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“What do you mean, weapons need to be handed in at coat check?”
The irritated voice from the front of the line is familiar. Very familiar. Ryuunosuke wishes it was less familiar, in fact, because it serves only to remind him that last night, while he and Kazuma were supposed to be completing some tax paperwork, they were instead making out on Ryuunosuke’s kitchen floor.
Next to him, Takeshi says with some trepidation, “Is that—”
“Don’t worry about it,” says Ryuunosuke with forced cheer.
“I think I’m worrying,” Takeshi says, because Kazuma has, apparently, overheard and is now looking directly their way.
“Asougi,” says Ryuunosuke, mostly to make Kazuma flinch, which he does.
“Naruhodou,” says Kazuma.
Ryuunosuke flinches, too.
That backfired fast.
Kazuma grins, then he catches Takeshi’s eye and the grin disappears just as quickly as it appeared. “You brought a plus-one?”
“Isn’t that what you do at weddings?”
“Not if you’re still married to someone else.”
“The only reason we’re still married is that you won’t agree to give me the fucking—”
“Please,” Takeshi says weakly from Ryuunosuke’s side, and he reluctantly subsides.
“I see who the bitch is in that relationship,” Kazuma says, and turns back to the terrified valet. “Now. As I was saying. As a prosecutor, I’m legally entitled to carry a—”
“Mikotoba Susato-san specifically instructed me to make sure you weren’t armed,” the poor man says.
Ryuunosuke laughs. “See? She knows that you’re—”
“And you,” the valet adds, turning to Ryuunosuke. “You’re Naruhodou-san, right? You need to hand over any weapons as well.”
“Excuse me?” Ryuunosuke demands, his voice reaching an embarrassing squeaky pitch. “Does she not trust me to behave?”
The look the valet gives him is so, so tired.
Kazuma is grinning again. “A pair as always.”
“This is not the time,” Ryuunosuke hisses, and grudgingly hands over Karuma. Behind him, a small child asks, “Mama, is that a sword?” and is just as quickly shushed.
“Thank you,” the valet says with no little relief.
“See you around,” Ryuunosuke says to Kazuma, and puts a hand at the small of Takeshi’s back. This elicits the indignant choking sound he was hoping for from Kazuma.
Inside the banquet hall, Ryuunosuke spends a few minutes tracking down their assigned seating while Takeshi trails along behind like some kind of lost puppy. It turns out that they’re located at the far corner of the room, seated with a group of strangers that Ryuunosuke has never met before. Asshole quarantine, probably, he thinks. He’d wonder why, except that the last time he and Kazuma were in public together, they caused a not-insignificant amount of property damage. They only got around to paying the fine two weeks ago.
“Well, here we are,” he says to Takeshi, and takes his seat.
A silence descends.
Kazuma is, he realizes, seated with most of the rest of their family, at the exact opposite corner of the hall. He’s sandwiched between Iris and Sholmes, with Mikotoba-san one seat over.
Serves Ryuunosuke right for bringing a plus-one, maybe, but he’s still going to be pissy about it.
He realizes that he’s staring wistfully at his darling soon-to-be ex-husband when Takeshi asks, “How long were you two even married for?”
Ryuunosuke shrugs. “A decade, on and off.”
“On and… off?”
“Well, you see,” says Ryuunosuke, “he’s a bitch.”
“But you married him.”
“Yeah. He’s the love of my life. Probably. Something like that.”
“But you’re getting divorced now?”
“Yeah,” says Ryuunosuke.
Takeshi waits for a moment, and when it becomes clear that Ryuunosuke isn’t about to add anything else, he gets to his feet. “I think I’m going to get some punch.”
“Great idea,” says Ryuunosuke, and goes back to watching Kazuma across the room.
“You’re staring,” Iris says.
“I am not,” says Kazuma, which is a lie so blatant that no one even bothers calling him out on it.
“Do you know him?”
“My husband?”
“Ex-husband,” Iris points out. “But no. I mean the other guy.”
Ah. “Somewhat.”
Sholmes and Mikotoba-san exchange glances. “I won’t ask,” says Sholmes.
“Good. Don’t.”
“But you’re here alone,” Mikotoba-san says.
“I don’t need to bring a plus-one just to make a point. Unlike a certain someone.”
It’s a nice story. He’s proud of it.
It’s also a complete lie.
What actually happened is that he went on a very nice Tinder date with a guy named Kaoru, or maybe Hiro, and halfway through, Kaoru-or-Hiro noticed that Kazuma was still wearing his wedding band. And then Kazuma had noticed that Hiro-or-Kaoru’s hands looked nothing like Ryuunosuke’s hands as they held a highball glass, and they’d decided to go their separate ways before the night got even more awkward.
So yes. He has no plus-one for the wedding.
“He’s got shit taste anyway,” Kazuma says to Mikotoba-san, still looking over at Ryuunosuke and his little boy toy.
“He married you.”
“He’s got shit taste,” Kazuma says with relish.
The rest of the table is saved from engaging him further by the overhead lights flickering, which they all take as a signal to sit down and shut up—everyone aside from Sholmes, that is, who disappears and then reappears several moments later with a glass, which he deposits in front of Kazuma.
“What’s this?” Kazuma mumbles.
“Mazel tov on your ex-husband’s shit taste.”
Kazuma eyes him suspiciously, then transfers the suspicion to the glass. There’s some thick milky-brown liquid in it, but Kazuma has never much been one for caution, so he drinks it anyway.
It’s alcoholic, that’s for certain. It’s very sweet. It’s also terrible.
“That was terrible,” he says to Sholmes.
Sholmes gives him his sunniest possible smile. “Mazel tov on your ex-husband’s shit taste.”
Yeah, that’s fair, thinks Kazuma.
Finally, the wedding party assembles at the front of the room. There are some speeches, which Kazuma barely pays attention to, and then Mikotoba-san takes off, presumably to go spend time with the well-adjusted side of the family. Sholmes and Iris stick around; Kazuma assumes that they’re hoping for some kind of show.
So he spots Ryuunosuke standing by the buffet and thinks, I might as well give them one.
Ryuunosuke has left himself in a very vulnerable position—alone, back to the room—so it’s no surprise at all when Kazuma suddenly appears behind him.
“Hello,” he says without even turning around. There are some canapés on the table in front of him, and he’s trying to figure out whether the mushy brown vegetables on top are eggplant or something even worse.
“Eggplant, I think,” says Kazuma.
Ryuunosuke tries not to sigh. “I was afraid of that.”
Kazuma grabs him by the waist and spins him around. “There. Eye contact. Isn’t that nice?”
“Terribly sorry,” Ryuunosuke says dryly.
Kazuma glances around the room. “You got shoved in the corner?”
“I think Mikotoba-san is smarter than to put us at the same table.”
“He’d probably have put us in separate rooms, if that was an option.” They both snicker, then Kazuma adds, somewhat petulantly, “Why are you even here?”
“The same reason you’re here,” says Ryuunosuke, “which is to say that our beloved little sister is getting married to the love of her life.”
“Imagine that. Getting married to the love of your life.”
“Yes, we wouldn’t know anything about that, would we?”
By way of reply, Kazuma touches his elbow and says, “I hate your suit.”
“Thanks,” says Ryuunosuke. “I love it, personally.”
“I hate seersucker,” says Kazuma.
“It’s perfect for a summer wedding.”
“I hate it.”
Ryuunosuke turns towards him. “Kazuma. Why do you think I’m wearing seersucker.” He doesn’t pronounce it like a question, so Kazuma doesn’t bother answering, though he does try to hide a smile. “You look fantastic, by the way,” Ryuunosuke adds.
“Yes,” says Kazuma, and inspects his sleeves. “You love this shade of grey.”
“I'm glad we’re on the same page when it comes to spiteful wedding outfits.”
“Maybe not the same page. The same book, though.”
Ryuunosuke grins.
“A pair as always,” murmurs Kazuma.
“You have got to stop saying that.”
“I will not.”
Ryuunosuke shakes his head.
“Pass the hummus, while we’re pretending to be on good terms,” Kazuma adds after a moment.
Ryuunosuke does, and fakes being surprised when Kazuma makes the incredibly predictable move of brushing their fingers together on the dish. He doesn’t bother faking surprise when Kazuma immediately puts the dish back down and turns to fix him with a stare and says, “Have I ever told you that you have incredibly beautiful hands?”
“Yes,” says Ryuunosuke, because he has. He does it a lot, actually. And Ryuunosuke really wishes he wouldn’t, and especially not right now, because he has a sinking feeling that Kazuma says it when he actually wants to say “I love you.”
But he’s at someone else’s wedding with a rebound as a plus-one, so what he says to Kazuma is, “Are you taking care of yourself?”
“You saw me last night. Do you think anything has changed in the meantime?”
“Are you taking care of yourself?”
Kazuma smiles. “Not especially.”
“I figured,” says Ryuunosuke.
“I’m sure you did,” Kazuma says, and something about his tone of voice has Ryuunosuke reaching up and stepping forward, putting his hands to Kazumaʼs face.
They kissed last night, so this shouldn’t be anything new. It is, though. It somehow always is.
Kazuma opens to it immediately, gentle and shockingly sweet for someone who is that much of a bitch. And then he tilts his head in the way he always does because he knows that Ryuunosuke’s neck gets sore at the wrong angle, and they’re off to the races.
It is, quite frankly, an embarrassing display. They’re in full view of their friends and family. They’re blocking the access to the mini quiches. But nothing to do with good sense has ever governed any aspect of their relationship, and especially not when Kazuma smooths his hand up along Ryuunosuke’s spine to the nape of his neck, so it keeps going.
He smells just like he always does, like oudh and white musk, but it’s all somehow still new, because usually when they’re kissing it’s in a heap on someone’s linoleum, or maybe in a pillow fort on the carpet of Kazuma’s living room. This is messy in a different way, Ryuunosuke reasons.
It’s always messy in some way, though. But that’s a little hard to care about when Kazuma looks that good in his suit.
Eventually he gives the back of Ryuunosuke’s neck a gentle squeeze and steps back.
They look at each other for a moment.
“That was rude of us,” says Kazuma.
“It was,” says Ryuunosuke.
Kazuma grasps Ryuunosuke’s hands and brings them up to chest level. “Looked better with a ring,” he mutters, because he can’t ever just say what he means.
Ryuunosuke nods.
“You should go back to your date,” Kazuma adds after a moment. Across the room, Takeshi is radiating a deliberate flippancy as he looks anywhere but at them.
“Yes, I should,” says Ryuunosuke, and does.
Kazuma makes a small mountain of mini quiches on his plate before going back to the table, because nothing can actually solve his heartbreak, but cheese and green onion sure don’t hurt.
Halfway through his sixth quiche, Iris asks, “Didn’t you two see each other last night?”
“Yesterday?” Sholmes demands. “You spend a lot of time together for a separated couple.”
“We have paperwork to do,” Kazuma mutters through a mouthful of quiche.
There’s a long silence.
“How much paperwork did you get done?”
“None.”
“Noted,” says Sholmes, and gets to his feet. “I’m getting you another drink.”
“Anyway. My point,” Iris says, “is that you have no business being this sulky when you saw him yesterday.”
“Actually, it makes perfect sense.” Kazuma picks apart the crust of the seventh mini quiche.
“Ahhh,” says Iris, as Sholmes drops back into his seat and puts a glass in front of Kazuma. “You mean because you feel a deep sense of personal betrayal from him having a plus-one.”
“He didn’t even mention it.”
“Was he supposed to?”
“I saw him yesterday!” The glass in front of him has the same milky-brown beverage in it as before. Kazuma is still skeptical, but he drinks it anyway, because Ryuunosuke is across the room making small talk with someone who is not him. “That was terrible.”
“That’s what you said after the first one,” says Sholmes, “yet here you are drinking it anyway.”
“Hggg,” says Kazuma, and faceplants onto the fancy white linens. “How did you even procure it that fast?”
“A man has his ways.”
“Hggg,” Kazuma says again.
“It’s a white russian, by the way.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Ah, but one never knows when such knowledge may prove useful.”
“Like when we have to drag him to the emergency room after he collapses from quiche overdose?” asks Iris.
“Precisely!”
To no one in particular, Kazuma says, “Why’d he have to bring another prosecutor?”
“He has a type, I suppose,” offers Sholmes.
“Okay, but him? That little asshole? I thought he respected himself more than that.”
Cryptically, Sholmes says, “Maybe that was the point.”
Kazuma doesn’t answer.
Sholmes sighs. “Why are you still wearing your ring?”
“Because I’m still married,” Kazuma mumbles into the tablecloth. He’s starting to wonder if that second white russian was a good idea.
“As I understand it, you’re only still married because you’re filibustering.”
“That’s a technicality. We’re still married.”
“Asougi,” says Sholmes, which is worrying, because he doesn’t usually last-name-no-honorific Kazuma like that. Kazuma lifts his head to narrow his eyes at Sholmes, and Sholmes says, “You must realize that you only have yourself to blame, yes?”
“What?”
“Why is it that Ryuunosuke is angry with you?”
“Well, because—”
“He is at least as smart as you.”
Kazuma frowns harder. “I know that.”
“And you are the same age.”
“What? I know that. He—”
“And yet!” Sholmes says with a flourish. “You continually treat him like a recalcitrant toddler, and keep secrets until it’s too late.”
Kazuma sits up. “But if I’d told him the truth, he’d—”
Iris and Sholmes exchange an exhausted glance. “You’re divorced now,” Iris says. “So tell us. Where did that approach land you?”
“You’re only twenty,” Kazuma says. “Why are you lecturing me?”
She props her chin in her hand and gives him a wry smile. “Now imagine it was your spouse treating you like this.”
She’s outmaneuvered him in a single sentence. Again.
“The light dawns,” says Sholmes.
“Ugh,” says Kazuma, because this is something that he’s kind of been suspecting the whole time, but because they are dysfunctional idiots Ryuunosuke has never actually told him as such.
“For a couple of smart people, you’re really stupid,” says Iris.
“We know.”
Iris reaches over and pats him on the arm.
Kazuma broods for another moment, then asks, “Why are you bringing this up right now?”
Sholmes seems puzzled. “You don’t seem to have realized it yourself.” Then his expression changes to fear. “You don’t—no, this was not my way of telling you to do something about this right now—Kazuma—”
Kazuma’s already gone.
“You know,” Ryuunosuke announces to the general vicinity, “this would be a good time to dance, if one was so inclined.”
“I’m still sober,” Takeshi says.
“Is that a no?”
“It’s pretty damn close.” But the look that Ryuunosuke is giving him must be just pathetic enough, because he makes an ugh noise and gets to his feet. “Fine. But I’m stopping by the bar for a shot of tequila first.”
“Yeah, that’s… fair,” says Ryuunosuke, and follows him to the bar. He watches with mild fascination while Takeshi does the thing with the salt and the lemon and the tequila, and then they’ve run out of ways to procrastinate and they’re on the dance floor. They stare at each other grimly for a moment, and then Takeshi sighs and puts his hands on Ryuunosuke’s hips.
It’s horrible. Ryuunosuke has never wanted a pair of hands on his hips less than in this precise moment, when there is a pair of hands on his hips.
Takeshi probably agrees, because he says, “Why am I here?”
“Because I asked, and you said yes.”
“That’s… an accurate retelling of the sequence of events, yes.”
Neither of them has yet had the wherewithal to detach themselves from the position they’re in.
“Why did you say yes?”
“Because my dad is convinced that your ex put a blood curse on the family, and I guess this is supposed to reverse it somehow.”
There’s a faint sobbing noise. Ryuunosuke realizes it’s coming from himself.
“Well. Let’s dance, I guess,” he says, because there’s no better time for prospective romance than when a divorce and a blood curse are in play.
It’s more of an off-tempo wobble than a dance, which is a shame because Ryuunosuke actually rather likes this song. He fixes his gaze on one of the floral arrangements across the room. With any luck, he’ll die from an aneurysm within the next two minutes and be spared from this hell of his own making.
But that’s not what happens, of course. Instead, Takeshi goes abruptly stiff—abruptly even stiffer, which is a feat in itself—and says, “For fuck sake.”
Which can only mean one thing, really, and Ryuunosuke’s suspicions are proven correct when he feels a stormy shadow appear behind his left shoulder.
“Excuse me,” says Kazuma, and plucks Takeshi’s hands from Ryuunosuke’s waist. “I’m borrowing this.”
With an attempt at outrage, Ryuunosuke says, “Pardon me?”
“You know what, I give up,” says Takeshi. “There’s an open bar; I’m getting smashed. You guys have fun. Privately, preferably.”
“Good boy,” says Kazuma, and turns back to Ryuunosuke.
“You hate Lou Reed,” says Ryuunosuke, pointlessly.
“Yep. Which means that it’s a perfect time to talk over the music.”
“You know,” Ryuunosuke murmurs, “I have to wonder why they’re playing this at a wedding to begin with.”
“A song called ‘Perfect Day?’”
“Yeah, but have you listened to the lyrics?” At some point in the last twelve seconds, Ryuunosuke’s arms have snuck around Kazuma’s waist. He pretends not to notice that Kazuma is playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s actually a total downer. ‘You made me forget myself—I thought I was someone else, someone good.’”
Kazuma laughs. Ryuunosuke laughs, too.
“So why have you interrupted my date?” he asks Kazuma.
“You can’t seriously be trying to convince me that this is a date.”
“And why not?”
“Because you have better taste in men than that.”
Ryuunosuke gives him a skeptical look. “I really don’t, though.”
“‘You’re going to reap just what you sow,’” Kazuma murmurs just as Lou Reed does, and Ryuunosuke laughs again.
“If you hate Lou Reed, why do you know the lyrics?”
“Because you like Lou Reed, and I have bad taste in men,” says Kazuma, and then they’re kissing again.
This again, thinks Ryuunosuke with some disgust, but a much larger part of him is yelling THIS AGAIN, THANK YOU GOD AND JESUS, so he ignores the dissent.
What he’s failed to consider is that they’re in closer proximity for this kiss, with his arms around Kazuma and Kazuma’s hands tangled in his hair and the back of his suit jacket. This increases the stakes right from the outset, and it takes just a couple frantic seconds before they are well and truly necking. The song has ended and now there’s some disco track playing, which is a very apropos whiplash but also contributes to the general feeling of emotional breakdown that he and Kazuma have going on.
“We have got to stop doing this,” he says, a little desperately, and then immediately undermines himself by trying to pull Kazuma even closer.
Kazuma is too busy nibbling his earlobe to answer.
Fuck it, he thinks, and then says out loud for good measure.
“Good answer,” says Kazuma, and tightens his hands in the back of Ryuunosuke’s very expensive jacket.
“You’re ruining my suit.”
“Revenge.”
“For wearing something you hate?”
“I get dressed up for you and seersucker is how you repay me?” Kazuma has his mouth at Ryuunosuke’s throat now.
“You shouldn’t be getting dressed up for me, because we’re divorced.” There’s something hysterical welling up in Ryuunosuke’s chest; he can’t tell whether it’s laughter or tears.
“We’re still married.”
“That’s a technicality.”
Kazuma narrows his eyes at him, then says, “You know what, I don’t even care right now,” and kisses him again.
Finally, thinks Ryuunosuke, like it hasn’t been less than a minute since they last kissed.
Fortunately for the rest of the wedding’s guests, they only get a few seconds into this new kiss before a familiar voice announces, “Terribly sorry, gentlemen, but it’s about time that I ruin the festivities.”
“We’re busy, Sholmes,” Kazuma mumbles.
“That’s the exact problem, is it not?”
“Hmm,” says Kazuma, dragging his hands up along Ryuunosuke’s ribs.
“Speaking of recalcitrant toddlers,” Sholmes mutters, and then grabs them each by an ear. “What’s the impolite term for this? Taking the trash out?”
He’s pulled them all the way out of the room before Ryuunosuke manages to detach the iron grip Sholmes has on his ear. “That hurt, Sholmes.”
“Now imagine,” Sholmes says, and makes a sweeping gesture, “what damage your hideous display wrought on the rest of us.”
Ryuunosuke opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it, because he’s kind of got a point.
“This will do nicely.” Sholmes pushes open a door partway down the hall. It’s a small room—probably one of the hotel’s meeting rooms for visiting businesses—and there’s almost nothing inside except for a stack of folding chairs and an abandoned linen cart.
“You’re ditching us in here?”
“I trust you will make the best of your new home.” Sholmes shuts the door behind himself on his way out.
For a moment, they both stare at the closed door.
“We deserved that,” says Kazuma.
“I bet you saw this coming.”
Kazuma gives him a look. “Obviously not. I’m not smart enough to anticipate this.”
Ryuunosuke isn’t so sure about that, but it’s not worth the breath it would take to argue the point. Instead, he looks around.
“Aha,” Kazuma says suddenly, and takes off across the room.
Ryuunosuke knows that tone of voice. He freezes in fear.
Kazuma has immediately identified the idea that’s popped into his head as a genius one, which means that he and Ryuunosuke are both in severe danger.
He grabs some of the chairs and begins unfolding them, setting them in a stack next to him. Ryuunosuke watches for a bit, then asks, “What are you doing?”
“It’s been a while since we made a pillow fort.”
“That’s—” Ryuunosuke laughs, a touch hysterically. “That’s because we’re divorced.”
“We’re not divorced.”
“That’s a technicality.”
“But still true.”
Ryuunosuke sighs.
“I’m surprised that that’s your problem with this situation,” Kazuma says. “Not the fact that we’re… at a wedding.”
“We’ve been exiled. There are no rules anymore.”
“Ah,” says Kazuma triumphantly. “So you’re okay with building a fort after all.”
“This is absurd,” Ryuunosuke says, and laughs under his breath, and Kazuma’s chest clenches in the way it always does when he laughs that small adorable laugh.
Ryuunosuke grabs a tablecloth from a nearby linen cart, and then says, “I could leave, actually. I could just leave right now.”
“What about your date?”
“Calling him a date is a bit optimistic. He’s… the guy I’m here with. At best.”
Which is kind of the opposite of what he said earlier, but this is trending in Kazuma’s favour, so he keeps his mouth shut.
“Anyway,” Ryuunosuke continues, “I don’t even know where he went. So I could just leave.”
Feeling a little bold, which is probably unwarranted, Kazuma says, “But you’re not going to.”
Ryuunosuke sighs. “No. I’m not.”
“Because it’s been a long time since we built a pillow fort.”
“We’re thirty-four, Kazuma,” Ryuunosuke says helplessly. “We graduated university ages ago. It having been a long time since we built a pillow fort is, like, the natural order of things.”
“And yet here you are, holding a tablecloth, in exile at our sister’s wedding, about to build a pillow fort.”
“Or some facsimile thereof,” Ryuunosuke mumbles, and shakes the tablecloth out.
They steal some binder clips from a janitor’s closet and then set the chairs up in a ring, hooking tablecloths together to make a canopy over the top. This isn’t normally the sort of pillow fort they build, seeing as there are not any actual pillows involved in this one, but they work in quiet tandem anyway, each knowing the necessary steps. Kazuma lays a tablecloth over the soap-and-mud scented carpet, then moves back to watch Ryuunosuke.
Little worker bee, he thinks fondly.
It’s only a couple more minutes before Ryuunosuke fastens the last binder clip and sits back on his heels to admire their work. He’s got that smug little half-smile that Kazuma knows so well, and even in that horrible suit, he’s breathtaking.
“Have I ever told you,” Kazuma says, “that you have incredibly beautiful hands?”
Ryuunosuke’s eyes flicker with an almost-hurt, and he doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls off his jacket and folds it up and drops it on the floor, scooting under the canopy. Kazuma silently joins him, and they don’t even bother pretending—Ryuunosuke holds his arms out, and Kazuma wraps his own around Ryuunosuke in turn and pulls him to the floor. Ryuunosuke hooks one leg around Kazuma’s for good measure.
His body is so familiar.
“This room smells like… business,” Ryuunosuke eventually mutters.
“Paperwork.”
“And despair.”
“Adulthood fucking sucks,” Kazuma says, and they both laugh. “God. We fucked everything up so badly, Ryuunosuke.”
“But at least we look stylish while we do it.”
“Hey, speak for yourself.”
Ryuunosuke sighs. “It’s a nice suit.”
“Expensive doesn’t mean nice.”
“So was this your plan the whole time? Get rid of what’s-his-face so you could sequester me in a side room and insult my clothing?”
“Oh,” says Kazuma. “Oh my god, no, I just forgot because we started making out.”
Ryuunosuke pulls away to give him a puzzled look. “Forgot what?”
“That I’m an idiot.”
“You forgot?”
“No, I mean—” He’s stumbling over his words now. “I talked to Sholmes earlier.”
“Before he kicked us out, you mean?”
“Yeah.” Kazuma readjusts their position, fitting one arm under Ryuunosuke’s neck and then grabbing his hip to pull him closer. “We talked about fucking up.”
Ryuunosuke laughs and reaches up, smoothing Kazuma’s hair out of his eyes. “In general terms, or specifically?”
“Me specifically.”
“That must have been a nice change of pace for Sholmes.”
“And a not-nice one for me.” Ryuunosuke is giving him one of those looks, so Kazuma squeezes his eyes shut. “I mean that—you’re the same age as me.”
“What?”
“And you’re definitely at least as smart as me. Probably smarter. You’re just less showy about it, and—”
“Kazuma.”
Kazuma shuts up.
“What are you talking about?”
“Me keeping secrets.”
That brings Ryuunosuke up short. “Are you… are you trying to dissect our marriage right now? On the floor at a wedding?”
Kazuma smiles wryly. “So it seems.”
“Did Sholmes put you up to this?”
“No,” Kazuma says with a laugh. “I think he just wanted to flaunt a ‘brilliant deduction’ in my face, and it backfired on him.” He pauses. “Or maybe he was sick of my sulking and just wanted me to grow up.”
Ryuunosuke rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.
“What I’m saying is…” Kazuma sighs. “It doesn’t take a genius to realize that I spent a lot of time fucking up and then compounding it with more mistakes. This isn’t even an apology, really. It just… is.”
“Wait, is this—” Ryuunosuke laughs. “Is this you finally catching up to where I’ve been for years?”
“Yeah, probably.”
Ryuunosuke stares him down for a moment. “You can’t possibly be telling me that this never occurred to you before now.”
“No,” says Kazuma, which is true. “But you can’t possibly be telling me that it never occurred to you to bring it up to me before now.”
Ryuunosuke is silent for a bit. “No,” he eventually says.
“By which I can assume that you had already decided that we were too broken to fix.”
“Something like that,” Ryuunosuke murmurs.
Kazuma gathers him close, and Ryuunosuke buries his face in the nook right under his chin. “Somehow,” says Kazuma, “this feels very appropriate.”
“We’ve never been good at anything at all,” says Ryuunosuke.
“Unfortunately, that didn’t stop us from getting married.”
“No,” Ryuunosuke admits. “And—it wasn’t all bad.”
In any other circumstance, that wouldn’t be much of a compliment. But it’s completely accurate. They’ve never been able to communicate worth shit, but— “We had some pretty ridiculous times,” says Kazuma.
Ryuunosuke laughs a little, under his breath. “Do you remember the time that I caught the flu and I could barely even stand upright but you—”
“—I carried you bridal-style into Target because you’d watched too many episodes of Say Yes to the Dress while hopped up on Nyquil and you’d suddenly decided to take up crocheting.”
“In my fever-dream state, I was so sure I was going to open the world’s most successful bridal wear company.”
“Crochet wedding fashion.”
“I really think we could’ve been something,” Ryuunosuke murmurs, and he’s talking about his woebegotten bridal fashion company but he’s also really not. “What a fucking disaster,” he adds after a moment.
“Me, or you?”
“Both of us.” Ryuunosuke smiles. “Mostly you, though.”
“But you love me.”
“Very much,” says Ryuunosuke without missing a beat.
Neither of them makes the obvious observation: the divorce paperwork is going to be filed regardless. Instead, Kazuma nestles his face into the crook of Ryuunosuke’s neck, and Ryuunosuke lets him.
They lie very still, and Kazuma tries, and fails, to not remember the hundreds of thousands of little ways they’ve fucked up over the past decade.
Sholmes comes to excavate them sometime around midnight.
“The hotel staff have begun to threaten to call security,” he announces as he sweeps into the room, “so I believe this may be time for us to beat a hasty retreat.” He doesn’t even seem particularly fazed by the not-pillow pillow fort in the center of the room.
“Ugh,” says Kazuma.
“C’mon, up,” Ryuunosuke murmurs, and gently pries Kazuma’s arms from around his waist.
Grudgingly, Kazuma follows him out from under the tablecloth canopy, and they survey their work.
“I suppose we should clean this up,” Ryuunosuke says after a second.
“I will run interference at coat check,” says Sholmes. “And—” He watches them for a moment, as Kazuma reaches out and grasps the edge of Ryuunosuke’s sleeve. “I do wish you’d stop doing this to yourselves,” he murmurs.
Ryuunosuke and Kazuma pretend not to hear. Sholmes sighs and leaves them to their own devices.
They don’t bother talking as they pile up the tablecloths and the chairs, but when they reach coat check Kazuma can’t help but laugh a little: Ryuunosuke has put his suit jacket back on, and it’s horrendously wrinkled, and then he adds Karuma and the whole tableau begins to border on absurd.
But Kazuma’s got a saber, so he probably can’t judge.
On the sidewalk, there are a couple of lingering groups chatting quietly amongst themselves.
“How are you getting home?” Kazuma asks after a moment.
“Rideshare.”
“Mm.”
Mundane. Safe. Boring.
Kazuma’s never been one for caution.
“Why’d you bring Karuma?” he asks.
Ryuunosuke turns to study him for a moment. “I like to keep my best friend’s soul with me. It’s a nice reminder.”
“But I’m… right here.”
“Nah.” Ryuunosuke smiles, but it doesn’t look especially friendly. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead. Or maybe never existed.”
“Ah,” Kazuma says, wondering with vague indignation why he brought this up to begin with.
“And, you know,” adds Ryuunosuke, “it’s good to have a weapon in case I need to kill someone.”
“Of course.” Somehow this is a safer topic of conversation.
“Anyway, you brought that stupid saber.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“It’s a saber.”
“And a katana is somehow—”
“Yes.”
Kazuma hides a grin. “You know,” he says on impulse, “what if I—”
“You’re not coming home with me, Kazuma.” Ryuunosuke just barely holds in a sigh.
Worth a try. He shrugs. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, anyway.”
“You will?”
“Yeah, we have the—” Kazuma gives a vague wave. “The appointment with the guy about the thing.”
“You mean our mortgage?”
“The appointment with the guy. About the thing.”
Ryuunosuke is trying not to smile again. “I hate when you play dumb like this. Like you haven’t already memorized every step we need to actually finish this thing.”
Kazuma grins at him. “But this is part of my charm.”
“Inexplicably, yes.”
Kazuma props himself up against the streetlight and tugs Ryuunosuke into his arms. That hideous seersucker jacket is well and truly crumpled by this point, so maybe that’s why Ryuunosuke doesn’t bother staging any kind of protest, instead melting right into him.
“Are you shivering?” Kazuma asks.
“No,” says Ryuunosuke, which is a lie, but Kazuma doesn’t press the point. He just holds his husband, mouth pressed to Ryuunosuke’s temple, and waits with dread for the moment where he leaves.
Tomorrow, they try to square away their mortgage. It feels like an insult somehow.
The separation comes much too soon. A car pulls up to the curb, and Ryuunosuke turns his head to squint at the license plate and says, “That’s me.”
“All right.” Kazuma reluctantly lets him go.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Kazuma takes a slow breath. He grasps Ryuunosuke’s lovely hand, and wants to say “I love you,” and doesn’t say it.
These two stupid, messed-up kids and their horrible, grown-up divorce.
“See you tomorrow,” he whispers instead, and Ryuunosuke leaves him standing alone beneath the sick orange glow of the streetlight.