fuma.”

*

“What happened to your knee?” Euijoo asks when Yudai drops the food round the next morning.

“Fell. My neighbour fixed it,” Yudai replies distractedly as he unloads the containers into their fridge.

“Oh, the hot one,” Nicholas grins from the couch. His voice is slightly husky, but his smile is still disarmingly sharp.

“He's not-” Yudai begins, but he doesn't finish his sentence, because that would not be true. “Yeah, the hot one,” he amends. 

“How sexy. You two, alone, healthcare involved.” Nicholas waggles his eyebrows, a gesture made less impactful by the short bout of coughing that follows.

“Stop talking, you'll hurt your throat,” Yudai replies, closing the fridge door. He turns to Euijoo, who is ensconced in blankets in the armchair despite the summer heat outside. “Need anything before I go?”

“I need you to accept your hot neighbour into your heart and bed,” Nicholas replies before his husband can speak. Yudai crosses his arms as he rounds on him.

“Being disgustingly married has made you over-cocky, Nico,” Yudai replies dryly. “You met Euijoo when you were eight. You're like a person who won the lottery and thinks they're a great financial strategist.”

“Damn,” Nicholas mutters, sinking back into the cushions. He tilts his head a little. “Touched a nerve there, Yudai?”

Yudai rolls his eyes at him, trying to get his outsides to stop matching his insides. He smoothes his voice. “I'm fine, Nico. Worry about yourself.”

“I only ever worry about Juju,” Nicholas replies, reaching out a foot to prod at his husband’s knee. Euijoo laughs, shoving his foot away. 

“Sounds exhausting,” Yudai replies, but Nicholas shakes his head.

“It's not. I worry about him, and he worries about me. Perfect equilibrium.”

Yudai leans against the wall. He feels like they've had this conversation before, more than once. Usually when the other parties have been drinking. “I don't have the energy to worry about another person, I have enough of you.”

It’s his usual rebuttal, but not the whole truth. It’s not quite a lie - he really doesn’t know if he has room for another person to take up space inside him. But it’s not because of them. He’s pretty sure he’s the one taking up all the space inside himself. Too many wants, too many needs, too much of him for someone else to handle. He often feels like one of those carnival rides that spins round and round, lights flashing and music blaring. He can’t admit someone else into that cyclone. He’ll burn them out, and himself in the process.

Nicholas ignores the expression Yudai is making, laughing as he looks over at Euijoo. “You just have to find someone you can worry about us with together.”

Yudai turns to Euijoo with his most pleading expression. “Make him stop.”

Euijoo, unfortunately, is watching Nicholas with a soft, fond smile. He glances at Yudai. “He's right, though. There’s someone out there who balances you out.”

But this is always the wall they reach, the impassable trench, the chasm between the reality his friends live in and Yudai’s own. He knows that no relationship is fifty-fifty. But the concept of being the person who ever weighs more, costs more, demands more, makes Yudai feel a little ill. He’s fine with giving, thrives on it. He’s never felt he has the right to take.

“I don’t remember enrolling in this particular course,” Yudai sighs, but this doesn't deter Euijoo’s smile. He just shrugs, leaning back into the armchair. 

“Thanks for dropping the food by, Yudai. We really appreciate you.”

“Say hi to your hot neighbour for us,” Nicholas adds as Yudai makes for the door. Yudai gives him the finger on his way out.

*

July 

When Yudai enters the subway in the barely lit evening, the sky is a threatening purple grey. When he exits, it has broken. 

He emerges from his subway exit into a wall of water, hesitating beneath the last bit of shelter. He'd left his umbrella under his desk, and he knows he could go back downstairs (all 120 of them) and buy another one from the little mart in the corner of the tunnel, but he also thinks maybe he should just run. It's only three streets, how wet will he get?

The water thunders down.

Ok, so he will get wet. Very wet. But then he's home and he can dry off, no harm done. He nods to himself, tenses his muscles, and dives into the rain.

For a second, the fat drops of water pound against his skull, as though he's walked not into the street but into a carwash. And then something dark swoops into his peripheral vision, and the pounding water lessens. He doesn't stop running, but he slows a little, glancing to his right. There’s a large rain jacket being held over his head haphazardly, and beneath that, Fuma is smiling at him.

“Hey,” Yudai gets out as they continue to run side by side, Fuma keeping perfect pace beside him.

“Hey,” Fuma replies with a bright smile, turning to focus on where they're running.

It's funny, seeing Fuma outside their apartment building - not in the hall, not on his balcony, but out on the street. Like seeing the bottom half of a muppet. It’s one thing to know in theory that Fuma leaves his home, has a whole life out in the world. It’s another to see it in action. 

They run. Down the pavement, round the corner, down a second and third street. All the while Fuma keeps Yudai’s head covered beside his own. 

The rain is practically coming sideways, and by the time they burst through the front door of their building, everything from Yudai’s shoulders down is completely soaked. But his head is still mostly dry, thanks to Fuma.

“Thank you,” Yudai says as they wait for the elevator. “You didn't have to do that though. You're soaked through now.”

Fuma just shrugs. “It's just water.” He checks his watch as they board the lift. “Working late again?”

“I was with friends,” Yudai replies. He'd had dinner with Nicholas and Euijoo, helping them review the contract on the apartment they were putting an offer in on. 

He's not sure why he'd offered. Property law was not really his area, but he'd wanted to help just the same. An extra set of eyes in case their conveyancer was lousy - there were plenty of cheats in the industry. Still, he's not certain it was a great idea. He'd had a few late nights recently, and something about seeing another contract in his off hours had made his chest feel tight in a way he couldn't easily shake off.

“You?”

“Just went for a walk,” Fuma tells him as they exit onto their floor. “I timed it badly.”

“From my perspective, you timed it perfectly,” Yudai replies, and it thrills him the way Fuma’s face crumples into a smile at this. The way he smiles is so unassuming and pure. It captures his whole face, like it’s barely contained there. Sometimes when Fuma laughs he even bends backwards with it. Yudai loves when this happens.

“Anyway,” Yudai murmurs, realising he's been looking at Fuma for a beat too long. “Thank you. Give Yadon a pat for me.”

He turns to unlock his door, and comes up short. The keypad won't recognise his wet fingers, any of them. He tries to wipe them on his clothing, but his clothing is just as wet as he is, and it only seems to make the situation worse.

“Uh,” he says, mostly to himself, as he contemplates how to solve this problem.

“Do you want to come in and dry your hands?” Fuma laughs from his own open doorway. His lock does not seem affected by his equally sodden state.

“I might have to,” Yudai sighs, and he feels somehow nervous at the idea of entering Fuma’s apartment. “Is that ok?”

Fuma for his part seems unaffected. “It's fine. Come in,” Fuma tells him, opening the door a little wider.

Yudai steps into the quiet interior, toeing off his sodden shoes in the doorway. It feels strange to be on this side of the divide, rather than peering in from the outer. Like he’s crossed into another universe somehow, a mirror of his own apartment. Same grey backsplash in the kitchen, same white fake-granite countertop, same cream-coloured walls. 

Fuma’s apartment is a neat and orderly space, nothing much like Yudai’s more chaotic interiors. The furniture is all languid creams and blues and touches of dark wood, unassuming and practical. There's a cream-coloured cat tree over by the balcony doors, though no sign of Yadon. The only real spark of personality is the intermittent punctuation of Pokemon-themed homewares. A Pikachu clock, a blanket printed with the different Eevees strewn on the couch, a water bottle decorated by some penguin-like creature Yudai doesn't remember the name of. Like someone had ordered an apartment out of an IKEA catalogue and then asked a ten-year-old to add the final touches. 

“I’m dripping on your floors,” Yudai says as he stands on the kitchen tiles while Fuma rummages in one of the drawers.

“It's fine. Here.” He stands up, handing Yudai a tea towel. Predictably, it is adorned with various purple ghost-type Pokemon.

“Do you shop exclusively at the Pokemon centre?” Yudai asks mildly as he accepts the tea towel. Fuma laughs at this, moving past him again.

“Maybe,” Fuma’s disembodied voice replies as he vanishes into the hall briefly. He returns in seconds with two large, hotel-like towels, huge and white and thick. “Are you cold? Take this.”

Yudai accepts one of the towels. He is cold, now that he thinks about it. It's still warm outside, but Fuma’s apartment traps his air conditioning well. “I’m so wet I’ll just soak it though.”

Fuma nods, and he seems a little embarrassed. “You can… you can take your shirt off. I won't look.”

And without waiting he turns his back. Like someone in a romance novel. Yudai stares at him for a moment, unsure if he should proceed. But he's freezing, and it's proving difficult to keep his hands dry when his shirt is still emitting rivulets of water down his arms. 

He knows he could leave right now, walk back to his own apartment with this towel and get inside, there's nothing really stopping him. He should do that. A responsible and rational person would do that.

He takes his shirt off. 

The towel is warm and fluffy and it smells like fresh linen and the faint scent of the apartment, which he figures is in itself the faint scent of Fuma. Something woodsy, almost. He’s bundling the wet shirt up on the countertop when he glances up, and stops. 

Fuma is also taking his shirt off. 

He hasn't waited for Yudai to turn his own back, hasn't even asked him to. He has his back to Yudai, and Yudai feels his breath catch in his chest as Fuma pulls the clinging wet fabric off to reveal a hard, muscled back beneath it. He knows he should look away. A droplet of water rolls down Fuma’s spine, and Yudai follows it over his smooth, tanned skin to where it vanishes beneath the top of Fuma’s shorts. 

And then the towel comes down and envelops Fuma, and Yudai blinks, and quickly pulls his eyes somewhere else.

Fuma’s counter is strewn with strange pieces of pipe and plastic and wires, screwdrivers and rubber bands. “What are you making?” he asks curiously as Fuma joins him in the kitchen, filling up the kettle.

“Ventilator for a snake,” he replies as if this is a normal answer, setting the kettle to boil. He comes to stand beside Yudai, perhaps to see what Yudai is seeing. “They don't make equipment designed for many animals. We have to DIY a lot.”

“Oh,” Yudai murmurs, turning to face Fuma properly. “That’s kind of amazing, Fuma. You must be handy then.”

“I am,” Fuma replies quietly, and he sounds a little shy all of a sudden. It amazes Yudai, that Fuma cares nothing about taking off his shirt, but that an errant compliment seems to tilt him off guard.

Yudai is suddenly painfully aware of how close his bare skin is to Fuma’s. It’s taking everything in him to keep looking at Fuma’s face, not to glance down at his naked chest visible beneath the open towel draped over him. And apparently everything in him isn't enough, because he falters. He steals a look, and almost wishes he hadn't.

Fuma’s chest is as ridiculous as his back, perfectly muscled like he's been drawn from a romance manga. Once he's looking it's hard to stop. His gaze moves lower, traces the lines of Fuma’s abs, the slight hint of hair below his navel disappearing beneath his wet pants, the line of his boxers just visible. The wet fabric is clinging to Fuma’s thighs. Yudai is in dangerous territory.

When he finally snaps his eyes back to Fuma’s face, he knows Fuma has seen. There's the slope of a smile to his mouth, though his cheeks are dusted ever-so-gently with pink.

“Sorry,” Yudai murmurs.

“Sorry?” Fuma echoes. His voice is a low rumble. Yudai finds himself watching Fuma’s lips as he speaks. “What for?”

“Invasion of privacy,” Yudai replies, and he sounds stupidly breathless to his own ears as he tries valiantly to maintain eye contact. “I should go.”

“You could,” Fuma tells him. He's still so close, hasn't moved even though the kettle is boiling now. The roiling water sounds like the inside of Yudai’s head. Yudai watches Fuma’s gaze flit down to Yudai’s lips, and back. His voice is still low when he adds: “You don't have to, though.”

Yudai doesn't know who moves first. All he knows is time seems to skip and stutter on a moment, and then his back is pressed against the countertop with Fuma’s mouth on his own.

The last time Yudai had let a man touch him like this had been almost two years ago, someone he’d barely known in the bathroom of a work conference social evening. He’s been worked up and agitated, needed a release, was tired enough to let a stranger close. Something meaningless and unsentimental, a little rough and impersonal. Nothing like this.

Fuma kisses the way he seems to do everything else, with intention. He's unhesitant and thorough as he maps Yudai’s lips, draws out his tongue. Yudai feels like simmering water as Fuma’s hands run across his stomach, reach round to his back, and then without a word he lifts Yudai up without effort to place him on the countertop. It knocks the wind out of Yudai, being handled as though he is something small and weightless. Heat sears his skin beneath Fuma’s hands, thoughts senseless with want.

For what feels like the first time in as long as he can remember, Yudai feels whole. Solid. Like he’s been turned from a two dimensional paper man into something real for a few stolen moments.

Fuma pushes in between Yudai’s thighs, greedy to get closer, and Yudai lets him in. He's dizzy with the thrill of it all, with the fire that sings through him, with the way Fuma’s hands claim his bare skin. He could get drunk on this, he thinks, hands tugging at Fuma’s hair a little, tilting Fuma’s head back to get more of him.

It's a strange and wild feeling, this absolute wanting. It's something Yudai hasn't felt in a long time, something he's been consciously running away from for years. He feels it now pulling him in, that sensation of standing at the edge of the abyss and wanting to go over yourself. 

The call of the void. It scares him to death.

The fire inside him is too bright, too insistent. Like everything else in him it wants too much, and Yudai is afraid that if he lets it burn it’ll turn him to ashes.

They separate with a small gasp, Yudai breathless and panting, Fuma almost the same. Yudai’s heart is hammering in his chest, loud enough that it feels like it should drown out the entire room. But there's only the sound of the rain outside and Fuma’s Pikachu clock ticking through the kitchen.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Yudai hears himself saying, almost unable to believe he's managed to get the words out. His voice sounds unlike his own.

He sees a flash of disappointment on Fuma’s features, but then something softer takes its place. Fuma rocks back on his feet, putting space between them as his hands come away. Yudai feels the loss of them on his skin like ice.

“We’re neighbours,” Fuma nods. “It's probably a bad idea.”

That isn't what Yudai had meant, but he's willing to take the out. Easier than explaining the fear inside him, the raw terror that just looking at Fuma right now elicits. Endless possibility wrapped neatly in dread.

Better to cut it off now, while it's still early. Kill it in the cradle. Just an attraction, not acted on. He's no stranger to those.

“A bad idea,” he repeats. He smiles sheepishly at Fuma, and Fuma holds his hand as Yudai slips down off the counter. Always the gentleman.

“I should give you your towel back,” Yudai murmurs, but Fuma shakes his head.

“You can't walk into the hallway shirtless. Number 11 has children.” His smile is skirting around his features, and Yudai is relieved to know they haven't broken whatever it is they share.

“It won't be awkward, will it?” Yudai finds himself asking as he moves towards the door. “Next time I see you.”

“If it's awkward,” Fuma says, “it's not because we kissed. That's just me.” And he laughs his silly, bright laugh.

Yudai finds himself smiling back.

*

He showers as soon as he gets inside his apartment. He’d meant to simply freshen up, but instead he finds himself thinking about Fuma’s hands again. About that one droplet running down Fuma’s back. About the wet fabric clinging to his chest and his thighs. About his possessive mouth. About the way Fuma had lifted him in one go, as though he had weighed nothing to Fuma. 

His own hand isn't the same, but it makes do. He comes fast, accidentally bites his lip trying not to say a name out loud. 

He feels a little guilty, when he goes to bed that night. It's fine, he tells himself. That's the point of a harmless crush.

Two days later, Yudai takes his dinner out onto his balcony just as Fuma is finishing hanging out his laundry. 

“Yudai,” Fuma says after the last t-shirt is up, coming to lean on the wall between them. “Do you know where to buy a good dress shirt?”

His bare arms pull Yudai’s gaze, just for a second, and then Yudai nods and focuses. 

It's normal. Completely normal.

Yudai is relieved. 

He thinks.

*

August

“You got a dog?”

Yudai probably should have expected that the loud, intermittent barking coming from his balcony would draw attention. He's glad it's just Fuma, and not the prickly old lady on his left. Though he suspects her hearing may have vacated the premises years ago if their hallway chats are anything to go on.

“It's Maki’s,” Yudai corrects from where he's sitting on the ground with his back to the wall, a fluffy pile of white draped across his lap. His phone buzzes in his pocket. The preview tells him it's from Taki: im so sorry im so sorry im so sorry… it reads, before the preview cuts off.

There's another two messages below it from his boss. Something about an international meeting being moved to tomorrow night. 9pm on a Sunday. Yudai feels like there’s a storm cloud trapped in his chest, squeezed tight until it scratches at the bottom of his throat. He’s been noticing this feeling more and more, of late.

When he glances up, Fuma looks even more surprised. “Maki got a dog? Who let Maki get a dog?”

As far as Yudai knows, Fuma has never met Maki, but apparently Yudai has told him enough stories about Taki’s roommate to leave an impression. Maki and Taki, who share both a first name and a life’s mission to cause trouble for Yudai, if in completely different ways.

“It’s his family dog,” Yudai explains, his hand buried in the dog’s fluffy white fur as he scratches behind her ears. “He smuggled her into their student housing and got caught. But his parents can't come pick her up til tomorrow, so…”

“So now you have a dog,” Fuma finishes, a hint of amusement in his deep voice.

Yudai flicks his phone open, types out a quick, you didn't do anything stop apologising.

“Temporarily,” Yudai insists, looking up once the message is sent. “Though she's clearly not enjoying the situation, look.” He stops scratching Nami’s ears, and she immediately raises her head and lets out a loud bark, and another. The sound echoes off the brickwork, and Yudai starts scratching her head again to make it stop. He can hear something unstable in his voice as he adds, “I think she might hate me. It's fine.”

“She doesn't hate you,” Fuma replies, more seriously than Yudai had expected. “Have you ever had a dog?”

“Never,” Yudai confirms, disappointed to know it's that obvious. He'd had fish once, for a year. He's beginning to suspect the skillset isn’t transferable. 

Fuma nods, more to himself than anything else. “Ok. Come on.”

“Come on where?”

“To the park. I'll help.”

Yudai stares at him, but Fuma is already heading for his living room. “Meet you in the hall,” he says, before closing the balcony door shut and locking it.

His phone lights up. Taki again.

baby chick 🐥 

i'm still sorry

that my roommate is a dumbass

that you're the only person we could ask

i love you and im sorry

Yudai stares at the messages for a moment, that tight feeling in chest softening a little, and then he pushes himself up. This is happening, he supposes. 

The last time he'd seen Fuma outside his own apartment had been - well. Had ended with them both shirtless in Fuma’s kitchen. It's been fine since then, surprisingly normal, even if Yudai occasionally has vivid flashbacks to the feel of Fuma’s lips and the sight of his bare chest. To his hands on Yudai’s back and the way his tongue had pressed inside Yudai’s mouth. Flashbacks he contains to the shower, or his bed.

But in the daylight, Fuma is contained on his balcony, a wall of brick and plant between them, and Yudai is safe, watching from his side. This, standing outside in the street with Fuma, out in the real world. This feels a little more dangerous.

When they arrive downstairs, Fuma takes Nami’s lead without comment. The morning sunshine catches in his warm eyes, and Yudai feels a little spellbound.

He's grown used to admiring at a distance, the small brick barrier between them like a picture frame. But this Fuma is so much realer and more tangible again, and it's doing something funny to his nerves. He can't seem to look at Fuma for more than a few seconds before flinching and looking away.

Without discussion they begin to walk towards the large park behind the station. Nami seems immediately happier to be outside, nosing her way from building to telephone pole in front of them. As they walk, Yudai tells Fuma about Taki’s new boyfriend, who Yudai does not trust as far as he can throw. The kid has cat eyes and shark teeth and the demeanour of someone who knows how to commit credit card fraud.

“You seem concerned.”

“Not concerned. Wary,” Yudai corrects as they cross the road, and Fuma laughs. “I'm not saying anything to Taki though. You should be proud of me.”

“I am proud,” Fuma nods, pausing to let Nami sniff a little longer at an electrical box. “It's hard, when you care.”

“It is!” Yudai whines, stamping his feet a little just to make Fuma laugh some more.

“You must take after your parents,” Fuma muses warmly, and Yudai feels something cold flash through him, breath catching in his throat as it tightens a little. He’s silent for a beat too long.

“No,” he says finally, in as level a tone as he can manage. “Not at all, really.”

“Ah,” Fuma replies with an understanding nod, and Yudai is relieved that Fuma’s tone does not ask for him to elaborate.

“Sometimes I get like that with Harua,” Fuma says instead, and Yudai has never been more grateful for him in that moment. 

Fuma’s beloved baby cousin had started a veterinary placement at his clinic about two weeks ago. Fuma had been so excited when he’d told Yudai, his whole face beaming with pride. Now he sighs, scratching his nose absently. “I just want him to do well, but. He keeps catching me watching him.”

Yudai laughs as he pats Fuma on the shoulder comfortingly, pure instinct that he immediately regrets. He could have lived his entire life without being reminded of how solid Fuma’s shoulders are. “You're a good man, Murata Fuma. Harua is lucky to have you looking out for him.”

This seems to catch Fuma by surprise. He ducks his head, a smile threatening to overwhelm him. He makes a humming sound, but doesn’t say anything else.

There's an off-leash dog area fenced in near the entrance to the park. They let Nami inside to run around with the other dogs.

“This should tire her out,” Fuma says, watching as she bounds after a large greyhound. 

Yudai glances at him, feeling a strange prickle in his gut of something somewhat unpleasant. It has the feel and taste of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, folding his arms on the railings in front of them.

“For what?”

“For interrupting your weekend like this.”

Fuma shakes his head. “I needed to get out of the house. It’s nicer to walk with you and Nami.” He glances sideways at Yudai, something in Yudai’s tone apparently drawing his cautious attention. “Are you ok?”

“I'm just frustrated,” Yudai frowns, watching the tumbling masses of fur in front of them. “This isn't like me.”

“What isn't?”

“This. Getting overwhelmed by a dog. Needing help from…” he trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Unsure who Fuma is to him these days. A neighbour? A friend? “Needing help. I'm not that person.”

Fuma is quiet for a moment, and Yudai is afraid he might have offended his companion. But then Fuma asks: “Is it that bad? Needing help?”

The sun is warm on the back of Yudai’s neck as it crawls into the sky. The sensation of it makes him feel ten again, for a moment. He’s ten, and he’d begged his older sister to take him to the park, and she’d finally relented. Even though they needed to cook their own dinner soon. Even with all the homework and housework she hadn’t gotten to yet. He remembers watching her from on top of the climbing castle that he had almost gotten too old for, realising in that moment for perhaps the first time just how sad and tired she had looked. That acrid guilt unfurling in his stomach like a blooming flower.

A dog barks, and he blinks, and it’s Fuma beside him again. 

He lets out a long breath. “Feels bad,” he says, without elaboration.

Fuma is quiet again. He's leaning on the fence, gaze following Nami as she runs after a ball someone else is throwing for the pack. After a minute, he says, “Yesterday someone brought their cat into the clinic. They thought it had a growth on its ear. Cancer, maybe.” He pauses. “It was chocolate.”

Yudai startles a laugh at this. “Really?”

“Really. I wiped it off.”

“That's awkward for them.”

“A little,” Fuma agrees. Yudai can see him smiling from the corner of his eye. “But given the alternative…it's always better to ask, right?”

Yudai turns to look at him, but Fuma is still just watching Nami. He doesn't add anything else.

They return to the apartment building before the sun gets too high, lingering in the hall as Yudai fumbles with the keypad on his door. Nami flops on his feet while she waits, as if she’s already lived a full day.

“All tired out,” Fuma says with a fond smile as he crouches down to scratch behind her ears. His hands are so strong and so gentle at the same time, and his hair falls into his eyes a little, and Yudai is left breathless for a moment. 

He feels something flutter in his chest, the beat of wings stirring against his ribcage. There's something real and solid about this feeling that sends a nervous buzz of electricity across Yudai’s skin. It's not quite like the sharp but shallow heat he is used to, looking at Fuma’s bare waist or strong hands. It’s something quieter but more insistent, a pull, a riptide deep inside himself. A craving for something more real than anything he’s felt of late.

Don’t do this, he tells himself. Please don’t do this.

“Thank you,” Yudai says out loud, after he gets his door open to the trill of the electric lock. He's relieved at how steady his voice comes out. Fuma just nods.

“You're welcome, Yudai.” 

Such an unusual person, Yudai thinks. It sounds like he means it, too. 

*

September

“And you know which petrol it needs?”

“The same petrol most cars need, come on Yudai,” Taki groans, throwing his head back against the driver’s seat in gentle frustration. He’s still smiling though, not truly annoyed. He has endless patience for Yudai. “I’ve driven your car before.”

“Not in Tokyo,” Yudai sighs from where he’s draped against the outside of the door. The metal is warm against his skin. 

“But we’re leaving Tokyo, that’s the point. No traffic in nature.”

“What about deer?”

Taki reaches through the open window, pats Yudai on the head. “I won’t drive your car into a deer in the middle of a national park, Yudai. I promise.”

“We promise,” adds Yuma from the passenger seat, with his catlike smile. Yudai just stares at him blankly, which most people find intimidating, but Yuma just seems to find amusing. 

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Yudai replies grimly. He has grown to like Yuma, but liking Yuma and trusting Yuma are two separate entities entirely. He sighs, pushing himself off the car. “Ok. Enjoy your trip, be safe, all that shit.”

“Yes, ma,” Taki salutes. The car growls to life, and Yudai waves as the little boxy vehicle trundles off the curb and onto the road. It’s only for four days, and they’re spending most of it in a campsite in Yamanashi. He takes a deep breath as they vanish from sight. Taki can be trusted with a car for four days of glamping, surely.

“You look like you need a beer,” says a low, amused voice from above him, and Yudai glances up to see Fuma’s head peering over the side of his first floor balcony.

“Don’t have kids,” Yudai replies flatly, shielding his eyes with his hand to see Fuma better in the sunset glare of late evening. With a jolt to his gut he realises Fuma is shirtless, a skipping rope looped around the back of his neck. He can only see Fuma’s shoulders and collarbone, but it’s like being hit with a falling piano. 

The lines of Fuma’s body are sculpted as though from granite, but not cold like granite is. They’re shiny with sweat, warmly reflecting the blazing golden light as though it comes from within Fuma himself. Yudai remembers, not for the first time, how strong Fuma really is.

He’s staring. He catches himself, pulls his eyes back to Fuma’s face, and he isn't sure but he thinks Fuma looks like he’s followed the trail of Yudai’s gaze. He has the slightest hint of amusement to the quirk of his lips. Yudai opens his mouth to say something else, he’s not sure what, when suddenly something changes. 

It’s hard to identify what exactly, for a moment. Like someone has suddenly turned off the bass on a stereo system - a layer of ambient noise that had been unnoticeable in its omnipresence is suddenly felt only in its absence. A dying whir seems to echo all around them, and he realises its the sound of air conditioning units falling silent, lights in windows flickering off. The power has gone out on their street. 

A dog barks from a nearby building, and a neighbour yells something indiscernibly nearby.

“Blackout?” Yudai calls up, and Fuma nods, glancing back into his apartment. 

“Looks like it. You should take the stairs.”

This is the second blackout on their street in as many months. The old powergrid doesn’t quite have the juice to handle how long and hot the summer has been, how many air conditioners are still running at all hours even now into September. Yudai is grateful once again to live in a first floor apartment, not a twentieth floor one like he used to. He jogs up the fire stairwell and into his own apartment, checking the fuse box to see if he can revive anything, but no luck.

When he steps out onto the balcony, it’s just in time to catch a last glimpse of Fuma’s impossibly defined torso before it disappears beneath a plain grey gym shirt. His hair is plastered to the back of his neck with sweat, and he turns when he hears Yudai’s door.

“Everything’s off in here,” Fuma announces, and Yudai nods.

“Same.” He frowns. “Guess I’m ordering dinner in.”

In truth, he’d been meaning to anyway. More and more of late he’s been finding himself unable to cook, frozen in his path the moment he opens the fridge. It’s not just the late nights, though there are plenty. Even when he’s home at a reasonable hour, the thought just feels overwhelming. The same feeling is creeping into other places too, he’s noticed. The laundry he hasn’t folded, the power bill he hasn’t settled, the slight flash of irritation when Jo had come by his desk for help this morning. Even making Taki come and pick the car up with all his bags, instead of Yudai driving it the few streets between them like he’d meant to. Things are slipping, somehow, and he can’t seem to find a way to pick them back up.

Yudai hesitates, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious for a moment. “We could combine orders? Save the service fee?”

Fuma’s serious expression melts into a pleased smile as he nods, and Yudai feels a buzz in his gut.

They settle on cold ramen, and Fuma leaves to shower while they wait for the delivery. The sun hasn’t vanished just yet but the light is getting dimmer in his apartment. Thirty minutes later, he collects the delivery from the front door and heads back out to the balcony.

“How do we do this?” Yudai asks, as Fuma joins him outside again. His hair is damp, clothes loose and relaxed, and something about the honest bareness of his appearance makes Yudai feel nervous all over again. “Divvy it up over the wall?”

“Just come here,” Fuma replies with a hint of gentle amusement. 

“To your side?”

Fuma shrugs. “Unless you wanted to eat alone?”

“No, I’m coming.” 

Yudai hands him the bag of noodles before staring at the brick wall for a moment, and he feels the tug of hesitation inside himself, the slight thrill of danger almost, but he pushes past it. He slips sideways over the wall, and then he is standing on Fuma’s balcony. 

He's been in Fuma’s apartment, but something about the way he associates Fuma with the balcony makes this feel more personal. Like only now has he really made an incursion into a space so uniquely Fuma’s. It's simple, uncluttered, free of the thin layer of soil that seems to permanently colour Yudai’s tiles. There's just a small chilli plant, and a table with two chairs, and some exercise equipment. He feels a little awkward and ungainly in this space, hovering while he waits for his cue from Fuma. 

Fuma for his part seems largely unbothered. He pulls out one of the chairs at the little table he has, gestures at the other. Yudai joins him.

They divide the food into two portions quietly. Yudai can’t tell if the silence is awkward or comfortable. He’s never been able to tell these things. Fuma seems like the kind of person who is happy in silence. Yudai hopes he is.

“That was Taki, right?” Fuma asks finally after he swallows a mouthful of food. “In your car?”

Yudai nods. “The one and only.” He realises how rigidly he is sitting, leans back against the chair slightly as he tries to release the tension in his limbs.

Fuma isn’t watching him, thankfully. He's focused on his food. “That's nice of you, to lend it to him.”

Yudai nods, winding noodles around his chopsticks. “I hope so. I’m going to worry all weekend.” He takes a bite, swallows it. “Sometimes I'm a bit stupid about him. ”

“He's important to you.”

Yudai grimaces, mostly at himself. “All my friends are, but Taki… We grew up in similar households. Not much parenting. I never want him to feel alone.”

Fuma nods at this, quiet for a moment as he chews a mouthful. He finishes, and smiles. “Where have we landed on the boyfriend?”

Yudai tries to ignore the little thrill he feels at that ‘we’. “We like him. We think. He’s still on probation.”

Fuma nods at this, absently piling noodles onto his spoon before grinding to a halt. “Oh, sorry,” he says suddenly, sitting up straight. “I offered you a beer before.”

“No, no,” Yudai replies quickly, holding up a hand. “It’s fine. I don’t drink much.”

“Oh.” Fuma nods, relaxing slightly. “Cool.”

“Not never,” Yudai continues hurriedly. “I just-”

“Yudai,” Fuma cuts him off, relaxed but with certainty. “Stop justifying yourself.”

Yudai grinds to a halt. He’s used to pushback, always pushback. At parties, and god, at work dinners. People so often act like he’s murdered their dog, just because he doesn’t want a drink. 

But Fuma isn’t even looking at him, he’s back to focusing on his noodles again. He seems completely unbothered. 

Yudai finds himself watching Fuma with a smile that he can’t keep off his features. He finds Fuma so endlessly fascinating, the way he never quite reacts to things the way other people do. 

He knows it's dangerous, following that thread that seems to run from him towards Fuma, letting himself tug at it gently. But he can’t help wanting to steal a piece of that feeling for himself again, that realness that only Fuma can seem to provoke in him. 

“Hey Fuma,” Yudai says, watching Fuma fish about in his bowl for something intently. “What do you like?”

Fuma finally looks up from his noodles. He seems surprised, a little uncertain. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I know you like your job and camping and obviously Pokemon.” He gestures backwards at Fuma’s apartment. “What else?”

Fuma seems to take a moment to consider this, his eyes darting away from Yudai to the street as he thinks. After a moment he comes back with: “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know,” Fuma repeats with a shrug, a self-conscious smile. “Just regular stuff. Reading, working out. I’m not a- not a thing.”

Yudai keeps himself from laughing, but only just. “A thing?”

“I’m not a runner, or a chef, or an artist. A thing.” Fuma presses his lips together slightly, his words coming out slowly as he thinks. “I’m ordinary. I like it when it’s quiet. I like to fix things - house things, vet equipment. I like animals and cute things. None of this is a personality.” He frowns into his noodles, stirring them with his chopsticks.

Yudai shakes his head. “It sounds like a personality to me,” he insists. 

Fuma just shrugs. “I moved to Tokyo two years ago and I’m still not sure how to even make friends here. Everyone moves so fast.” He takes a bite of food, pauses for a moment as he swallows. “Harua always tells me to join a club.”

“A club?”

Fuma nods, and there's humour in his voice when he says, “Clubs are where the weird people gather.”

Yudai laughs at this. Polite conversation means he should at this point assure Fuma that he isn't weird, but that wouldn't be true. Fuma is weird. Yudai just happens to like it.

“We’re friends,” Yudai says instead. “Aren’t we? We’re sharing a meal.”

Fuma finally looks at him again, a trace of surprise on his face for a moment. And then it resolves into a smile. “We are.” He hesitates for a moment, and then adds: “You make it easy. To be myself.”

He holds Yudai’s gaze for a few moments, and the air feels strangely thick all of a sudden, and Yudai becomes suddenly aware of how close their knees are together. If he were to shift just an inch they'd be pressing together, bare skin on bare skin. 

Yudai breaks eye contact. Begins poking around in his ramen self-consciously.

And then Fuma says casually: “I lie to people about my birthday.”

Yudai is forced to look up at him again. “You what? Why?”

There’s amusement in Fuma’s eyes as he swallows down some soup. “I hate astrology. I like it when I do something and they say, ‘Oh, you’re such a Pisces’. But I know I’m not a Pisces at all.” He shrugs, leans back in his chair a little. Yudai watches him, trying to fit this piece of information into his map of Fuma.

“That’s kind of weird, Fuma.”

“Kind of,” Fuma agrees.

“When’s your actual birthday?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The laugh is barely contained in Fuma’s features, dancing in his eyes and on his lips. It’s captivating, the way his strange humour lights him up from inside out. “Late June,” he adds finally with a shrug. Yudai considers this for a moment.

“Is that the truth?”

“Guess,” he says with a smile that Yudai finds himself echoing easily.

“There you are then,” Yudai says. “You can identify as a liar.”

Fuma laughs at this, properly laughs, tilts his head back a little as he does so. Yudai can’t look away. He can feel his heartbeat echoing all through his body.

When Yudai was a young teenager, there was a stupid game he liked to play with one of his equally stupid friends. They’d take turns trying to pull loose sticks and chips of bark out of the lit stone grill in his garden. See who could get the biggest piece before the risk of a burn became reality.

Getting Fuma to reveal his inner workings, getting him to smile, it’s all beginning to feel like part of that dangerous game. 

He knows he can’t get too close. Letting someone in would require exposing all the strange, scribbly mess inside him, the faulty wiring and the damaged circuits. Would mean having another person ask things of him that he feels less and less like he can give. Would mean having to ask another person for things he’s never been able to ask for.

To love someone means giving yourself away. He doesn’t think he has any more parts of himself left to give away. 

But Fuma is like that addicting warm glow of a fire, and he wants to risk getting burnt, just a little.

“I don’t think you need to be anything more, Fuma,” Yudai finds himself saying. One inch closer to the flames. “I like you as you are.”

Fuma seems to go entirely still, his eyes round, completely caught off guard. And Yudai is certain neither of them have moved, but it suddenly seems as though there’s no space at all between them. Fuma’s knee brushes against his, lightly, cautiously. Yudai can't tell if it's an accident or on purpose.

This is the moment, he thinks, if I was someone else. 

For a second, he can feel what it would be like to move forward, to lean in. As though in some alternate universe he is doing exactly that, right now, and he can feel the ghost of it in his body here in this one. What was it called when those atoms got tied together? Quantum entanglement?

For a second he lets himself imagine it. Lets himself fill in the imaginary spaces of what Fuma’s lips would feel like against his own again, what Fuma’s arms would feel like around him, calls to mind that image of Fuma’s bare shoulders and his chest and how he might claim that territory as his. Lets himself sink into that reality, just for a second, one where the very thought doesn’t terrify him.

But the fire leaps up, twin embers of desire and fear singing through Yudai. 

He shifts back a little, and the thick air seems to dissipate between them.

The noise of the cicadas rushes in to fill the space, their chorus echoing from the buildings all around them, and for a few moments they simply listen to the evening song. And then a base line whirr kicks in, and the street lamp across from them flickers to light, and Fuma’s living room follows suit.

“Oh,” Fuma murmurs, glancing behind him.

“It’s alive,” Yudai sings in an exaggerated tone, and Fuma laughs, head falling backward. 

“Did you want dessert?” he offers. “I have ice cream.”

Yudai sighs, glancing at his own apartment, the light from inside beckoning him. “I should probably go inside, I have some work to finish.”

“Of course,” Fuma nods, his arms laced behind his head as he leans back in his chair. His eyes are half closed.

Yudai feels a brush against his legs, and then a small bundle of black and brown and orange jumps into his lap. “Oh,” he murmurs, staring down at the little cat that has claimed him all of a sudden. “Hello.” 

Yadon doesn’t acknowledge his greeting, but begins to knead his thigh. Yudai can hear him purring.

“Just put him on the ground,” Fuma replies, his lips quirking up into a smile. Yudai hesitates, staring as the cat makes himself comfortable. He checks his watch, and then Yadon again, and then he sighs, leaning back slightly as he glances at Fuma.

“Did you say ice cream?”

*

October 

The roll of the balcony door feels loud in the late quiet of the night.

Light from the kitchen stretches across the dim living space and follows him out into the cooling night. It's late, so late that any urgency of getting to bed has long since passed into resigned acceptance. Yudai hovers for a moment in the doorway, breathing in the night air. 

He’s told it had been unusually warm again today, clear skies too, though he hadn't seen any of it. There's an immense weight of guilt hanging over him as he looks around at his neglected plant menagerie. He hasn't made it home before ten any day this week, and his watering routine has been neglected.

Except that when he looks at the dramatic little strawberry plant, the tops of its leaves curling slightly, the soil is darker than it should be. He reaches out, feels it with his fingers. It's damp. 

Had he watered it this morning and forgotten? It's entirely possible. The entire week has been a blur of long days and late nights.

This is it, Yudai thinks, hand resting on the soil. I’ve finally, truly lost it.

And then: “They looked dry.”

Yudai startles, head whipping to his right to see Fuma standing on his doormat. He's in a t-shirt and sweat pants as he so often is in the evenings, the light from his apartment spilling out into the night around him.

Ever since the blackout a few weeks back, Yudai has felt ever-so-slightly on edge around Fuma. Jittery and nervous and flustered in a way he has no excuse for. He doesn't know if Fuma has noticed. Tonight, though, he's simply too tired for any of that.

“You should be asleep,” Yudai tells him, absently glancing at his watch. He looks at the damp soil in his pots again, and then Fuma’s words register. “You watered my plants?”

“I hope that's ok.”

Yudai stares at him, and for a sudden horrible moment he feels tears welling up in his eyes. He knows his face is illuminated by his apartment just the same way Fuma’s is, knows Fuma can see this happening, if his frozen expression is anything to go by. Great. Incredible. Another classic from Koga Yudai.

“I'm sorry,” Yudai mutters, wiping his arm across his eyes. “Thank you. I'm really grateful.”

“Are you ok?” Fuma asks, and for some reason this brings the fresh sting of saline to Yudai’s eyes.

He lets out a groan, pressing his hands to his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine.”

“Convincing,” Fuma murmurs. He still looks concerned. “Have you eaten?”

And then Yudai feels a fresh wave of tears, and this time to his humiliation they spill over, burning a line down his cheek.

Fuma is over the wall in seconds, hands on Yudai’s shoulders as he pulls him into a hug. In a strange moment of clarity Yudai realises they haven't really touched since the night that they kissed, not more than the brush of fingers or the bump of elbows. Suddenly he’s enveloped by Fuma, the strength of his arms and firmness of his chest, the way he smells a little like cherry shampoo and laundry detergent and that woodsy scent under it all, something only him. 

Something deep in Yudai’s brain feels panicked by the sudden closeness of him, wants him to run fast in the other direction, but it’s a tiny voice. Every other part of him only wants to lean in. So he does, leans into Fuma’s touch for a few long moments, rests his forehead on Fuma’s shoulder and closes his eyes as the strange wave of emotion passes through him and out again and he can get himself back under control.

Finally Fuma lets go, steps back. “Yudai?”

“I’m ok,” Yudai murmurs, wiping his hands over his damp eyes. He’s relieved to hear his voice come out normal again. “I’m just tired, I’m ok. I ate.”

“Come inside,” Fuma says, as though this is his place. He gently leads Yudai by the elbow into Yudai’s apartment, pulls him over to the couch and sits him down. Yudai lets himself be lead, feeling dazed and embarrassed and too tired to resist.

“What happened?” Fuma asks when they’re sitting.

Yudai is used to laughing this sort of question off. He doesn’t unload on other people. He doesn’t drag other people through the mess inside him. “It's not worth talking about. It's nothing.”

“Yudai.” There’s something about the way Fuma says his name, his low voice so warm and gentle. Something about the way he looks at Yudai with those wide eyes. Yudai finds himself speaking without thinking.

“My sister called me.” He hesitates, knows he should stop, but it’s like he can’t now that he’s started. He folds his legs up beside himself, turns to face Fuma where he’s leaning against the couch cushions. “She’s pregnant, freaking out. I owe her so much, I can’t not pick up. But I got behind on my work, and then Jo messed something of his own up. He was so scared of being yelled at, and he's just so young. So I stayed to help him fix it. Took hours. I was meant to go help Nico pack for the move tonight. I didn't even message to tell him I wasn't coming, I just straight up forgot. I've never done that before.” Yudai pushes the palms of his hands into his eyes. “I'm terrible.”

“You're not terrible.”

“I am, I'm garbage. And the worst part is how stupid all of this is. I shouldn’t be like this. I should be able to- to keep a strawberry plant alive.” He can hear how unsteady his voice is getting.

“Yudai.” Fuma’s tone is gentle, and then Yudai feels hands on his wrists, just as gentle, but firm. They pull his hands from his eyes, push them down. “It's ok.”

“It's not ok,” Yudai replies, and his throat feels hot and tight again as he forces the words out, and he thinks his cheeks might be wet. “It's not, I'm better than this, it's not ok.”

“Yudai,” Fuma says again, slow and even. “Stop. Breathe.”

He's watching Yudai with that focus he often has, crescent eyes so warm and real, and Yudai finds himself staring at them like they're the only thing he can recognise in an unfamiliar place. The bubbling wave of emotion begins to recede again, the tide turning on the shore as it begins to flow back out. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, and he blinks to clear his vision a little. Fuma nods, withdrawing his hands. Yudai hadn't realised they'd still been on his wrists, until Fuma lets go.

“This is embarrassing,” Yudai lets out in a long breath. Fuma shakes his head.

“It’s not,” he insists. He gives Yudai another few moments, looking away as he catalogues the inside of Yudai’s apartment for the first time. His eyes linger on the kitchen. “Your stovetop is nicer than mine.”

“Oh,” Yudai says again, because there’s not much else to say to that. “I don't use it much lately.”

“Shame,” Fuma muses. His eyes fall on a photo displayed beside the TV. “Is that from your friend’s wedding?”

Yudai nods. It’s his favourite photo from Nico and Juju’s reception. He’s dancing with the two of them and Taki and a couple of tall strangers he’d met only that evening but had gotten along famously with. He’s mid-laugh in that moment. He looks so light. He had felt so light.

His chest finally loosens as he looks at the photo. He’ll call Nicholas in the morning and apologise. He can make it up to him tomorrow. It’s not the apocalypse. Why had it felt like the apocalypse?

He focuses on Fuma, feels like he’s finally present again. Like his brain has come back online. “I’m so sorry, Fuma. It’s so late.”

“It's Friday.” Fuma shrugs, and the concern in his eyes finally gives way to something brighter. “I have news.”

“Oh?”

“Harua brought a dog into the clinic today. His new boyfriend's dog. A white spitz called Nami.”

“No.”

“Yep. I checked. Owner’s name is Riki, but everyone calls him…”

“Maki.”

Fuma nods. “So. What are your son's intentions with my son?” he murmurs, a mock serious tone, and Yudai laughs at this, finally a true and real laugh.

“I met him at closing time,” Fuma adds. “Maki. I like him. We’re all going for a meal next week.”

“He’s a good kid,” Yudai confirms. He lets out a long sigh, but it feels like a release as he runs his hands over his face. He feels distinctly lighter now. Like Fuma’s gentle, sturdy presence has anchored him back to reality. He drops his hands, staring at his neighbour with a strange feeling of relief.

He doesn't know what prompts him to reach out a hand to rest on Fuma’s knee. It's like he needs the connection so Fuma knows he means it when he says: “Thank you, Fuma. I feel not as awful.”

“That’s a start,” Fuma replies. He glances at Yudai’s hand, and then at the kitchen again, perhaps reading the time on the oven clock. “You should sleep.”

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight,” Yudai scoffs. “It’s impossible. I’ll just lie in bed and stare at the wall.”

“Oh,” Fuma hums thoughtfully. His eyes are on Yudai’s hand again. An unexpectedly weighty silence unfurls between them as Fuma looks up to hold his gaze. It feels expectant, somehow. Fuma is watching him in that piercing way he does, and Yudai feels his cheeks heat up a little. “Will you try? To sleep?”

“Maybe. I think I need a distraction,” Yudai replies, his thoughts blurring a little beneath Fuma’s gaze. He wonders if he’s imagining it, the way he thinks Fuma is looking at him. Surely no one could witness Yudai’s spectacular breakdown and still want him in that way. “These are the times I wish I drank more. Shut my brain up.”

“There are other ways to do that,” Fuma murmurs after a moment of silence, still looking at him, and Yudai’s heart is definitely beating faster than it should be. He doesn’t know how it’s possible, but he’s not imagining the way the air feels warm all of a sudden. He doesn’t know when it has happened, but the gap between them has shrunk, and it makes him shiver.

For the first time in days, weeks, he feels awake, alive, substantial beneath the weight of Fuma’s hand still on his knee, the heat of it. That feeling cuts through him like a knife, a starving man finally offered food. He’s so close to the fire, and he should probably move back, but he wants too much.

“Are there?” Yudai asks, his tone loaded with invitation. A slight push, to see what Fuma will do, but not so much that he can’t pull back.

Fuma’s lips are parted ever so slightly as he hesitates. Yudai’s heartbeat is loud in his ears, the nervous thrum of blood pulsing beneath his skin, and he thinks for a moment that surely, surely Fuma is going to stand up and walk away right now.

“I can help,” Fuma tells him instead with gentle certainty.

Yudai has always thought it was cheap, the way people would describe a kiss as electric. He's been shocked before on a broken cable, and it wasn't light and tingly, it was like a miniature explosion.

Now he understands. It's like the first peel of thunder after a long stifling day, the way Fuma’s lips feel against his own. The way every nerve in his body comes alive when Fuma leans into him, the kiss deepening, his hands tangling in Yudai’s long hair. Those hands that are so strong and certain, finally back on Yudai. 

Fuma’s fingers scrape the back of Yudai's neck in a way that drags a shaking noise out of him. Fuma pulls him in closer and Yudai goes willingly, forward onto his knees, legs astride Fuma’s lap. He feels hungry, desperate almost, and there's nothing gentle about the way Fuma is kissing him.

Yudai gasps as Fuma pulls him down and they fall backward onto the couch, but Fuma’s hands hold him steady, their lips and tongues still hungrily together. He’s straddling Fuma’s waist, hands in Fuma’s shirt, fingers exploring the lines and ridges of his muscles and the dip of his waist. He pushes the t-shirt up a little so he can finally appreciate what he knows is there.

“Shit, Fuma,” he murmurs, and he follows an instinct, dipping his head down to run his tongue from Fuma’s navel up his abs. Fuma whines at this, rough and unguarded, and the noise stokes something hot and urgent in Yudai’s gut. Fuma tugs at Yudai’s collar to bring them face to face again.

His lips are back on Yudai’s, firm and insistent. Yudai lets out a shuddering exhale as Fuma’s hands graze his thighs. Fuma’s sweatpants are loose, and Yudai can feel him slowly growing hard against Yudai’s leg.

“Fuma,” Yudai murmurs against his lips, and it takes everything in him to form words at this point. “You need to stop me now if you don’t want this to go further.”

Fuma stills at this, pulls back a little, his breathing a little ragged. His pupils are blown wide, and he blinks for a second, seemingly trying to will some kind of thought into his mind.

“I need to tell you,” he says with what looks like significant effort. He’s staring up at Yudai, hair a mess on the couch cushions. “I can’t do casual.”

“Oh,” Yudai replies uncertainly. He’s not sure what he had expected Fuma to say, but it hadn’t been that.

“It doesn’t work for me,” Fuma adds. His cheeks are lightly flushed, lips swollen. “I’m not that person.”

“Oh,” Yudai says again. For a strange second, his mind is completely empty, an echoing chasm. He feels like the room has tilted suddenly. Fuma watches him, waiting. There's a question in his expression. An invitation.

“Fuma,” Yudai sighs, sitting back on Fuma’s thighs. His brain had been so empty of anything except Fuma it takes a moment to try and hear himself again. But there's a heavy, choking feeling in his chest, and it only gets tighter as he says: “I think right now, casual is the only thing I can be.”

Fuma lets out a long breath at this, eyes closing for a moment. When he opens them again, he looks a little sad, but not entirely surprised.

“I wondered,” he says quietly.

“It’s not because of you. I wish I could tell you something else,” Yudai insists. “You have no idea how much I wish that.” 

Somewhere there's another universe with a better version of him who isn't terrified of what it means to love a person. Who knows how to do so without fear of becoming a martyr or a burden or somehow both at once. 

“It’s ok,” Fuma murmurs, hands dropping from Yudai’s waist back to his sides. “I’m sorry, you told me before.”

“I wanted you anyway,” Yudai replies. But he knows the truth about himself: the way he feels about Fuma isn’t casual, never could be. The very idea is a lie, an excuse to briefly steal something that he has no right to. An excuse to be selfish for a few minutes longer.

He moves back off Fuma’s lap as Fuma sits upright, pulling his shirt down. HIs hair is messed up at the back, cheeks flushed. When they both stand, there’s something a little awkward between them.

“I’ll go,” Fuma tells him. He's not looking Yudai in the eyes, not quite. “I really hope you get some rest, Yudai.”

“Thanks,” Yudai replies, trying to keep his voice light. “For tonight. All of it. Really.”

Fuma turns for the door, and Yudai’s heart feels like it's in freefall. For a moment, he wants to take it back. To tell Fuma that he can do this, that he can let someone else in, that he's ready. That if he's going to be burnt down to ashes, it might as well be Fuma to light the final match. 

Selfish. That's what it would be. To take, knowing he has nothing left to give. Selfish.

Fuma pauses at the balcony door. “I’m still here if you need,” he says over his shoulder. And then he’s gone, and Yudai is alone with his thoughts.

He doesn't sleep.

*

November 

Three weeks. 

Yudai has been avoiding his balcony for three weeks.

He slips out to water his plants under cover of night or extremely early morning, but otherwise, he is an indoor cat now.

He doesn't see Fuma out there much either. Well, there was one evening. Fuma was skipping rope, and Yudai’s delivery food had come with an extra portion, and for a moment he had forgotten. Had picked it up to take it outside and ask Fuma to join him, made it three steps before he had remembered.

He knows he's being a baby. Knows he could go out and act normal and carry on with their friendship as though nothing had happened, like they had after that first kiss. He wishes he was that kind of person. Someone less dramatic, more practical. Someone like Fuma, probably.

But he feels a little as though something has snapped inside him. His house is a mess, and he's struggling with his work deadlines. Poor Jo had had to cover for him in a meeting when he was asked a question about a contract he hadn't read yet. He hasn't been running in the mornings, just turns the alarm off and lies there. And he hasn't been over to help Nicholas and Euijoo with the move once. Keeps making excuses about work or feeling ill so he can stay inside on his couch to watch mindless TV and feel horribly guilty the entire time.

It's another Friday night where he's doing just that, debating what to order while not actually watching the episode of Singles Inferno playing on his TV, when there's an unexpected knock at his door.

He stills, afraid it might be Fuma, though what Fuma would have to say to him at this point is uncertain. And then his phone buzzes, and a message from Taki reads, let me in.

“Taki?” Yudai asks when he opens the door.

“Hey,” Taki replies as he pushes past Yudai into his apartment. He has a plastic bag in his arms that smells warm and spicy and familiar that he sets down in the kitchen. “Euijoo made you eel.”

Yudai feels self-conscious as he follows Taki into the kitchen, seeing the unwashed bowls and the basket of laundry and the books strewn on the floor as though through new eyes. “Euijoo’s here?”

“No,” Taki shakes his head. “We didn't want to overwhelm you with too many people.”

“We?” 

Taki doesn’t answer. He just points at the cupboard, so Yudai gets the last two clean bowls out and sets them on the counter. 

“What's this about?” Yudai asks as he fishes around in the cutlery drawer. He hears Taki pull the lid off the Tupperware container. The aroma of spiced eel wafts out in a cloud. 

“You didn't come help Nico and Ju pack.”

A sting of guilt hisses through Yudai’s stomach. He turns slowly. “I know, and I’m really sorry, I-”

Taki is shaking his head. “They're not mad at you,” he cuts in, taking a spoon out of Yudai’s hands. “They're worried about you.”

“Oh,” Yudai replies.

“You’ve been…off,” Taki tells him as he serves up two portions. Finally he looks up, his shaggy fringe not quite obscuring the way his caring eyes are fixed square on Yudai. “So. You ok?”

Yudai stares at him for a moment, opens his mouth to dismiss it, finds himself wordless. The idea of other people noticing the strange dark cloud he’s found himself trapped inside makes him feel cold and sweaty and desperate to disappear. But beneath it, there's a strange truth that's desperate to get out of him, and he doesn't have the energy to stop it.

“I don't know,” Yudai hears himself voice out loud. It feels odd on his tongue. “I'm really tired, I guess.”

“Ok. Come eat,” Taki says, moving to sit on the floor at the low coffee table. Yudai does as he's told, following to sit beside him.

They eat in silence for a few minutes. Taki is focused on his eel, wolfing it down at a speed that would horrify a random onlooker. He’s unusually quiet, seems to be waiting for Yudai to speak. 

There's something Yudai has been kicking around inside himself for what feels like weeks now, and it's finally bubbling up, just at the surface. He sits with it as he finishes his bowl, and when he swallows the last bite he finds it still on his tongue, so he decides to say it.

“I'm going to quit my job,” Yudai voiced out loud for the first time. “Soon. As soon as I figure out what to do instead.”

Taki doesn't even look surprised. He just smiles, like he's been waiting to hear it. “What are the options?”

“I don't know,” Yudai sighs. “I barely even remember what I used to enjoy.”

“Running. Dancing,” Taki tells him, thinking. “Helping me do my homework. Looking after all us kids. Cards.”

“Professional poker player it is,” Yudai replies, and Taki laughs. He leans back on his hands.

“I think you should do something that involves talking to people. You like talking to people.”

Yudai nods. He grimaces. “Whatever I do, I'll have a lot less money.”

Taki just shrugs, peering over to see if there’s any scraps still left in Yudai’s bowl to pilfer. “Stop insisting on buying me dinner so much and you won't even notice.”

Yudai jabs him in with his foot, and Taki laughs and squirms away from him. He stands, grabs the empty bowls in front of them and washes them in the kitchen sink along with a few others, stacking them one by one in the drying rack. Then he returns with an open packet of chocolate turtle chips he's fished out of Yudai’s pantry. He collapses back on the floor beside Yudai, offering him the packet. Yudai shakes his head.

“Hey Yudai?” He says, peering into the bag. “Maki says you broke your neighbour’s heart.”

Yudai feels something unpleasant tighten in his chest, the dread of a prison-break ruined by a comically large spotlight. “How does Maki know that?”

“Harua,” Taki says matter-of-factly, stacking a small pile of chips in front of himself on the table with unwavering concentration.

“I didn't break his heart,” Yudai replies, watching him absently. “He's fine.”

“Harua says he's pining.”

“He's not pining,” Yudai insists. He doesn’t like how defensive he sounds, but he’s powerless to stop it. “You don't know him. He definitely thinks I'm a mess.”

“That's not what Harua says,” Taki mutters. He looks up from his cairn of chips. “Nico thinks you're being an idiot.”

“What does Nico know about anything?” Yudai frowns. “Have you talked about me with every person you know?”

“Yes,” Taki replies decisively. He shoves a chip in his mouth. Yudai frowns at him.

“Don't listen to Maki. Or Nico. About anything.”

Taki is quiet for a moment. There's something worrying at him, Yudai can see it plain on his face. Finally he asks: “Are we the problem?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re always thinking about us. About everyone except yourself,” Taki sighs. He prods at a chip, sets it rocking on the table. “Are we the reason you're too tired, or scared, or whatever?”

Yudai stares at him. For a long, horrible second, there's an insidious voice that wants to whisper-scream yes. Loving you is taking up all of me. 

But Yudai knows that isn't true. Loving his friends, caring for them, it makes him feel whole. It's everything else around it that's too much. Everything else, and everything inside him too. He never learnt to love in moderation. Never learnt to find a balance with people, to take as much as he tries to give. He can’t, too frightened by the animal inside him. He has so many wants and needs buried alongside it, afraid that to let them out would devour another person like a plague of locusts. 

“No, Taki,” he sighs. “I'm the reason I'm tired, or scared, or whatever.”

“Well, that sucks,” Taki declares sombrely. “Someone like Fuma could take care of you.”

“That doesn't seem fair to Fuma,” Yudai replies, a little flatly. He thinks maybe Fuma would, even as it ate away him, gnawed him down like termites in wood. 

Taki has the audacity to roll his eyes at this. “You could just let Fuma be the judge of that.”

“Taki.” It comes out a little sharper than Yudai had meant it. He softens his voice, finds a smile for his features. “I really don't need to be taken care of,” he says. 

“Counterpoint,” Taki replies. “You let us feed you dinner tonight. Was it so awful?”

“Horrific,” Yudai replies with an exaggerated expression, and Taki reaches over to mess his hair up in retaliation. So Yudai pulls Taki against his chest and folds his arms and legs around him like a backpack. Taki laughs, and lets him, and they fall backwards in a pile.

And Yudai has said it a hundred times before, and he's believed it a hundred times before. He doesn't need to be taken care of. 

But today, it feels different. Today, it leaves a strangely bitter taste in his mouth.

*

December 

The first day of December is cold and crisp, and the late afternoon brings a cat to Yudai’s balcony in search of the sun.

“Yadon,” Yudai sighs from his balcony doorway. His hair is still a little damp at the edges from his post-run shower, and it catches the cold air at his neck. He’s been running in the evenings more when he can, lately. It’s new, but he likes it. “That's my shirt.”

Yudai isn't sure if his t-shirt has fallen off the line itself, or if Yadon has pulled it down, but down it has come. Now it is serving as a bed upon which Yadon has sprawled, perfectly situated in a patch of sunlight.

Yudai collects the rest of his clothes from the line and dumps the basket inside before returning to consider his options.

“Can I bribe you to move to the big white pot?” Yudai asks, as Yadon continues to resolutely ignore him.

“He accepts bribes of fish sticks.”

Yudai turns to find Fuma over by their shared wall, watching him with a hesitant smile.

“Man of taste,” Yudai replies, feeling a little awkward. It's been just over a month since he's spoken to Fuma, though they'd waved at each other once in the lobby, going opposite directions.

“Sorry about your shirt,” Fuma says now. “You can move him.” He seems - normal. Normal for Fuma, anyway. A little bit of awkwardness is part of his charm, but he’s not looking at Yudai in any particular way. Not angry, not sad, not judgemental. Just Fuma.

“I would never,” Yudai insists, shaking his head. The shirt will need rewashing anyway, Yadon might as well enjoy his spoils of victory.

“How are things?” Fuma asks, vague and cautious the way a distant acquaintance might. Yudai hates it. 

“Things are ok,” Yudai replies truthfully. Not good, but better, like he’d had to break his parts all the way down to figure out how to start putting them back together again. He’s been running again, sleeping a little, somehow managing at work - knowing he'll be out of there soon seems to make it all less awful. “You?”

“Things are ok,” Fuma echoes.

There's a pause as both of them watch the little cat shift in his sleep. Fuma glances up at Yudai again. “Have you been avoiding me?”

Yudai tries not to wince. For a moment, he imagines walking straight inside and welding his balcony door shut. “A little.” Yudai sighs. “I'm sorry, Fuma. I wasn't going to avoid you forever.” 

“No?” Fuma asks, but there's a glint of humour to his tone. “It’s ok, Yudai.” He shrugs. “I just miss talking to you.”

For an admitted liar, Fuma’s ability to be honest never fails to set Yudai spinning.

“I don't know why,” Yudai laughs, trying to stay casual, friendly, even though Fuma’s admission makes his throat feel a little tight. “I only cause you trouble.”

“That's not true.”

“It feels true.”

Fuma is looking at him with naked confusion on his face. “Yudai,” he says softly, like he's talking to a wounded animal. He takes a second, as though unsure if he can say what he's thinking. It comes out anyway. “Why are you afraid of me?”

Yudai stares at him, the unintended knife of his words leaving a clean cut straight down his chest. A hundred fragments of thought spin through his mind, too fast to catch in their each and every entirety. Yudai almost wants to laugh. Afraid. He’s always been described as the brave one, first to get on the front of the rollercoaster or break up a public fight, but Fuma has got him in one shot.

“I-” he begins, unsure of where he's going, when a buzzing in his pocket cuts him off.

He frowns, fishes his phone out just as it stops. And then it comes alive again in his hand, the screen lighting up with Taki’s photo. 

Taki only tends to call for more serious things. Yudai picks up.

“Do you have a mop?”

“What?” Yudai asks, confused by the odd greeting and the sudden wild swing in conversation from the one he’s been having on his balcony. “Yes, I have a mop.”

“Ok,” Taki says, his voice unusually serious. “Can you bring me the mop, and then go home immediately?”

“Can I-” Yudai begins, and then stops as he hears Maki in the background.

“I thought you were asking for help?” Maki hisses, presumably at Taki. When Taki replies his voice is muffled, like he hasn't quite covered the phone completely.

“We can fix this ourselves, we just need a mop.”

“A mop isn't going to fix this dude, there's a giant hole like-”

Yudai hears Maki make a noise of pain, and then Taki's voice returns to the phone at full volume.

“Just a mop? But hurry?”

“Hurrying,” Yudai replies, hanging up. He grimaces apologetically at Fuma, who is waiting patiently. “I’m sorry, I have to go and…actually, I don't know what I have to go do. I’m guessing fix a pipe? Maybe?”

“Do you know how to fix a pipe?” asks Fuma with interest.

Yudai laughs, running a hand over his eyes as he squeezes them shut for a moment. The last ten minutes have felt overwhelmingly like a strange dream. “No,” he admits, more lightly than he feels. “Not at all actually.”

“Ok,” Fuma replies, and in a sudden instant he's climbing over the wall onto Yudai’s balcony. “I do.”

“Fuma,” Yudai starts, but Fuma shakes his head.

“Let me help.”

“I can't,” Yudai replies. “I can't ask that of you.”

“Then don’t ask,” Fuma replies. “Please, Yudai. It's not a problem. I want to help.”

Yudai knows he should push back, knows he should send Fuma back to his side of the wall. But in truth he's at a loss as to what he can do to fix this situation, whatever the situation actually is, and something about Fuma’s steady confidence makes him want to cling to him like a raft.

“I’m sorry,” Yudai murmurs, his resolve crumbling. “I don't have anything to repay you with.”

“It's not a transaction,” Fuma replies with a quiet laugh. When he sees the hesitancy still on Yudai’s face, he softens. “Yudai,” Fuma sighs. “You already give me enough.”

He holds out a hand. Yudai looks at it, at him. He doesn't know what Fuma means. 

He takes it anyway.

It's a ten minute walk to Taki’s apartment. When Taki opens the door, Yudai moves his foot into the doorjamb to prevent Taki from closing it on him.

“I brought the mop, but it's attached to my arm. Let me in,” he says, holding the mop out of Taki's reach.

“Euijoo will kill me if I-” Taki replies, and then his gaze moves to the person standing beside Yudai. “Is that Fuma?”

“Hello,” Fuma says with a little wave. Yudai takes advantage of Taki’s distraction and elbows his way into the apartment.

He can hear the sound of running water, and wet footprints run up and down the living space. Sodden towels are bunched on the floor near the kitchen.

“What happened,” Yudai asks, and he sees Taki’s eyeline travel furtively towards Fuma again as though he’s trying to understand why they’ve appeared together, but Taki doesn’t mention it.

“The kitchen pipe exploded,” Taki says instead, a little despondent as he leads them to the source of the chaos. There's a layer of water almost a centimetre high on the kitchen floor, barely held back by a wall of towels and a thick join between the tiles and the wooden floors. Maki is in front of the open cupboard beneath the sink, trying to scoop water out of a bucket set to catch the cascading leak even as it fills up twice as fast.

“Oh my god,” Yudai mutters, staring at the carnage, and for a moment he feels completely and utterly frozen. He’s sure he knows what to do in this situation, but his mind is strangely blank, unwilling to move even as he urges it to. Panic nips at the edges of his thoughts, and he can hear his blood in his ears.

And then he feels Fuma brush against his arm as he moves to get a closer look, and Yudai realises for once he doesn't need to know what to do.

“Ok,” Fuma is saying thoughtfully, immediately turning to scan the kitchen walls and under the sink. “It’s ok. One minute.”

He doesn't seem to find what he's after in the kitchen, instead quickly turns and disappears out the front door again. Yudai stares after him, heart thudding strangely in his chest.

“Fuma came?” Maki whispers from the floor the minute Fuma’s out of the room. Taki makes a shushing motion at him.

There's a shuddering noise like an old engine stuttering and squeaking, and then the torrent of water begins to slow to a trickle, rapidly tapering off into nothing. Within seconds, all that's left is a slow drip.

“Woah,” Maki exclaims excitedly. The front door closes and Fuma reappears, all eyes on him. “What did you do?”

“Turned off the main,” Fuma explains, almost comically calm in the face of their disarray. “You should learn where that is.”

“We thought it was in the fuse box,” Maki replies a little sheepishly. “We weren't sure why it wasn't working.”

“Mm,” Fuma replies, and when he makes eye contact with Yudai, Yudai can tell he’s trying not to laugh. It makes something stir in Yudai’s chest. “Well. I can have a look. See if you need a plumber.”

Maki moves aside and lets Fuma into his place. Fuma's head disappears under the sink.

“How come you know about plumbing?” Taki asks from where he's peering over the kitchen table.

“I like knowing how things work,” Fuma’s disembodied voice replies. Yudai thinks about the home-made snake ventilator on his kitchen counter. He wonders how many different things Fuma has built. If there’s anything he can’t understand and repair.

It turns out the O-ring has worn away and ruptured, by Fuma’s assessment. Maki insists on going to the nearby hardware store with him, apparently excited to learn a new skill today. Yudai finds this endlessly endearing, enough that he doesn’t have it in him to protest that Fuma’s already done enough. Some shard of ice inside him seems to be wearing down, melting drip by drip.

While they’re gone, Yudai and Taki attempt to get the kitchen floor back to a walkable state with the mop and a sponge they find in the bathroom.

“I’m so sorry Yudai,” Taki says as he wrings the sodden sponge out into the sink. “Euijoo told me not to call you with this stuff right now, but I panicked.”

Yudai sighs. He’d suspected as much. He’s sure he’s been doing better recently, but he knows Euijoo and Nico are still acting cautious with him. He’s not sure they’re wrong to, either, but he still doesn’t like the idea of Taki hesitating to pick up the phone.

“It’s ok, Taki,” Yudai smiles reassuringly. “You can always call me if you need me. I want you to call me.” He makes sure to hold Taki’s gaze as he says it. Tries to impress with his eyes that he’s telling the truth. That no matter what is going on in his life, there’s not a day that he wouldn’t be there if Taki needed him.

Taki nods, a self-conscious smile appearing. His gaze drifts towards the front door, conscious that Fuma might reappear any moment. “And are we going to address the elephant in the room?”

“We are not,” Yudai replies. There’s too much noise inside him still to understand what it is he’s feeling, but there’s something strange and unexpected nestled in his chest when he thinks about Fuma there beside him in Taki’s kitchen. About Fuma at the hardware store now, running an errand for Yudai, for Taki. Something soft, something that reaches for sunlight like a struggling plant. He glances at Taki's disappointed scowl. “Yet,” he adds, relenting as he squeezes out the mop into a bucket. “Ask me tomorrow when I have a proper answer.”

Taki’s eyes widen slightly, but before he can ask another question the sound of the front door lock chimes through the small apartment.

It doesn’t take long for Fuma to fix the pipe and turn the water back on, and they don’t hang around after that. Taki has dinner plans with Yuma, and Maki has a project to work on. They leave to the insistent promise of the boys to buy Yudai and Fuma dinner another day in thanks.

It's darker now and cold outside, made colder by the damp patches on their pants and jackets. Yudai finds himself drifting a little closer to Fuma as they walk, instinctively drawing towards his warmth.

It had all happened so quickly. Yudai isn't quite sure how they'd ended up here, walking home side by side from Taki’s apartment. Isn't sure how to process what’s going on inside him right now. That's what he'd been dreading, once the dust had settled. That feeling of guilt and inadequacy to come loping back through stronger than ever. He thinks it might be there, if he pokes and prods around, but it’s muffled beneath something else, something bigger.

Mostly, somehow, he just feels grateful to not be walking home alone right now. 

“Thank you,” Yudai says as they go. His breath makes a mist in the air. “I would have been lost.”

“You would have just searched what to do,” Fuma replies. “Which they would have done if they weren't panicking.”

“We couldn't have fixed it though.”

“Probably not,” Fuma muses. He shrugs, a small gesture in his padded coat. “I know it's important to you. To be there for them.”

“It is,” Yudai nods. He feels like he should be surprised that Fuma would do this much for someone just because they matter to Yudai, but. He isn't. It makes him want to be honest with Fuma. He owes him as much. “It's what makes me afraid, Fuma. I don't think I can return what you give me,” Yudai says. “What I might ask of you.”

Fuma glances at him, eyes widening slightly, but Yudai doesn't think he can handle the weight of Fuma's gaze right now. He stares straight ahead as they walk.

The darkening street is quiet. A woman hurries past them, bundled in a coat, eyes down. The lamps flicker on.

“Yudai,” Fuma says after a moment. “I don't need you to do that for me.” He sounds gentle and sincere. He’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful, before he continues. “I like being around you. You listen to me. You encourage me. You make me feel important. I haven’t had someone like that in my life for so long. That's what I need from you.” He lets out a brief sigh. “I’m sorry if I made you feel burdened. I just want you to feel good, the way you make me feel good.”

It's as if, after years in a foreign country, someone has finally spoken a language Yudai understands. He feels his skin prickle strangely, a light coming on to a darkened room somewhere inside him. 

Was that it? That truth, the thing he had never really understood before. 

Somehow, what Yudai needs from Fuma weighs nothing to Fuma. Somehow, what Fuma needs from Yudai comes as easy to Yudai as breathing. 

Not equal exchange, but partnership. Balance.

“Oh,” Yudai murmurs. He can feel his heart thundering in his chest, desperate to make itself heard above the noise of fear. It has a clear voice, easy to hear and understand for once. For once, Yudai thinks he owes it to himself to listen.

They reach their apartment building, board the lift in silence. Yudai tries to keep himself from fidgeting. He feels like a kettle boiling over with understanding, curiosity, whole body wanting to sing.

When Fuma turns for his door, Yudai reaches for his wrist, fingers wrapping around Fuma’s arm. Fuma makes a noise of surprise, but he doesn't pull away. He just looks at Yudai’s hand, and then up at Yudai questioningly.

Yudai tugs at his wrist, leads him back to Yudai’s door, doesn't let go as he punches in the code. When the door opens, he turns, walks backwards through it as he pulls Fuma with him.

The door closes behind them.

“Yudai?” Fuma asks uncertainly. 

When Yudai kisses him, all the tension inside him finally gives way with a sigh. Fuma’s hands come instinctively to settle on his waist. There’s the slightest pressure as he pulls Yudai into him, as though he's been waiting for this, as though the only thing he wants is to be closer. For a moment, he kisses back as intently as he ever has. And then he hesitates.

“Yudai,” Fuma says again when he pulls back, and he blinks once, twice, looks a little bit dazed. “Do you…”

“I don't do casual either,” Yudai murmurs. He watches Fuma’s eyes widen in understanding, a smile breaking through.

Fuma kisses him like a starving man, tongue claiming Yudai’s mouth. Not rough, but insistent. His hand slides down the back of Yudai's neck, coming to rest at the top of his spine. His nails rake over the skin there, sending bursts of shivers straight to Yudai’s gut.

They take a step backwards, and Fuma trips over a bag Yudai has left on the floor, stumbling. Their teeth knock together, and Fuma laughs into Yudai's mouth, but they don’t break apart.

Yudai feels his head spin as Fuma’s hands roam his back, tug gently at the hem of his shirt. He meets Yudai’s gaze in a question. 

Yudai lifts his arms in response, lets Fuma remove the garment. He shivers beneath the way Fuma’s eyes fall over his bare chest, hungry and wanting. He's not sure anyone has ever looked at him, the way Fuma is looking now. He never wants it to stop.

It takes them longer than it should to make it to his bedroom, leaving a messy trail of clothing in their wake. Neither of them want to separate long enough to take things off efficiently. 

Eventually Fuma gets impatient. With a low whine he picks Yudai up and carries him the rest of the way. As though Yudai weighs nothing to him. Yudai’s brain short circuits.

Yudai wants to catalogue it all. Fuma’s lips, his chest, and god, his hands. The way they explore him, claim him, open him up. He's almost crying with just Fuma’s fingers, he could come just like this. He’s certain he will, another time. But this time he means to have all of Fuma. 

There is a moment, once Fuma is fully buried inside Yudai, that he pauses. Draws their bruising lips apart and looks down at him with careful eyes. 

“Ok?” Fuma asks, and that one word sends a burst of sunlight through Yudai. Something clasped tight in his chest loosens, and when he nods, Fuma bends down to reclaim his lips.

Yudai squeezes his eyes shut as he feels Fuma begin to move. He feels so full, so completely overwhelmed, sparks of pain and pleasure mingling together. He chokes back a moan as Fuma picks up his pace, biting his tongue to keep from crying out. Fuma runs a thumb over his lips where they're pressed tightly together, loosening them. Like he wants to hear Yudai. 

Of course. He can feel Fuma’s attention on him, the careful way he reacts to every noise that Yudai makes. When he finds the spot that makes Yudai gasp he hits it over and over until Yudai feels his vision starting to blur. Yudai licks the beads of sweat from Fuma’s neck and collarbone as Fuma pushes them both closer to the edge. And then Fuma takes him in hand, and he is boneless, thoughtless, entirely undone.

When he comes, Yudai is loud enough that for a brief second he worries about the neighbours. And then he remembers whose wall joins with his, and he laughs as the room spins around him.

Fuma falls asleep in Yudai’s bed that night. Late in the hours of the early morning, actually, because they talk for far too long. A lot about unimportant things. A little about the rest.

“This might not work,” Yudai tells Fuma some time after two, lips muffled slightly against his bare shoulder. “Because of me.”

“Maybe. Maybe I can help,” Fuma replies, chin resting on Yudai’s hair. He sounds so sure. Yudai tilts his face up, and kisses him. 

*

January

As he does so often lately, Yudai wakes in a bedroom that isn't his.

For a moment, he is disoriented. That too happens a lot. Often, he thinks he's in his childhood bedroom again. Today, it feels like he's fallen asleep on one of the office couches. That if he sits up he'll be beneath fluorescent lights, Jo tapping away at a laptop nearby. 

When he blinks, though, he recognises the blue striped sheets, the white walls, the landscape print on the opposite wall of a cartoon seashore he hasn't asked about but can guess the provenance of. 

There's a still figure beside him, solid and warm. Their feet are tangled together beneath the duvet. 

“What day is it?” Yudai whispers.

“Sunday,” Fuma replies, not opening his eyes. His voice is low and scratchy with sleep. Yudai feels something in him relax slightly. 

He's not at the office, hasn't been for a month (though he’s still working on convincing Jo to follow in his footsteps). His new office is a run down classroom full of Korean university students wanting to learn Japanese. It's a holdover gig, not an endpoint, but he likes it a lot. Likes talking to people, likes the hours, likes the fact that no one calls him on a Sunday. He’s getting ideas about what he might want to really do. Something with young people, though he knows that would likely mean extra study.

“Then go study,” Fuma had said when he'd brought it up.

“It's not that simple,” Yudai had replied. “I'm nearly thirty.”

“The time will pass anyway,” Fuma had said, and Yudai had stared at him. He’s not sure if Fuma is quoting a meme, but regardless, he is correct.

He knows Fuma is right. He often is. He seems to understand Yudai better than Yudai ever has. That’s the strangest thing Yudai has discovered, about falling in love with Fuma. He hasn’t lost a part of himself. He’s had himself returned.

Morning light filters in through poorly closed blinds, and Yudai stretches beneath bamboo sheets that aren't his. Through a gap in the curtains, he can see the bedroom window is wet with condensation from the cold outside. 

“You need a dehumidifier," he murmurs, staring as a droplet runs down the glass. 

“Then I’ll get a dehumidifier,” Fuma replies, one arm reaching round to pull Yudai onto his chest. “Stop problem solving. It's Sunday.”

Yudai shifts onto his side to curl into Fuma properly, and a small indignant meep sounds from the end of the bed. Yudai realises the warm weight pressed against the soles of both their feet must be Yadon.

“I told Taki I’d help him put some shelves up this morning.”

This does finally prompt Fuma’s eyes to open. His head rolls to the side to fix Yudai with a sceptical look. “Shelves?”

“Shelves,” Yudai confirms, looking up at him. Fuma’s eyes are a little puffy with sleep. Yudai thinks he looks stupidly cute.

“With a drill?”

“And a ratchet,” Yudai nods.

Fuma is still staring at him. “And you can use a ratchet?”

“I have yet to find that out.” 

Fuma laughs at this. It takes over his whole face. Yudai always likes it, when he makes Fuma laugh.

“Ok,” Fuma murmurs. “What time are we going?”

“Did I say we?” Yudai replies, amusement creeping into his tone, and Fuma shrugs.

“Two hands,” he smiles. 

For a moment, Yudai briefly considers deferring his offer. It’s instinct, and instincts are hard to shake. You’re allowed to want things. He has to tell himself a lot. It’s a slow thing, to change.

“You just like seeing Taki,” Yudai tells him instead. 

The two of them get along disconcertingly well. All his friends are a little obsessed with Fuma, actually. When Yudai had gathered Euijoo and Nico and Taki together to tell them they'd gotten together, they'd made a collective noise so loud Fuma had come and knocked on the door in case he was being attacked.

“Maybe,” Fuma smiles. He stretches his legs. “Are you going for a run first?”

“Not today,” Yudai replies. He'd briefly considered it, but it's hard to get up when he's so warm and comfortable. He might later, if he feels like it. For now, he swings a leg over Fuma’s like a koala, getting comfortable. “This is better.”

“High praise,” Fuma murmurs. Yudai can't see his face any more, but he can still hear the warmth of Fuma’s smile in his voice.

“The highest,” Yudai nods. He shifts closer, breathing in Fuma’s woodsy scent, his eyes closing again. He's still not sure what time it is. 

He doesn't care to check. Not just yet.