Work Text:
Kurosawa’s first time had been anything but nice.
He’d known for a long time that he liked men, so when he was still a teenager, he’d told his parents that he was studying over at a friend’s place and taken himself to the only place he knew that people like him were.
It was terrifying. The flashing lights, the loud music, the skin on show, and the men, kissing each other, grinding, right there in the crowd…
An older man kept buying him drinks. Kurosawa was glad to have somebody to talk to, somebody who could tell him how this worked. How men’s desires really worked. How real men just took what they needed from one another. The guy kept whispering these filthy alien-yet-familiar things into his ear, things that made Kurosawa shiver with a mixture of fear and want.
He went to a love hotel with the man, and his first encounter was rough, unprepared. He hadn’t been ready. He never told anybody about it. Nobody could know.
----
He ended up going back there when he was studying in university the next year. This awful, filthy need couldn’t be sated any other way. He was young, then, and handsome, so people who were less young and handsome usually picked him up immediately. He never found anybody that seemed like him, everybody was just there for sex. So he learnt the lines, learnt the moves, to advertise himself to the kind of people who wouldn’t pull him down with them, no strings attached only. No love, just sex. Anonymous, far removed from his real life. It felt so easy.
After all, he couldn’t be like this forever. He couldn’t want this. He’d have to start a family some day and become a functional member of society. But while he was a student and it was still something he could explain to himself as youthful exploration, he had an excuse. The moment he graduated and entered the workforce as an adult, he stopped completely.
He resolved to live an ordinary life.
----
When he got a bit older, and the loneliness became too much to bear, he’d tried dating women. Somehow that was even more lonely. He went through the motions, did everything he was supposed to, chose lovely, beautiful women; people he could admire. But he still couldn’t love them. He was ashamed when he had to lie to them to play his role, felt like he was violating them as he talked them into bed with him.
After he’d made his third girlfriend cry - poor Fuuko, so sweet, so trusting, such a wonderful and caring person, someone who fit right into society without his problems - he realised that he couldn’t do that any more. The loneliness was hard to bear, yes, but he couldn’t go around causing innocent people pain just because he was the way he was. He couldn’t selfishly take what he wanted. He didn’t have that right.
At first, he turned to fiction, to florid manga that showed an unnaturally muscled man seducing a smaller, feminine one. He read them over and over, something hurting in his chest. But then his nosy older sister found one of them in his apartment, and he had to lie, again, to make excuses, to degrade it as wrong, dirty, nothing to do with him - that same day, he got rid of them all, and resolved himself to living an ordinary life. Austere, deprived, and respectable. He kept his appearance impeccable. He stopped any wayward thoughts. He lived a healthy lifestyle. He kept everything spotlessly clean. He indulged occasionally in harmless things he liked, snacks and books, only ever the kinds of things he could discuss in polite company. He buried himself in his work.
And then, Adachi. Oh, Adachi.
----
He could remember the first day Adachi started at the company. Kurosawa greeted him, and welcomed him to their company along with the other new starters. He remembers being struck by his beautiful eyes, wide and a little scared, but clamped down on that quickly, smiling politely and keeping it professional.
One of the other new starters was more nervous than he was, and after she made a recurring mistake on the first spreadsheet she did and was told to correct it, she excused herself and went out into the corridor. Adachi excused himself too, despite their boss's tutting, and followed her soon after.
After a few minutes, Kurosawa had to carry the documents he had printed off to a different department, and saw them in the corridor.
“It’s going to be alright,” Adachi was saying, his voice gentle and his face even more so, as she wiped her face with a handkerchief Adachi gave her, upset. “If you make a mistake and you worry this much about it, it just shows that you’ll get there in the end. It’s OK to not be perfect yet. It’s OK if you don’t know what to do. I’ll help you to fix it, alright?”
And Kurosawa felt a mixture of happiness and dread start to thump in his chest. It had been so long since anybody had been kind to him like that. Adachi’s words weren’t even for him, but he had to pull himself together quickly, because he felt like he was about to cry. He hurried past, giving them a polite smile.
----
Everything he saw of Adachi only impressed him more. Adachi was quiet, and detailed, and always put himself last in order to make other people happy. He was often the last person to leave the office, and the first person to offer to help if there was more that needed doing. It inspired Kurosawa to do better himself, to push himself harder, to excel at his sales even more than he had previously. It made him look forward to going to the office, to see him from afar. Even occasional small talk. He was careful though, so careful, not to overstep, not to force his predatory desires onto him.
After all, he cared for Adachi. He would never treat him the way men had treated Kurosawa - when it came to Adachi, his desires were different than that.
Instead, he learnt what foods Adachi liked best, and taught himself to cook them, eating them alone. He wondered if Adachi would like them. He’d probably never have the chance to know, but it made cooking for himself less tedious.
When he was watching TV by himself and wanted to say something about what he was seeing, he wondered what Adachi would think, if he was sitting with him, sharing the same couch. He didn’t really know Adachi at all of course, so he just imagined what his responses might be. He imagined Adachi looking sideways at him, and smiling.
On nights where Kurosawa sat awake in his empty perfect apartment and couldn’t help but cry because he was so alone in the world, so desperate and unworthy of love because of this shameful thing, he started to imagine Adachi there, giving him quiet words of comfort, looking up at him with those round dark eyes, offering his handkerchief.
Worst of all, when he touched himself, he started to imagine that it was Adachi’s hand, that he could kiss him the way he wanted to, that Adachi looked at him like he wanted him, that he gasped when Kurosawa gasped, that they were together.
He knew it was wrong - Adachi probably had a girlfriend, anyway - but he had nothing else.
----
One day, two years after he first fell for Adachi, he was shopping for himself, buying some pyjamas, when he stopped as some caught his eye.
They were silk, expensive. He unfolded them and lifted them up.
They wouldn’t suit me, he thought, looking at them. But Adachi… he’d look so cute in these.
He began to imagine Adachi wearing the clothes he was holding in his hands. Hair soft, expression unguarded, smiling at him in the mornings, enjoying the food that he made for him...
As soon as he thought it, he felt guilty. He put them back and went back to his shopping. But he circled back round, and, on an impulse, bought them anyway. Medium size. They wouldn’t fit him properly, but they would fit Adachi.
He rationalised it to himself by telling himself that he never allowed himself anything, that pyjamas weren’t suspicious, that nobody could ever know even if they found them. It wouldn’t ruin his perfect image. This was an outlet. A step further than he’d taken in years, but one that he could easily conceal.
That night, he carefully folded them, and placed them in the person-sized space on the bed next to him, before easing himself into the bedsheets beside them. He reached a hand out to touch the little pile of silk, and closed his eyes. It was the most peaceful night’s sleep he’d had in a long time.
----
Four years since he met Adachi, he hit 30. When he got home from work late again on his birthday he looked at himself in his bathroom mirror for a long time, harsh light showing him everything. He was looking old. He was getting wrinkles by his eyes when he put on that professional smile. But most of all, he was looking sad and worn-out, looking at himself, feeling physically sick at the thought of 30 more years living this way. This was officially past marriageable age, right? There was no hope for his circumstances to change now, right?
He gathered up the pyjamas and put them into the rubbish bin. From now on, he resolved, he’d live an ordinary life. He was too old for childish fantasies. He took himself to bed.
Very late that night, when he still couldn’t sleep, he went and fished through his bin, rescuing them. He put them in to wash and went to bed, impotently angry at himself, frustrated by his needs. It carried with it a sad air of inevitability.
It didn’t matter how hard he tried, how much he tried to make himself the perfect man, he was still a man, and so Adachi would never want him. He was hopeless. This was fantasy. This was his life. Disappointed in himself, he cried until he slept.
----
It had been seven years.
By some lucky chance, Adachi was in a crowded lift with him. Adachi had started coming to work early lately, at the same time as Kurosawa, and Kurosawa loved seeing him more often. He'd initiated some small talk about the lift. He was really happy.
Someone pushed into them, and he bracketed his arms to protect Adachi, against the wall of the lift.
It made his year. He had never been that close to Adachi before. He could have almost leaned forward and kissed him, like his fantasies. He felt like he’d been starved of oxygen all this time. Once he’d taken a tiny breath, he was gasping, needing more, more, more.
----
He spotted Adachi in the office that evening, seeing him staying in the office late again. Kurosawa had noticed that his senior had pushed his own work on him, yet again, and even though Adachi was looking tired, he stayed, computer lighting his kind face, diligently working on a task that wasn’t even his.
Kurosawa held himself there for a few minutes. He wanted to help, but how far was too far? He couldn’t just walk up to him and start talking, could he?
He went and bought a coffee from the vending machine, covering his tracks by telling Adachi that he’d bought one for all his juniors. He caught sight of the data Adachi was working on, and realised that the task he was doing, if done correctly, would be even more time-consuming than he thought.
Under the circumstances, he found himself offering to stay with him and help. He thought that would seem like a harmless gesture, not suspicious. But… he nearly combusted, seeing him this close. He noticed a tiny mole on his neck that he was finally close enough to see, and knew he’d be dreaming about that new discovery for months. He started to imagine his lips on that spot, closing his eyes against the onslaught. Adachi suddenly stood up, and excused himself to go to the bathroom.
Kurosawa’s heart dropped.
Had he noticed? Was he disgusted? Was Kurosawa being too obvious? His nails dug into his palms. He needed to get a grip on himself, deny his thoughts, not overstep the boundaries of a normal work colleague. His fantasies were his alone. He needed to remember that.
But when Adachi came back, it seemed that Kurosawa’s fears were unfounded. He seemed to be his usual self, and together they got the work done.
When they finally stepped outside, a slight breeze refreshing after so long inside, Adachi looked out into the night and started to shiver.
“It’s getting cold, isn’t it?” Kurosawa asked, and was startled to see the man sneeze.
His concern took over, and he dug in his bag for the scarf he carried, needing Adachi to be OK. He offered it up to him, and Adachi refused, telling Kurosawa that he wasn’t important, using that self-deprecating little ‘someone like me…’ phrasing that Kurosawa hated.
He ended up having to put the scarf on him himself to get him to accept it. He wouldn’t usually have overstepped that far, wouldn’t have for anybody else, but the way Adachi degraded himself was something that just hurt to watch, and he couldn’t allow it to happen. His heart jumped desperately as he dressed Adachi this intimate way. How did Adachi not know how precious he was? How valuable he was to everyone around him?
When he realised that Adachi had missed the last train home and was planning on sleeping in a dirty internet cafe that night, he decided on another impulse that he could allow himself one day. 24 hours where he gave himself the breath of air he needed to carry on forever. That was OK, right?
He offered to let Adachi stay over. It was wonderful.
----
He hoped he didn’t look guilty, handing him the pyjamas. He knew that he’d never wash them again after this. He got to see Adachi's sleeping face for the first time, and he’d be cooking him breakfast in the morning, as if they really were married, as if Adachi loved him.
It was all he’d fantasised about all these long years. He couldn’t sleep. He was too excited, he could barely even lie down. He tossed, and turned, and walked around his bedroom. He didn’t go and look at Adachi again. He'd never violate his privacy like that. But he knew he was there even so, in the same flat as him, on the other side of that door. The place suddenly felt a lot more alive.
In the morning, Adachi liked the food he made for him, and said everything that Kurosawa always imagined he’d say in his innermost fantasies. The delighted yet shy look on his face as he ate made all the effort worth it.
When Adachi couldn’t do his tie, Kurosawa swept in and did it for him, as if they were husbands just leaving for another working day.
Kurosawa mentally catalogued every moment. He’d need to come back to it later.
----
Adachi's senior was putting Adachi down again, telling him that his hard work - on his own project! - was all due to Kurosawa, and that Adachi should treat Kurosawa to thank him for it. Which wasn’t true at all.
Kurosawa took that opportunity to shower him with as much praise as he always deserved in front of their other colleagues. To reprimand his senior and tell him to finally thank Adachi. The shocked, grateful look was so worth it.
When he started to reach the end of the 24-hour period he had allowed himself, he brought over a file of documents that he knew Adachi would find useful. Kurosawa must have passed it over too hastily as it dropped on the floor and Adachi scrambled to pick it back up.
"Wait, it needs to be in a certain order," Kurosawa said, and Adachi held the folder open for him, kneeling together on the floor. Their hands touched, and Kurosawa let them.
I should have done more things like this, he thought to himself. But Adachi wouldn't want any more than this. They were coworkers, colleagues. That was all they would ever be.
He smiled, turned, and left, walking away from that vision of a future that wasn't his, wasn't real. As soon as he was out of Adachi's sight, he hesitated for a moment, everything in him only wanting to go back, to be near Adachi, to return to that fantasy. But instead, he mastered himself, straightened up, and kept walking away, leaving all that behind him. Sticking to what was appropriate.
He sighed as he pressed the button for the lift.
He shouldn't be sad, though. He had to remind himself of that. He'd just had the most wonderful day of the past 10 years, maybe even longer. He just needed to get home, and close his eyes, and replay this in his mind, add some embellishments, imagine that Adachi cared for him in return. Pretend that things were going to be OK.
He was startled to see Adachi suddenly appear at the entrance of the lift, pushing the doors back open. He looked at his colleague, taken aback.
"Adachi?"
Haltingly, shyly, forcing out the words, Adachi asked him if he'd like to go for a meal. Kurosawa was so stunned, he didn’t respond, until the lift doors closed on Adachi, hurting him. He ran out after him, apologising, trying to keep his cool.
Well, if Adachi was the one who wanted to extend this dreamlike time, Kurosawa would be a fool to refuse, wouldn't he? He could pretend like it was a date. He could talk to Adachi in a casual setting, find out more about him. He'd almost gone to heaven, being asked by Adachi. A reprieve from the inevitable end of the dream.
----
It didn't end up going that way. Instead, they both got roped into going out with all of their other colleagues for work drinks to celebrate Rokkaku’s first sale. He was proud of his junior, but…
He was crushed. At first they'd even needed to sit at opposite ends of the table, as the last ones to arrive. Then, when Kurosawa manoeuvred next to Adachi, Adachi kept going to the bathroom. Kurosawa was struggling. Was that it for his romantic dream? Was it unexpectedly over?
When he came back, everyone - Kurosawa included - was a bit past the tipsy stage of the night, and Momose from Accounts had started a round of the King Game. They each picked their numbers, and Momose got the King.
"Numbers 3 and 6… have to kiss!" she proclaimed, and laughed.
Well, Kurosawa was 3. Was 6… no, it couldn't be… could it?
He looked up at Adachi.
"No, but… we're both men…" Adachi protested, quietly.
Meanwhile, Kurosawa was proud of himself for playing it cool.
“Aren’t you guys drinking too much?” he said, seeing their enthusiasm at the thought of this taboo thing, baying for blood, their eyes on both of them.
They all protested. Kurosawa tried to put them off again. They weren’t having any of it.
Well… logically, people didn't freak out as much about same-sex kisses in the King Game these days, did they? It was quite a standard part of the game, to make two numbers kiss. It wasn't the circumstances he would have imagined for this happening, but he had to admit he was a little bit happy at the chance. At the urging of their colleagues, he leant in…
…and saw that Adachi's face was contorted with fear, eyes scrunched closed, shoulders up, tense.
Kurosawa stopped dead.
What was he doing? Didn't he only want the best for Adachi? Adachi didn't want this. Whatever Kurosawa had got himself carried away imagining, here was the real Adachi, and Kurosawa was forcing himself on him.
He redirected, and pressed his lips to Adachi's forehead instead. His skin was warm and soft. Solid, not a fantasy. I'm sorry, he thought with all his heart, trying to atone for his sins. He had overstepped.
He was a little angry at himself, again. He took it out on Momose, leaving an awkward silence behind him, and left to get some fresh air.
Waiting out there, he tried to take some deep breaths, and tried to remind himself that it wasn't that he'd lost anything. None of this belonged to him in the first place. He didn't deserve to have those things. Nothing had changed. He had to remember the reality of the situation, remember why he'd told himself not to overstep the boundaries of an ordinary life.
Now that he'd seen even more of Adachi, he was even more in love, somehow. He was as sweet as he’d always imagined, and even more beautiful up close. Sometimes fate was cruel. So, so cruel.
His grip tightened on the cold metal railing.
----
Adachi, kind Adachi, brought him some water and came to check that he was alright. Comforting him exactly the way he didn't deserve, considering he didn't know the way Kurosawa really thought of him.
Kurosawa could hardly look at him. He pasted on the usual polite exterior, and said what was expected of him - camaraderie, commiserating with how absurd the idea that they would kiss was. Degrading it as wrong, dirty, nothing to do with him. Because it shouldn't be. He should be normal.
"They got too carried away, huh? Making two guys kiss and all that.” Adachi didn’t respond. Of course he was scared, Kurosawa scolded himself. After all... “You wouldn't usually like it, right?" he continued, trying to make light of it, even through his grimace. "Doing it with a guy." Still no response. Kurosawa tried one more time, almost wanting the closure of Adachi’s confirmation. A simple ‘no, I wouldn’t’. “...Right?”
Adachi was still silent. Kurosawa, nevertheless, understood. He was so sorry to Adachi, for all of it, for trying to do something that he’d find disgusting. He detached himself and started to head back in - he was in charge of covering the bill, after all.
"N-!" came the sound from Adachi, making Kurosawa stop, and turn around, slowly.
What?
“I… didn’t hate it,” Adachi said.
Did he… no, Kurosawa. Stop this. He was trying to be kind. Adachi was always trying to be kind. That was the first thing he knew about him, and it always held true.
“Adachi?” he responded.
Adachi blinked nervously, before looking right at him.
“Um… actually…” Adachi's nervousness tugged at Kurosawa's heartstrings. “I have never kissed anyone before.”
“What?” Kurosawa said it out loud this time, in shock. How?
“Don’t laugh!” Adachi said - as if Kurosawa ever would.
“I’m not laughing,” he reassured him.
“I mean, well, as you can see,” Adachi continued in a rush, gesturing to himself “I’m really not popular… I’ve never dated anyone, let alone kissed.”
Why did that make Kurosawa fall more in love? How? It wasn’t like Kurosawa would get to give him his first kiss, however fast his brain was racing to construct that fantasy now. He just prayed that whoever did treated Adachi like he deserved. Make him feel as beautiful as he was. Oh god, Kurosawa wanted to sweep him up in his arms, and tell him… tell him…
“So,” Adachi continued, voice slightly raised as he forced it out, “I was very nervous, or rather… I was just scared.”
Kurosawa’s hand went automatically to his lips, touching them. He felt even more thankful, then. He was so glad he didn’t do something that Adachi wouldn’t want. Glad that he’d not made his first kiss be a grim one for a drinking game in front of screaming work colleagues. With a man. Him.
“So… in other words… there’s nothing for you to feel bad about or get depressed over!” Adachi continued, earnestly.
Kurosawa was stunned by his words. A kindness that he wasn’t used to receiving about this matter, from anyone. Adachi, forcing himself, even though he was clearly so uncomfortable, because he thought that Kurosawa needed some kind words.
How could one person be so amazing to him?
It took what felt like an eternity for Kurosawa to come back to himself, to paste back on that polite smile, to not just ask Adachi to tell him again. Just one more time.
“I see,” Kurosawa said instead, measuredly, carefully. “Then, it’s a relief. That I didn’t take your first kiss.” That much was true.
“No, no, that’s not what I mean!” Adachi said in distress, getting louder.
“What?” Kurosawa said, yet again.
“I mean! Well… um… well…” Adachi responded. “In other words…” He was breathing hard, shifting about uncomfortably, struggling to articulate whatever he was trying to say. Kurosawa would wait to listen to it, though. Whatever it was. He would wait forever. He looked at Adachi as Adachi lapsed into silence, and nodded, trying to encourage him to continue. Adachi gulped, and continue he did.
“I didn’t hate… your kiss…”
It didn’t sink in at first. It couldn’t sink in. Kurosawa’s inebriated brain scanned the sentence for any possible other implications, for anything else that Adachi could possibly mean when he insisted on that, on that one little addition, but couldn’t find anything. He was breathing hard, emotional. He looked up at Adachi, and thought he saw a glimpse of that same emotion on his face.
This wasn’t even a dream. This was beyond that. This was… this was life-altering.
“That…” Kurosawa managed to utter. “…Do you know what that means?” Did I read this situation wrong? Could this really be happening?
“What?” Adachi said, not sure what Kurosawa was asking. But he looked at Adachi, and saw an echo in his eyes where Kurosawa's world had been cloaked in silence for so, so long. The next thing, Kurosawa was stepping towards him, just following his body’s natural inclinations, for the first time in forever, answering that call. He’d already done this so, so many times in fantasy, a well-practiced movement, but for this to be real… he leant closer…
In fantasy, Adachi’s phone never rang.
Adachi jerked away, and started to chat to his friend on the phone, as if he hadn't understood the importance of what had been about to happen. Kurosawa felt that same feeling of loss from earlier, like something had been snatched away from him.
“Have you finished the call?” he asked afterwards, trying and failing not to sound upset. Trying to claw back that moment, that magic moment, he moved towards Adachi again in a hurry, scanning his face desperately, trying to understand…
Then Rokkaku came, loudly brandishing stomach medicine for Adachi. Ah. His frequent trips to the bathroom made sense, then. He must have been in some discomfort, and he still came. After all, that was Adachi all over. As they left, he vowed that one day they’d have that magic moment again, if Adachi wanted that. He just had to be patient, take things at Adachi’s pace, and try to win him over. Even just a little.
The world had changed.
----
The next morning, he sat bolt upright in bed, and put his head in his hands, groaning. His head was pounding from a hangover of course, but also, he couldn’t believe what he’d done the night before. How could he have been so bold? What did it all mean? Was it the drink that made him misread the situation, or was Adachi really not against the idea of a man kissing him?
He both couldn’t wait and was terrified to get to work. How would Adachi act? What would he find? Where were they going to go from there?
And… he’d never had a relationship, never been kissed before, or cherished. Kurosawa’s fingers touched his own lips again. He imagined what it would be like if he were that person. If he took Adachi on a date, being his first, teaching him the etiquette. If they went out for a meal together, and Kurosawa bought him flowers and made him blush. If… if he slid his hand into Adachi’s, and saw that look of wonder on his face, being his first one. If Kurosawa took hold of him, like he had last night, and kissed him, their tongues sliding together, feeling his breathing quicken. Taking him into his bedroom and lying him on the pillows, joining them together, giving him the kind of first time that Kurosawa had always wished he’d had for himself…
That was a very dangerous thought, because he wanted it so, so much, but… he couldn’t help it. Adachi was so cute. And everything Kurosawa learnt about him just made him want that with him, more and more.
----
What he found instead was that Adachi avoided him for weeks. He always desperately made sure to be in a group, or to slip out and go home when Kurosawa couldn’t talk to him properly. The scared look Adachi shot him from across the room made Kurosawa hold back. He could only watch him from afar, the way he used to.
He wasn’t satisfied with that any more. He couldn’t go back. Once he’d had a glimpse of heaven, his ordinary life felt unbearable.
Rumours started going around the office about him and Fujisaki. He was hurt but not really that surprised. She was beautiful after all, but then again… wasn’t it just that their office liked to gossip? Was she who Adachi liked? If she was, Kurosawa thought he might have noticed… or was he flattering himself?
He was walking back to the office one day, pondering this exact question, when he saw Adachi and Fujisaki getting hassled by some thugs. Adachi looked like he was pushing himself yet again, trying to protect Fujisaki. The thug shoved him, hard.
Kurosawa broke into a run.
Don’t touch Adachi!
----
They walked back to the office all together, and when he heard Adachi behind him let out a little yelp and saw the graze on his hand, he insisted on taking him aside to clean it and treat it. Adachi thought so little of himself, he didn’t trust that he would do it properly.
Kurosawa sat him down, and ignored all his unneeded apologies for the trouble.
Kurosawa felt terrible. Adachi had made it very clear he wanted no more to do with him, that he didn’t want to talk about it. Yet here was Kurosawa, playing the hero, and now the mother hen.
He must find me so annoying, Kurosawa thought. Really, he was a mess when it came to Adachi. He had never had a chance to act on his natural impulses this way before. He felt awkward, unpracticed, unsure how to respond now the constraints of it simply not being allowed were a little less sure than they used to be. Adachi probably didn’t like it. He might have totally misread the situation, before. But… maybe he hadn’t. And he still didn’t know what to do with that information. He just had to do whatever he could. And hope that Adachi wouldn’t hate him by the end.
He was about to leave, when Adachi spoke again.
“Kurosawa!”
Kurosawa stopped, and turned back around.
“Thank you,” Adachi continued, eyes kind. “I’m… really grateful to you. For treating my wound… and for what you did just now.”
How did Adachi always know just the right words to say to save him? Kurosawa melted with relief. Maybe he didn’t hate him. Maybe that wasn’t annoying of him after all. He stared at him, stunned for a few seconds, and then smiled shyly.
“You’re exaggerating,” he said, not able to take the praise from Adachi directly. He didn’t even care at that moment that Adachi was still avoiding what had happened on Rokkaku’s night out. What he just said was enough.
----
Adachi saved him again not long after.
President Hashimoto was very displeased, but Kurosawa mentally checked and rechecked his work, and what he’d said, and could not figure out why. Adachi came and fussed over him, too, trying to help, and his presence there alongside him was a much-needed comfort to Kurosawa as he faced the possibility of losing this deal and getting himself into very hot water.
But all of a sudden Adachi ran off, and returned triumphantly with some Mont Blanc cake. President Hashimoto’s demeanour totally switched. Suddenly, he was all jovial smiles and praise.
It was mind-boggling just how much little things could make someone happy - but it wasn’t like Kurosawa was much better, was he?
Also - even better - this gave him an opportunity to make their date happen, at last. He told Adachi he would treat him next time, and thanked him. Adachi’s face was so cute, like he didn’t know how to respond to the praise. Kurosawa left quickly before he embarrassed himself, and went back to his desk where he played off his giddiness as relief about the situation being resolved.
Later, he gave himself another stern talking-to. He was about to overstep again, wasn’t he? What was he thinking, imagining that they’d go on a date? That was far too fast.
He bought Adachi some sweets instead, and left them on his desk as a token of his appreciation. He tried to be subtle as he looked over at Adachi’s pleased expression, before he was taken away far too soon to get some lunch with Rokkaku.
Kurosawa sighed in disappointment. Back to work.
----
Adachi wasn’t well. But still, he kept diligently working, drinking bottles and bottles of medicine to make it through. His work wasn’t late. It was still carefully thought through. But Adachi was pale, and sweating, and practically collapsing on his desk in the midst of all his discarded bottles.
Kurosawa’s work suffered. He made several mistakes that day. He was just too distracted, gripping his desk with white knuckles, trying to hold himself back from getting involved. Adachi never looked after himself. Never. And he had nobody else to look after him, did he?
The moment he noticed Adachi had left, he made his apologies to his colleagues and ran out after him, and started a battle he should have suspected would happen where Adachi refused his help, getting angry, probably frustrated at himself for getting sick. It was the first time he had seen him that way, but concern overrode everything - a good thing too, because when Adachi started to leave, he lost consciousness.
Kurosawa caught him before he hit the concrete, and held him in his arms. Bridal-style. Ironic, really.
----
He planned to just take him home, really, he did. But his nosy sister got into the taxi with them, and when she took stock of the situation the look she shot him was entirely too knowing.
Oh god. Did she know about his perversion? He didn’t trust her with any secret, let alone one that could devastate him this much. He couldn’t cope if she did.
In the end, though, she slyly suggested that Kurosawa look after Adachi while he was sick. Which was… was it overstepping? Kurosawa really didn’t know any more.
He ended up doing it anyway. Adachi needed looking after by someone. It was fine if it was Kurosawa that did that, right? It wasn’t a bad thing, right?
----
He made his first mistake when he hurried to get Adachi into bed, and tripped and fell on top of him. His traitorous body started to respond almost immediately, and he reprimanded himself. Adachi was sick, and didn’t deserve to have to fend off someone who wanted… more with him.
He scrambled off him, and busied himself fetching a cloth and water.
He made his second mistake when he helped Adachi, delirious by then, to get out of his suit and tie and into some clothes suitable for sleeping in. He didn’t intend to, but he saw a flash of bare stomach as Adachi pulled off his shirt. This wasn’t the time. He wrenched his eyes away and started to fold the clothes.
He made his third mistake when he stayed awake that whole night, tending to him, mopping his brow and comforting him as he battled the fever. He had never had a chance before to look at his face for this long. Just look, and look. His entire body ached with the need to kiss him. That selfish, intrusive need. Inappropriate and wrong. God, he was so in love.
His fourth mistake was accepting Adachi’s offer to stay with him while his sister was still trying to move herself in. He got carried away. As if this was them, a long-term couple, finally moving in together.
He should have known that this wasn’t for him.
----
When Adachi accepted Rokkaku’s request to stay with him, too, and put himself down yet again to make somebody else feel happy, even saying he envied poor, overeager, inexperienced Rokkaku, Kurosawa slowly started to realise he was being ridiculous. How was he stalking around Adachi, feeling so possessive, getting so hurt, when Adachi had given no real indication that he meant anything more than just innocently?
Rokkaku’s night out, the moment he thought they shared… that was a mistake. Surely. They were both drunk, and Kurosawa had just been driven mad by want. There was no other explanation.
And Adachi… was just being kind. That was all. That was the first thing he knew about Adachi, after all, and every day he spent with him only showed that to be more true. Kurosawa wasn’t special.
That night, as Rokkaku snored next to him and Adachi slept peacefully, Kurosawa couldn’t sleep. He ended up fussing over Adachi, who frowned when Kurosawa touched his arm, trying to pull the blanket over him more. He’d been really sick just the other day, and needed to be warm, needed to understand how precious he was...
He looked at Adachi, achingly. He started, stutteringly, to reach to touch his cheek. At the lightest of contact, Adachi drew back like he didn’t like it and stirred like he was about to wake, and Kurosawa crashed back to reality with a sickening thud, horrified.
What was he doing, here, having talked his way into the bedroom of his work colleague, about to touch his face when he was sleeping? How far over the line was this? How much would Adachi hate him and feel uncomfortable, feel violated, once he woke?
He turned and fled, as far as he could get in this tiny apartment, facing the kitchen wall, breathing hard.
Maybe there was a reason why humans were not supposed to see heaven before they died. Who could bear seeing it, and then not being able to live there? He’d do anything for it. Anything. He was breaking himself in two, trying.
“What the hell am I doing?” he reprimanded to himself, under his breath.
He buried his face in his hands. After a long time of just standing there, trying to get his breathing under control, he straightened back up with a great effort. And packed his things, quietly, so as not to disturb Adachi, and let himself out.
Kurosawa held himself together for the taxi ride home. He called out when he got in to check whether his sister had broken in somehow, but luckily, the flat was empty.
He got a few steps in before he fell to the floor, and just cried, and cried. A hand went into his pants, and tugged until he spilled miserably over himself. It wasn’t what he wanted. It was never anything he wanted. He hadn’t lost anything, he reminded himself harshly, even as he saw himself being so pathetic on the floor, covered in tears and snot and semen. A gay man, aging and desperate and so, so lonely.
He would always want without having. It was what he deserved, for being this way. The thought of an ordinary life was somehow impossible for someone like him to bear. It broke him, because he was the one that was wrong, that was sick, that didn’t fit.
He was broken. He couldn’t escape that truth any more. Couldn’t run from it, or pretend that things would be OK. Nothing ever would be, and he’d have to relearn how to accept that.
----
The next day, he readied himself for work as usual, staring at himself in the mirror, face grim.
There was only one solution, to clear his head once and for all. He had to get rejected. Once he’d lost all hope, maybe then he could work on mending himself. Disappear from Adachi’s life and never wonder what-if. He expected it would hurt. But he was in so much pain already, that he couldn’t possibly hurt more than this.
Adachi, he hoped, would be kind. That was the first thing he knew about Adachi, and he hoped it would be proven true yet again. He hadn’t talked to anyone about this part of him, really ever. It was so tender, so sensitive, that he needed Adachi’s kind words to let him down gently.
Adachi responded to his message about them walking home with a cute little emoji, and chatted away as they walked out of the building and towards the train station, unsuspecting. Innocent. Kurosawa walked a little ahead, so tense about what he’d trapped himself into doing, not able to look at him.
The things Adachi was saying, too, were so like him, it made Kurosawa’s heart hurt. Putting himself down for having never had a sweetheart… he still couldn’t see, could he?
Kurosawa couldn’t respond for a time, too wound-up.
“Kurosawa?” Adachi prompted.
This was it.
“The person who gets to date you will be blessed,” Kurosawa said, from the heart.
“What?” said Adachi, as if that concept was foreign to him.
“Whether it’s going on a date, having a meal together, or holding hands…” Kurosawa said, recounting his own fantasies, his voice starting to tremble, “that person will be your first in everything.” He gulped and pulled himself together, looking back at Adachi and his fantasy, all in one. “I’m sure they’ll be really happy…”
And then, the biggest truth of his life. He turned away, keeping on walking, as if it wasn’t.
“...If it were me, I’d be so happy.”
He meant to keep walking, but his steps stuttered to a stop on their own. Adachi wasn’t saying anything. No wonder. Kurosawa… he’d made him so uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to let me stay at your place any more,” clarified Kurosawa.
“B-but, your sister-” Adachi stuttered, always thinking of other people, even now that he was under threat.
“It’s painful for me to stay with you any longer,” he clarified again, more forcefully.
“What?” Adachi responded. Had he still not understood? Kurosawa was bad at this. He needed to be more direct. He felt like his airways were closing up with fear. He struggled to get the words out, not used to being honest about this. Not used to digging deep to this part of himself that hurt most, and offering it up to the light and the air.
“Because…” Kurosawa said, his voice hoarse, his vision buzzing with panic, hands numb. “I like you!”
There. At last, Adachi knew.