Work Text:
White.
White ceilings, white lights, white device hanging off of the index finger of the hand Kaoru brings up to shield his eyes from the brightness. After a minute of adjustment, squinting around as best he can, he looks around. Or - tries to, really. Everything is blurry for some reason. Not enough that he can’t tell he’s in a hospital room, but enough that he can’t make out any details.
“Here,” a voice says, and a pair of thin, silver-framed glasses appear in front of his face. Kaoru fumbles them on, and the world comes into view clearly. He glances around, confirming his first impressions of the hospital room. It’s nice looking, at least, with a big window that lets sunlight in from outside. He’s propped up slightly in bed, and his right leg is in a cast, hanging from the ceiling in a sling. A hand to his aching head confirms there are bandages wrapped around there, as well as his left wrist.
It hurts to turn his head, but Kaoru wants to know who gave him his glasses. It’s a man - a tall man, as far as Kaoru can tell, even though he’s sitting in a chair that’s pulled up to the bed. He’s wearing a rather hideously striped shirt and jeans with holes in the knees, along with well-worn boots.
He has unruly, wavy hair, tanned skin, and eyes that gleam like gemstones in the sunlight and somehow look - sad.
“Your bike is pretty much totaled,” the man says. “I had it towed back to your place because I figured you’d want to salvage the Carla-bits out of it. I packed up Jiji and gave her to Miya to cat-sit, so he’s in heaven. Hiromi has been watering the plants in your store and office. I broke in to your appointment book - you really need to change your passwords, by the way - and sent out a message to everyone that you were in hospital and would get back to them about deadlines as soon as you could.”
Kaoru blinks. It’s a lot of information, and his brain feels like a bowl of jelly wobbling around in his skull. “Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “But, and please don’t take this the wrong way - who are you?”
-x-x-x-x-x-
The diagnosis is retrograde amnesia, caused by, apparently, a motorcycle crash. Kaoru knows that his name is Kaoru Sakurayashiki, he knows his birthday, he can vaguely remember his parents (who have long since passed) and the cat he had as a child. He doesn’t recall much past the age of five or six, including meeting the man that’s been with him - Kojiro, he says his name is.
“We met in kindergarten,” he says, an almost wistful twist to his mouth. “It looks like that’s just past where you can remember.”
Kaoru has a severe concussion, a sprained wrist, and a broken leg. Both the tibia and fibula are broken, but cleanly so he apparently doesn’t need surgery. He gets wheeled off for various head scans and then a meeting with a neurologist, with Kojiro there. Apparently Kojiro is his emergency contact and has been in the hospital the past four days with him, while Kaoru has been unconscious.
“It should be temporary,” the neurologist tells the two of them earnestly. “Just try and be surrounded by familiar items and people, and the memories will come back. This kind of amnesia is almost never permanent - your brain is like any other part of your body and needs time to heal.”
Kojiro nods, eyes focused on the chicken-scratch writing that he’s doing in a battered notebook. He’s been taking meticulous notes on everything the doctors say - Kaoru is thankful, because the one time he tried looking at his own chart the characters swam before his eyes.
Kaoru watches Kojiro - he can’t quite figure out what to make of him. He’s been here the whole time, been attentive as hell, seems to know everything there is to know about Kaoru that the doctors might need and yet -
There’s a strange distance, like he’s holding himself back, holding himself apart. Kaoru can’t quite put his finger on it, but it’s something odd, something off.
After a solid three days of tests, Kaoru is deemed fit to go home. He takes with him an enormous bag full of prescriptions and wraps and bandages, along with a wheelchair. He’s given crutches, but isn’t allowed to use them for another few days until his wrist stabilizes more. He’s wheeled out of the hospital and, to his bemusement, over to a van advertising a flower shop.
A broad-shouldered man with a shock of orange hair hops out of the van and comes over clearly for a hug, until he sees the look on Kaoru’s face. “Oh, shit. Right. Uh. I’m Hiromi?”
“You’re…watering my plants?” Kaoru says, dredging the name up from a few days ago.
Hiromi smiles broadly. “Yep.” He opens the back doors to the van, pulling out a metal sheet that turns into a ramp. “Sorry for all this, but we figured it’d be easiest if you didn’t have to get in and out of the chair.” Before Kaoru quite knows what’s happening, he’s rolled into the van and strapped down with cords that are apparently used for large pots and planters.
“Here,” Kojiro says, and hands Kaoru a pill and a bottle of water. “Take this or you’re gonna be sneezing all night from the pollen.”
Kaoru takes the pill. It’s not one of the recent prescriptions, the bottle has a date of several months ago. As they drive, he watches the back of Kojiro’s head, thinking.
They pull up in front of a restaurant that says “Sia la luce” in a fancy font. Kaoru raises an eyebrow as he’s wheeled out and Kojiro unlocks the door. “We are…going out to eat?”
“No. I live here,” Kojiro says. He makes his way through the darkened restaurant - clean, elegant, wood and brick - and towards the back. Hiromi wheels Kaoru along, avoiding tables and chairs with an ease that speaks to familiarity. Kojiro unlocks a door at the back of the kitchen, and suddenly they’re in a small but neat apartment, hidden behind the restaurant.
“Why…am I here? And not at my house?” Kaoru asks, then pauses. “Do we live together?”
Behind him, Hiromi makes some undefinable, choked off noise. Kojiro looks at him for a long moment, before looking down at Kaoru. “No, you have your own place a few blocks away, but it’s a third floor walkup with no elevator. There’s no way you’re making it up there for a while.” He nods off to the right. “I’ve got the guest room ready for you, you’ve certainly stayed there enough over the years.”
Kaoru nods, lets Hiromi wheel him into the guest room. The living room of the apartment had felt - almost familiar. Like a memory of a flavor, something he couldn’t quite replicate in his mind but he knew he’d experienced. The guest room is less memorable. It’s nice - a queen bed with a homey looking quilt, a wicker dresser with a television on top, the expected lamps and nightstands, a large window with a few strands of ivy crawling across it. For as much as Kojiro said he’s stayed here, though, it doesn’t feel like he has.
There isn’t much time to think about it though, because as soon as Hiromi and Kojiro help Kaoru into bed, he’s asleep.
-x-x-x-x-x-
Mid-morning the next day, Kaoru wheels himself into the living room, surprising Kojiro who is sitting there with a tablet.
“Jesus, Kaoru! Let me know if you need to get around, I can help you into the chair.”
“Really? You want to help every time I have to take a piss?” Kaoru asks dryly. “The arms collapse, I’m more than capable of getting in and out.” He pauses. “I will need some help with showering, later.” He winces. “I need one. Badly.”
“Priss,” Kojiro mutters, but there’s something fond about it, like it’s a barb often used. “Yeah, I can help with that,” he says, somewhat louder. He peers at Kaoru. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
Kaoru doesn’t protest. The hospital food was far from enjoyable, and it looks like Kojiro has some association with the restaurant behind them. As he watches Kojiro putter around the kitchen he asks: “So you work in the restaurant, then?”
“I own it,” is the reply. “Which reminds me, over there on the table,” he points. “The staff made you a card.”
Kaoru wheels himself over to the dining room table. On it is a large card, obviously homemade. It’s covered inside and out with messages and signatures - it’s clear that he knows and is close to Kojiro’s staff. He sets the card aside and watches Kojiro work. He moves confidently between stove and counter, making it believable that he might own a restaurant. He pours tea on top of a bowl of rice, tops it with seaweed and scallions before putting it in front of Kaoru.
“Chazuke?” Kaoru asks with a slight frown. “I’m - healing, I’m not sick.”
“And all your system has had is terrible bland hospital food, so let’s not make you sick by giving you anything too rich.” He watches Kaoru poke at the bowl. “What? You love chazuke.”
“I do?” Kaoru frowns again, this time at the bowl and at himself. “I remember what it is, I don’t remember if I like it or not.” His brain is a strange mishmash of things that he knows he knows, without knowing why he knows them. After a tentative bite he takes a larger spoonful - he does apparently like the dish.
Kojiro has his head propped up on a hand as he watches Kaoru. “What can you remember?” he asks. “Anything about your life now, what you do for a living? Where you live?”
Kaoru can feel his cheeks heat and he keeps his eyes down. It’s not like it’s his fault or anything, but it’s still embarrassing to be a grown man and not know anything about himself. He shakes his head. “Some things will feel more or less familiar than others, but that’s it.” He gestures around himself with his spoon. “Like here. Here feels familiar.”
It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it look, but for a second Kojiro looks sad. Like he doesn’t like the fact that Kaoru finds his place familiar? God, this is so confusing.
“I want to try something,” Kojiro says suddenly. He pulls out a notebook and a pen, hands it to Kaoru. “Write your name.”
Kaoru side-eyes him, but takes the pen. It feels weirdly comfortable, like perhaps he writes a lot. He writes his name, and the characters flow easily from the pen, like it’s something he writes all the time.
“Now try my name,” Kojiro says.
Kaoru writes it out easily, then blinks. Kojiro has never told him his surname, but there’s Nanjo sitting on the page.
Kojiro goes over to a drawer and rummages through it. He hands Kaoru a battered paintbrush and a little pot that says ‘India Ink’. “Now write out, ‘Repent and make efforts’.”
“I’m not your dancing bear,” grumbles Kaoru, but the brush feels even more familiar than the pen did. His hand moves automatically, creating precise angles and flourishes on the characters without consciously trying to do so. He stares at the column of elegant lines blankly. “Is this…something I do?” he asks.
“Muscle memory is a beast,” Kojiro says. He spins the pen through his fingers absently. “It’s your job, you do calligraphy. AI calligraphy, too. You’re a big fat nerd who likes to pretend he knows what he’s doing with computers and tech and stuff.” He gives Kaoru a long, hesitant look before pulling out a tablet and a purple bracelet. “These are yours. Carla.”
Kaoru slips the bracelet onto his left wrist, and it feels like something locking into place in his body, his brain. He takes the tablet, thumbing in a password automatically, although a moment later he has no idea what he actually typed. A complicated interface pops up, various windows and applications covering the screen. “...Carla?”
“Your AI assistant. You started programming her when we were kids, been adding to her ever since. She’s part of…everything, your board, your motorcycle,your phone, your computers. You mostly control her with that tablet and bracelet.”
Cocking his head in confusion, Kaoru asks, “Board?”
Kojiro grins, and it transforms his face. Something in Kaoru’s chest pulls, and he tries to ignore it. “God, yeah, you wouldn’t know, huh? Gimme a sec.” He pulls out a battered phone, taps at the screen for a minute. “Here, scroll through that while I clean up.”
“I…” Kaoru wants to offer to help, but there’s not much he can do. Instead he takes the phone, looks at the screen. On it is - him, wearing a blue kimono with a parasol shading him from the sun, riding on a black and purple skateboard. He flips through the pictures slowly. He and Kojiro are in the majority of them. Hiromi appears, at times in strange facepaint with his hair spiked up. Two young men with red and blue hair, perhaps early-college aged, show up regularly along with a younger boy with black hair who looks to be in high school.
Kaoru accidentally exits the album, a few dozen other albums popping up on the screen. He glances over at Kojiro, who is humming to himself as he scrubs the dishes. Kaoru clicks on one album - they look to be on vacation, pictures of white beaches and boats everywhere. Another album is full of pictures of someone’s wedding - Kaoru can’t tell who’s getting married, but there’s certainly enough pictures of him and Kojiro in formal clothing, laughing with their arms around each other and eating and dancing. Another album at a fair. Another at the high school graduation of the two young men.
Picture after picture, album after album. Always him and Kojiro. Together.
He carefully navigates back to the first album and sets the phone down quietly. Lost in thought, he nearly jumps out of his seat when Kojiro clears his throat behind him.
“I’ve got to do the evening shift at the restaurant, I’ve left them alone for long enough.”
“I’m - sorry, that you’ve had to take care of me.”
Kojiro immediately shakes his head. “No, no. Don’t you dare feel guilty about that, you’d do the same for me.” He looks around the apartment. “There’s cold sesame noodles and a couple of salads in the fridge, nothing you’ll have to cook or heat up. Your phone is charging on the nightstand, there’s a charger there for the tablet too. Um.” He thinks for a moment. “TV works, and I know you have a bunch of books on your tablet. Make sure to take your meds, I put the schedule on your phone. I’m speed dial two on there, if you need anything.”
Kaoru smiles a bit. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Go to work.”
He hesitates for a moment, but then Kojiro nods and disappears into his bedroom. Kaoru sighs and wheels himself back into the guest bedroom, before he starts the tedious process of getting himself back into bed. He finds his phone there, and is happily once again able to get into it via muscle memory with the password.
Looking at all the apps that belong to this - this stranger, Kaoru finds himself tired. Sick and tired of not knowing who he is, of getting tidbits here and there of someone else’s life that he’s told is his own. Fingers tighten around the phone case until it creaks, until his knuckles are white.
A soft knock on the half open door. “Hey, I’m on my way out.” It’s Kojiro, wearing a blindingly white chef coat that shouldn’t fit his oversized body anywhere near as well as it does. He gently lobs a bottle of water at Kaoru, smirking when it lands right next to him. “Don’t forget to take your meds. And eat something later, even if you don’t want to - those pills really shouldn’t be taken on an empty stomach.” He moves to leave, then pauses. “Anything you need?”
Kaoru shakes his head silently. He needs - quiet. Quiet and a lack of technology and just…some alone time. He smiles and waves to Kojiro as he leaves, the smile falling away as he sinks back into the pillows.
He turns on the television with every intention on watching the documentary on volcanos, but the meds he takes hit him hard and soon he’s fast asleep.
-x-x-x-x-x-
“Kaoru Kaoru Kaoru!” There’s a redheaded boy barreling towards Kaoru at full speed, and the wide-eyed Kaoru braces himself on the couch.
“Don’t jump on him!” comes a chorus of voices, and the boy skids to a stop, socked feet nearly going out from under him, before he plops down on the couch next to Kaoru.
“Sorry, sorry,” the boy says, no evidence of shame audible in his voice. “We were all worried about you!”
Like he can sense the confused hesitation that’s keeping the words in Kaoru’s throat, Kojiro says quietly, “This is Reki.”
Reki’s large amber eyes go wide as he looks over Kaoru, gaze catching on the stitches on his forehead that are visible now that the bandages are gone. “Wow. You really - don’t remember us?”
Kaoru shakes his head. “I’ve seen pictures of you and…” he trails off, looking at the other two boys that are standing there.
“Langa,” the older one says, pointing to himself. He points to the younger, shorter boy: “Miya.”
Kaoru nods his thanks before continuing. “I’ve been looking through the pictures I have. There aren’t many, but they seem sort of familiar the more I look at them.”
“Oh, pictures! I have pictures!” Reki exclaims, and pulls out a phone covered in stickers. He pulls his photos up and displays them for Kaoru. Most of the pictures tend to be of Langa - Reki swipes past a few of him and Langa kissing, with pink cheeks - but it looks like the group of them tend to all hang out on a regular basis and have for a while now.
In an album called simply ‘S’, Kaoru raises his eyebrows. “What…in god’s name am I wearing…” he mutters to himself. He’s in an odd sleeveless outfit, with a mask covering the lower half of his face, no glasses, and his hair tied up.
“Oh, that’s S!” Reki says brightly. “It’s…” he trails off, looking at the others, clearly unsure of how to describe it.
Miya pipes up, rolling his eyes at Reki. “S is this big underground skateboard race that happens at this old abandoned mine. You and Kojiro have been doing it forever, since the beginning. You’re kind of celebrities there. The rest of us joined up later. Some people, like you guys and Hiromi, have these like…personas you put on there, to separate it out from your everyday life.”
Reki nods. “You guys and Adam started it in high school, it’s died out a couple of times but it’s been pretty strong for a while now.”
“Adam?” Kaoru asks.
The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees as everyone gives each other sidelong looks. “Adam is a, uh, complicated bit of history that we don’t need to get into right now,” Kojiro says evenly. “He’s been gone for a few years now so it doesn’t even matter.”
Reki asks hopefully about dinner and Kojiro heads to the kitchen with everyone in tow. Well - almost everyone. Miya stays behind, hops on to the couch cushion next to Kaoru. He moves back a little, like he wants to curl up next to Kaoru but knows he shouldn’t. He holds his phone out to Kaoru. “I have some pictures of Jiji,” he says.
There’s a picture of a cat on the screen with a thick pure white coat and disdainful yellow-green eyes. “She’s…mine?” Kaoru asks.
Miya looks upset at the question. “Yeah. I’m cat-sitting her because I have before. Cats like me.” He bites his lip. “I know you forgot a lot but. I can’t believe you forgot Jiji. You’ve had her forever.”
“Could we bring her here?” Kaoru asks, but Miya is already shaking his head.
“She sheds…well. You would not believe the amount that she sheds. She stayed here once before but her fur got into the ventilation system and into the restaurant, and customers had issues? It’s because this was supposed to be another store and not really living space, so it’s all connected in weird ways.”
“Well, once I’m out of the chair and onto crutches maybe I can come visit.” A thought occurs to Kaoru. “Do you need money, for food and litter and such? I can’t let you just do this.”
Miya shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, Kojiro took care of it.”
Kaoru glances at the kitchen, where Kojiro has Langa in a headlock while he’s calmly talking to Hiromi and Reki laughs his head off. “Did he now.”
“Yeah.” Miya opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Are you guys…okay? Here alone, together?”
Kaoru frowns. “Yes? I mean, I honestly don’t know what I’d be doing without Kojiro. He’s been a godsend.”
Miya looks like he wants to say something else, but instead bites his lip and nods. He gives Kaoru his phone to look through for photos. They’re softer and more contemplative than any of the others - as many photos of cats and the ocean and interesting architecture as there are of people. Kaoru had gotten the feeling from the other photos that he was closer to Miya than the other boys, and this seems to confirm it: there are photos of him hunched over electronics and at game stores with Miya. They seem to have an interest in technology in common.
Dinner is a noisy affair, but Kaoru enjoys it all the same. He sits back and watches the back and forth, how everyone seems to have their place in the fray. There’s a cake at the end, obviously homemade and precariously frosted, with ‘Welcome home Kaoru’ in wobbly letters. Everyone is hesitant to cut in until it’s revealed that Miya made it, which causes Reki to get offended.
It’s chaotic and wonderful.
When everyone is gone, Kaoru and Kojiro sit on the living room sofa together. Kojiro is making notes for the next week’s budget, and Kaoru is continuing to go through the photos on his phone - it seems like the albums are endless. Years and years of his life that he can’t remember, in little colored pixels on a screen.
Kaoru rarely shows up in his own photos, but every once in awhile there’s a photo taken by someone else. He stares at a photo of him and Kojiro, standing so close together that their hair meshes, soft smiles on their faces.
“Kojiro.” It’s like dropping a stone into a still pond. The other man looks up, those jewel-like eyes of his fixing Kaoru in place. “Are…we together?”
Kojiro doesn’t move, the air in the apartment suddenly feeling heavy. “I…” He rubs his forehead. “Kaoru, right now you’re not - you. It wouldn’t be right to - to force you into a relationship. You don’t know me.”
Kaoru presses the question. “But we are. We’re together.”
He has that confusing, damnable sad look on his face again, the one that Kaoru hates and doesn’t know why it’s there. “For years and years.”
“I’m sorry I’m not - him. Your Kaoru.” The more photos he looks at, the more Kaoru finds out about his life, the more he seems like he’s examining a stranger’s biography. He happens to share a name and a face with this man but everything else is barely connected.
“You’re going to heal and remember and everything is going to be okay,” Kojiro says, a fierce look on his face. “Just - just keep thinking that. Because it’s going to happen.”
“Okay.”
He swears that he closes his eyes for just a minute, but it’s quite some time later that a gentle hand is touching his shoulder. Blinking, Kaoru realizes he’s slumped against Kojiro’s broad yet comfortable shoulder. At least he didn’t drool in his sleep.
“You should go sleep in a real bed,” Kojiro says gently.
“Yeah…no.” Kaoru struggles upright, rubbing at his eyes. “I need a shower, a real one.” He’s been making do with whore’s baths for the past few days, but it’s not enough. He could swear his hair itches .
“Well, you’re gonna need some help. You get ready, and I’ll get the rest of the crap we’ll need,” Kojiro says, and Kaoru nods.
Ten minutes later, Kojiro is in the bathroom sitting in the wheelchair in his underwear, and Kojiro is shaking a garbage bag out.
As he starts to wrap Kaoru’s cast in the bag, Kojiro says, a laugh in his voice, “Hey remember when…god, I guess you wouldn’t, huh. Anyways, back in high school I broke my ankle trying a trick that I shouldn’t have, and you had to do this for me. Christ, you wouldn’t let me forget that you’d told me a dozen times not to try it, and here we are the other way around.”
Kaoru stares down at the top of Kojiro’s head as he tapes the bag to his leg, trying to imagine him in high school, and can’t. “So we really have known each other for a while,” he says.
“Oh, forever. Okay, up you go,” Kaoru is helped to his feet. Gripping the sides of the shower stall, he takes a careful step forward, then another. Before he gets in, Kojiro says, “...so you’re going to shower in your underwear, then?”
Kaoru half turns and gives the other man a look. He shrugs. “Not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”
That’s right, they’re together. “A lot?”
A pause. “Yeah,” Kojiro says on an exhale.
Another pause, then Kaoru thinks fuck it to himself and steadies himself with one hand as he shoves his underwear down with the other. Kojiro turned the water on already, so Kaoru steps into the stream gingerly. He just about jumps out of his skin when he feels a steadying hand on his shoulder and he turns to find Kojiro in the shower with him, wearing a faded pair of boxers.
Kaoru glances down at the boxers then up at Kojiro. “Well, now I’m feeling overdressed,” he drawls. “I thought it was nothing that I hadn’t seen before?”
There’s something unreadable in Kojiro’s eyes when he says, “Yeah. But you’re not yourself now, are you?”
It’s like a kick to the chest, however true and inadvertent it might have been. He turns around silently and reaches for the soap. A wet hand stops him. “Not that one.” Kojiro hands him a different bar. He’s right: the soap smells familiar, comforting. Kaoru washes himself slowly, enjoying getting clean.
Kojiro has one steadying hand on his ribcage, and the other one has a wide-toothed comb, combing out Kaoru’s wet hair. He shampoos it and rinses it out, Kaoru docile under his hands like a child. He combs through some kind of leave in treatment before shutting the shower off.
Kaoru would feel guilty or infantilized or something about how Kojiro dries him off, except his legs are wobbling and it’s all he can do to brace himself on the wall and stay upright. He watches Kojiro’s ass in the now clinging wet boxers for a moment, until he realizes that’s a very bad idea when he’s naked. Instead he stares into the distance and tries to empty his mind.
They get him into the bedroom and into soft pajamas. Suddenly Kaoru is unbelievably tired, barely able to keep his head up as Kojiro combs through the heavy mass. He somehow gets under the covers and situated.
He reaches a clumsy hand out, grips the warm skin of Kojiro’s arm. “Kojiro…” he says, and doesn’t know if he wants to add “stay” or “go” or any number of dangerous words after it that Kaoru knows is a bad idea.
“Go to sleep,” Kojiro says, and Kaoru’s eyes close. There’s a slight touch to his forehead, soft enough he can’t tell what it is.
It doesn’t matter in the end, because Kaoru is soon dead asleep.
-x-x-x-x-x-
“If I stay in this apartment for one more hour I am going to lose my mind,” Kaoru says as calmly as he can. His fingers are tight on the pillow that’s on his lap, and he might hear a stitch under his nails pop. Or two. Or more.
Kojiro’s expression is unreadable for a minute, and then he pulls out his phone, makes a call. “Okay, Hiromi is going to pick you up with Miya. You shouldn’t stay in your place, not with your leg, but you can at least see it.”
When Kaoru exhales it’s like the stress goes with it and he feels almost lightheaded. He - he likes Kojiro, he likes this apartment, but it’s all he’s seen for two weeks now and he feels like he might go insane. When there’s the honk of a car horn from outside, he nearly falls getting his shoes - well, singular shoe - on.
He sits in a normal seat this time, the crutches on the empty seat next to him. Miya twists around in his own seat. “We’re going to make a stop first. I think you’ll like it.”
Kaoru asks where they’re going, but Miya just grins and puts on headphones. A few minutes later the van pulls up in front of a normal, suburban home. Hiromi stays in the van as Miya hops out, helping Kaoru get himself together. They go in the front door, Miya opening it with a set of keys.
“Everyone is out,” he says. “Well, almost everyone.” He points at a sofa. “I’d sit down or you’ll end up getting knocked over.”
Kaoru sits, confusedly. Miya vanishes upstairs, only to reappear a few minutes later with his arms full. Kaoru meets a pair of eyes just a few shades greener than his own, before there’s a yowl and a heavy weight slamming into his chest.
His lap is full of a large white cat, seemingly intent on rubbing her face over every part of Kaoru’s body. He can’t help but laugh - the cat purrs silently but forcefully, he can feel her vibrating as he runs fingers through her thick fur. She’s talkative, meowing loudly as she rubs sharp cheekbones along Kaoru’s jawline, his chest, his hands.
Kaoru realizes that he’s murmuring nonsense to the cat as he pets her, and flushes as he falls silent. Miya, though, is grinning.
“You called her Jeej and dumb little girl and waste of fur,” he says, almost gleefully. “You, part of you at least, remembers her.”
Looking down at the cat, she looks back up at him with enormous eyes that close in pleasure as he strokes under her chin in a way that somehow he knows she likes. “Can I…stay here for just a little bit?” he asks without looking away.
“Sure, I’ll let Hiromi know.”
Kaoru hauls his leg in a cast up onto the couch, then stretches out with the cat on his chest. She snuggles close, rubbing her soft forehead on his cheek before curling into him with a soft sigh. Kaoru has felt off-balance for weeks but this - hugging a cat that knows and loves him, this he can do.
There’s a click, and Kaoru opens one eye to see Miya taking a picture with his phone. “That’s going in the group chat,” he mutters to himself.
“There’s a group chat?” Kaoru asks.
Miya visibly freezes. “It’s. Uh. We deleted it from your phone. It would be…a lot for you, we thought.”
I’m so glad you’re all deciding what I can and can’t handle without my input, Kaoru thinks bitterly to himself. The mood from earlier is shattered, but he makes himself relax back into the soft sofa. It soon turns to real relaxation, because Jiji is still purring and obviously happy, and there’s only so grumpy you can be with fourteen pounds of content feline treating you as furniture.
Miya shakes his shoulder what feels like just a few minutes later, but the clock says has been hours. “Hey, Hiromi’s back. You good to go?”
Kaoru rubs at bleary eyes, nodding. The cat isn’t happy to be moved, and is even less happy to see Kaoru leaving. He whispers into her fur that he’ll be back, and intends on keeping that promise. The downside of a white cat is made clear when they step out into the sunshine and Kaoru realizes he’s now wearing a coating of shed fur.
Miya snickers and hands him a lint roller, which Kaoru applies liberally to himself once they’re in the van. “Yeah, you never stop bitching about her fur. Your place has like three air purifiers and a cat brush and lint roller in every room to deal with it.”
They pull up in front of a building in a nice area of town, not that far from Kojiro’s restaurant. The first floor is a cafe, closed now. The second floor is apparently Kaoru’s shop - a main room for greeting customers and then a maze of rooms in the back filled with paper and ink and technology. There are plants everywhere that Hiromi sets to watering, and Miya takes him on a small tour.
Apparently Kaoru is good at what he does - there’s a whole wall of awards. The main room is beautiful, all plum and gold walls with abstract shelves to hold the awards. Miya tells him that he mostly runs the place himself, although he’s agreed to hire Miya as an apprentice of sorts later this summer once he finishes an internship he's in.
Kaoru runs a finger over rich dark wood. “I guess I do pretty well for myself, then?” he asks, half to himself.
Miya snickers. “It’s how you afford all those fancy clothes,” he says.
“Fancy clothes?” Kaoru repeats, with a raised eyebrow. All he’s worn for weeks have been comfortable sweats he can fit over his cast, most of them probably Kojiro’s given the size.
“Come on,” Miya says, and calls out for Hiromi to bring up the rear so if Kaoru falls he won’t kill himself. Miya opens the door at the top of a steep set of stairs at the back of the store, and they all troop inside.
So this is where I live, Kaoru thinks to himself as he looks around. It’s an open area mostly divided by delicately painted shoji screens - living area here, dining area here, small kitchen there. Everything is neat and has its own place. Kaoru gets the impression, examining everything, that he might have a bit of a neat freak stick up his own ass.
The bedroom feels more like someone lives there, at least - the bedclothes are somewhat rumpled and there are cat toys everywhere. Opening the right hand closet Kaoru blinks - this is what Miya meant, apparently. It’s full of fancy traditional Japanese clothing, heavily embroidered kimono and haori and hakama in silk and linen. The other closet is happily full of more casual wear, many yukatas but also Western shirts and pants.
Kaoru peeks into the bathroom and immediately declares, “I’m taking a shower.”
Miya pops his head in, a questioning look on his face. Kaoru points inside the fancy steam shower at the tiled bench seats and says, “I can sit.”
After that first, incredibly awkward shower at Kojiro’s they found a waterproof chair to put in the stall so Kaoru could be in there alone, but it’s not the most comfortable of situations. Kaoru, when his memories were intact, apparently spared no expense in his own bathroom, however, and the multiple showerheads and built-in seating speaks to a man who has Cleanliness Priorities.
Miya finds a garbage bag to wrap Kaoru’s leg in, and he and Hiromi settle in front of Kaoru’s rather ridiculously large television to watch a movie while he showers. It’s not just the seating that Kaoru enjoys - the scents of his own bath and body products make him feel comfortable, like he’s almost himself again. He makes a note to pack some of them up to take back to Kojiro’s.
He pokes through the closet, picking out a soft blue yukata to wear. His hands automatically do up the ties and get everything into place, something in him settling at the feel of it. Looking at himself in the mirror as he brushes out his hair, Kaoru doesn’t feel like he’s looking at a stranger, for once. It’s a nice feeling.
Walking around the bed, he nearly trips over a box. With a grunt of effort he hauls the box up onto the bed so he can look at it. It’s a collection of completely random items, everything from coffee mugs to clothing to a wok. There’s a lanyard and a stuffed animal won from a fair and movie tickets held together by a paperclip. There’s also a rather large bottle of pricey lube, which Kaoru raises an eyebrow at before tucking it down at the bottom of the box.
Miya wanders in. “Hey, you…ready….” he trails off as he looks at Kaoru. “Wow. You almost look like yourself again.”
“The doctor said that scent was the sense most tied to memory,” Kaoru tells him. “Something about smelling all of my belongings really helped. I packed things into a bag to take back, if you wouldn’t mind helping with it.”
“Sure.” Miya comes closer and looks into the box. “What’s this?”
Kaoru shrugs. “I tripped over it. It’s such a random collection of stuff, perhaps I was giving it away?” He thinks of the lube. “Or perhaps not. I’m not sure.”
Miya pokes through the items, peering at a few of them, before a realization seems to come over his face. “I’d just set it aside. I’m sure you’ll remember.”
“Miya.”
“Yeah?”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Miya busies himself with tucking the box carefully into a corner where no one will trip over it, then taking the bag Kaoru packed and slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s just get back home.”
But I am home, Kaoru thinks to himself. And people keep not telling me things, like a goddamn child.
Instead of saying this, he looks at Miya’s worried eyebrows and bites his tongue.
-x-x-x-x-x-
Something has been bothering Kaoru about Kojiro’s apartment, and he can’t quite put his finger on what it is. When he gets back after visiting his own apartment, he’s finally able to figure it out. There are spaces around Kojiro’s place, spaces where things should be.
Spaces on the walls and shelves that say pictures once lived there. Spaces in carefully alphabetized bookshelves and DVD racks that say that items once lived there and are now gone. It’s the lack of pictures that hits Kaoru the hardest - he’s seen a thousand and one photos on half a dozen people’s phones, but printed photos? There’s one of Kojiro and his long-passed parents, another of him at his culinary school graduation next to his degree, but that’s virtually it.
Once Kaoru sees it, he can’t stop seeing it.
He makes himself some basic rice and vegetables for dinner - it took a few days of watching like a hawk, but Kojiro finally trusts Kaoru in the kitchen now. Afterwards Kaoru does what he’s been avoiding for days now: takes his own phone and starts to dig deep into it.
In a subfolder Kaoru finds a notes app, containing hundreds of small entries. Sometimes it’s things like grocery lists or lists of supplies for the shop. Many snippets of poetry - Kaoru doesn’t know whether they’re his own or quotes from others that he’ll eventually calligraphy, and he wishes he knew which. There’s one that’s a list of everyone that Kaoru knows in his memoryless state and then some, with a chart of personal information: birthdays, blood types, allergies, favorite and least favorite foods.
He apparently reads a lot: there are pages going back years that list every book he reads, both new and rereads. There’s another list for movies he sees and who he sees them with, with a star rating. Nearly all of them are seen with Kojiro.
Leaving that folder alone, Kaoru looks further. He finds his tax forms - he really does do quite well for himself, apparently. There are schematics for Carla, in her many forms. Old blueprints from when he put his own store and apartment together, and similar ones for Kojiro’s restaurant and home.
There’s a whole folder consisting solely of information on a local politician. Nothing that Kaoru has seen about himself has said he’s particularly politically active, other than charitable donation records he found with his tax forms. For some reason though he has a deep, deep dive on the personal and professional information on Ainosuke Shindo, a local Diet member until a few years ago. Kaoru has no idea why he has it, but the sheer amount of information borders on obsessive.
Buried several subfolders deep and locked by fingerprint password, Kaoru finds a photo folder. Most of the photos there are from S, but they’re different from the few that he saw the others take. He was told that photography was discouraged at S, but apparently no one had the guts to tell Kaoru that. His photos are really quite beautiful - moody atmosphere, skaters caught between light and shadow. There are more than a few of blood splattered on the ground and broken bodies curled around their boards: S must really be as dangerous as presented.
All his friends show up, some in ridiculous outfits. Hiromi has on facepaint and what’s nearly a fetish outfit, Miya wears a hoodie with cat ears and tail. Kojiro has on low slung pants and no shirt, with a girl on each arm. Kaoru remembers how Reki explained their personas but finds himself frowning anyways. There are a few photos of a man with wild blue hair and a matador outfit, his face half-hidden behind a mask. Kaoru doesn’t know who he is.
There is another group of photos in the folder, taken apparently on vacation on Greece, if the flags are anything to go by. There are a few shots of an airy bedroom of some kind that opens out onto a beach - everything from the walls to bedsheets are white, and the light is pure and bright, shining down from a clear blue sky.
Then, there’s a video file.
“We are here on the lovely island of Corfu, thanks to Kaoru’s sugar daddy,” comes Kojiro’s voice, cut off by a pillow hitting the camera lens. When it clears, its to focus on Kaoru sprawled out on a white bed, smirking.
“He’s a client, not my sugar daddy,” the on-screen Kaoru says.
“Whatever, he paid for your work by letting us stay at his multi-million dollar condo, so I say take the geezer for as much as he’s worth,” Kojiro says, laughing. The camera pans over to where the balcony doors are thrown wide open, with nothing but empty white beach and crashing waves below.
“Turn that thing off and get back over here, we were in the middle of something,” Kaoru’s voice says, tinny over the phone’s speakers.
“I’ll get over there but I’m not turning this off,” Kojiro says with a thread of something in his voice that makes the real-life Kaoru’s stomach tighten. Kojiro sets the phone on the bedside table, poking at it until it’s propped up to his liking.
“Turn that off!”
“No - someday when we’re old and gross and gray you’ll be happy we have video evidence of when we were young and hot,” Kojiro says, before leaning down to give Kaoru a lingering kiss. One kiss turns into more and more and it’s not until onscreen Kaoru pulls Kojiro’s shirt off and someone moans that the actual Kaoru clicks away from the video with flushed cheeks.
Perhaps…this was enough phone exploration for the night.
Kojiro wanders in some time past midnight, yawning and carrying a mostly-empty glass of wine. He sees Kaoru on the sofa, half-asleep and watching a documentary on prehistoric animals and stops in his tracks, blinking.
“Hey, how was work?” Kaoru says around a yawn of his own.
“It was - fine. I - did you go back to your place?” Kojiro asks, voice sounding slightly strangled.
“Yeah. They took me to say hi to the cat first, and then to my apartment. I was able to get some more clothes and personal items. You know, your shower really sucks in comparison to mine.”
Kojiro sighs and stares at the ceiling. “I knew it couldn’t last. Already you’re back to bitching about my bathroom, because now you got a taste of your own fancy-pants preferences.”
“I’m just saying - rainfall shower heads. You really could upgrade.”
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Kojiro drains the last of the wine. “I’m not awake enough for this.” He takes a few steps towards the kitchen then pauses. “You look - good, though. More like yourself. Miya help with that?”
“No. I think some things are coming back,” Kaoru says quietly. Kojiro nods after a moment, goes and washes the wineglass out. Kaoru shuts the television off and levers himself to his feet, balancing on the crutches that are now second nature to him. Kojiro gives him a smile and heads off in the direction of his bedroom, but Kaoru clears his throat.
“Kojiro.” The man in question turns around, raising an eyebrow in response. “Something I’ve…I don’t know, that’s been bothering me.” Kaoru gestures to a blank spot in the wall that still has a nail hanging at the top, then at a cabinet by Kojiro’s hip where there’s a void in the dust. “Your place is missing all of its pictures. And I can tell things were there until recently, but now they’re gone. Is it because of me? You should put them back - I’ve certainly seen enough of everyone’s photos, it’s not like you’re protecting me from anything.”
Kojiro looks somewhere conflicted and constipated - it’s not an attractive expression. “It’s not because of - all of this, I promise.”
Kaoru frowns. “Then - what? I mean, you take a ton of pictures, why are all of them gone?”
“It’s none of your business.” Kojiro’s tone is sharp, and his face immediately looks like he didn’t mean to say it quite like that.
“None of Kaoru’s business, or none of mine?” Despite the garbled syntax, it’s relatively clear what he means.
“Either one, so just leave it alone.” Kojiro has thick arms crossed over his wide chest, but rather than intimidating it looks more protective.
“When will you stop treating me like a chid?” Kaoru snaps. “Perhaps I don’t recall every detail of my life, but that doesn’t mean you get to arbitrarily pick what morsels of information I get to have.”
Kojiro throws his hands up into the air. “Fine, then, fuck it. Go move back home and tell me how easy of a time you have it, hmm? As clearly you don’t need me or any of this.”
“That’s not what I said or meant and you know it. I’m incredibly grateful for what you’ve done, I’m just -” Kaoru rubs his forehead. “I’m trying to put together the life of this person that’s half familiar, that I should know, and yet I don’t.”
“It’ll come back, don’t force it. Just - enjoy this vacation, okay? Stop trying to make it into some mystery you need to solve.” Kojiro’s voice is almost pleading.
Kaoru grips his crutches, swings himself over in the direction of the guest bedroom. “I just don’t like being in the dark and I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”
Kojiro’s mouth is tight when he responds. “Life’s not fair and you don’t get to know whatever you want.”
The doors to both bedroom and guest room close harder than usual.
Kaoru finds his way to the hidden photo folder and vindictively watches through his and Kojiro’s sex tape, jerking off to it when it gets to be too much. He wishes he feels something afterwards other than empty and lonely. Wiping cooling come off his hands with a tissue, Kaoru reaches an arm out to the empty side of the bed and falls into a fitful sleep.
-x-x-x-x-x-
Kaoru spends the day going through his work tablet and responding to customers. He’s been practicing with the crappy brushes and inks that Kojiro has, and he feels fairly sure that he could at least get a few of the smaller commissions done. His clients are happily thankful enough to be getting anything that they’re more than understanding.
Miya shows up with what he says are Kaoru’s actual practice materials - the normal inks and brushes but slightly lesser quality of paper. He sticks around in case Kaoru needs help, but Kaoru doesn’t need assistance, apparently. He settles easily into seiza, mixes up ink to the perfect consistency, and paints with his usual grace. After a few hours he’s relatively confident that he’ll be able to do the actual commissions tomorrow.
He and Miya settle on the couch with Miya’s tablet - he pulls up some videos of Kaoru’s work that has been televised or recorded for some other reason. The person on the screen is starting to feel more familiar, less like a stranger.
Kojiro finds them huddled like that over the tablet, telling them they look like a couple of cats cuddled up for warmth. Both Kaoru and Miya nail Kojiro with pillows at the same time.
Dinner, after Miya leaves, is carbonara. It’s delicious, and Kaoru eats it slowly to savor it. This is one of his favorite meals, he thinks to himself suddenly. He gets a flash of memory - or rather, a blend of multiple memories. Memories of sitting at the bar in the restaurant a dozen dozen times, when the place is packed and bright with light and laughter, and also later when it’s closed down and just him and Kojiro and a couple of glasses of wine.
“You okay?” Kojiro asks, and Kaoru doesn’t blame him as he can’t imagine what his face looks like right then.
“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” he says, then smiles up at Kojiro. “This is delicious.” Kojiro’s ears go red, and Kaoru smirks to himself.
Kojiro is an interesting person to watch, Kaoru has found. He talks with his hands, quick gestures and gesticulations that are very un-Japanese, but make more sense when he mentions in passing his four years in culinary school in Italy. At the same time he never seems at risk of hitting anyone with his movements and big body. He seems so aware of where his limbs are at all times, at the space he takes up. Kaoru wonders if he does martial arts.
Kaoru helps clean up - he’s steady enough now to at least wash dishes and put them in the drainer while Kojiro puts the food away. It feels familiar, domestic, like this is something they do together a lot.
It happens when Kaoru’s foot slips on a bit of spilled soap, and his other foot in the cast isn’t enough to brace him. Kojiro practically snatches him up mid-air before he can fall, one large arm around Kaoru’s waist and the other around his shoulderblades. His eyes are wide and worried, searching Kaoru’s face as he steadies him, brushes stray locks of pink hair out of his eyes.
“Thank you,” Kaoru says on an exhale, breath shaky as he stares into Kojiro’s face from inches away.
“It’s fine,” Kojiro says, but when he opens his mouth to say something else, Kaoru is there. He can’t get on tiptoe with his cast, so instead he threads a hand into Kojiro’s thick hair and pulls him down into a kiss.
This - is familiar.
This - is where Kaoru belongs.
This, after weeks of unsteadiness, is the closest thing to home he’s felt yet.
Kojiro pulls back, eyes wide and cheeks red. “Kaoru, no. We can’t.”
Not letting go of his grip in Kojiro’s hair nor his other hand clenched in the other man’s shirt, Kaoru frowns. “I don’t understand,” he says in frustration. “I remember more and more - I remember eating your carbonara and sitting at the bar in the restaurant, I remember nights sitting with you on that couch, I know that kissing you feels the most like where I’m supposed to be than anything else. I don’t care if I can’t recall every little detail, I just know that I want you.”
The look on Kojiro’s face is nothing less than pained, obviously conflicted as his gaze darts around Kaoru’s face. Kaoru gives the hand in Kojiro’s hair an impatient shake, and in surprise Kojiro finally, finally meets Kaoru’s eyes. There’s a lot in there that he can’t read, but Kaoru doesn’t see a no. He pulls down and leans up and kisses Kojiro again, slower this time.
This time, Kojiro doesn’t pull away.
Kaoru doesn’t have to hold him down any longer - Kojiro’s broad arms wrap around Kaoru like they belong there, pulling him close. Kaoru’s fingers browse through Kojiro’s hair, the silky waves far too soft on his fingers for the crappy shampoo Kojiro uses. This is half familiar but half not - Kaoru lets his hands explore, rubbing a thumb over an unshaved jawline, fingers tugging down on the neckline of Kojiro’s tight shirt to feel the ridge of a collarbone.
The opening to Kaoru’s yukata sags open - Kojiro’s clever fingers undo the ties deftly, with a speed that speaks to experience. A warm hand wraps around Kaoru’s hip, making him gasp. Clever fingers rub over the hipbone, slide further in. Kaoru breaks the kiss, having to gasp for air and a clear head.
“I don’t - I don’t know how to make you feel good,” he says brokenly, leaning up to bite a kiss into the soft skin under Kojiro’s jaw.
“You’re uh,” Kojiro shivers as Kaoru’s teeth scrape over sensitive skin. “You’re doing just fine.”
Kaoru wishes distantly he had himself together enough to be seductive or consciously sexy at all, but he’s just overwhelmed. He finds himself rutting against the sharp cut of Kojiro’s hip, his thin boxers both too much stimulation and not nearly enough. Kojiro swears harshly, before he fumbles his own pants down and then tugs at Kaoru’s underwear, getting both of them in a broad hand.
It’s vaguely disappointing that he can’t see anything, but Kaoru can feel how they’re sliding against each other, alternating slippery and tacky from precome, delicate uncut skin dragging against skin in pleasure that dances the edge of pain. Unsurprisingly Kaoru comes first, fingers digging deep into Kojiro’s arms as he softly groans his orgasm out against the hollow of the other man’s throat. He can’t remember ever doing this with another person, with another person dragging the pleasure out of him and raking the sensation over every point of his body.
At some point in the middle of it all Kojiro comes too, spilling over Kaoru’s stomach with choked off curses. He keeps stroking them gently, until it’s just this edge of too much. His hand falls away and they just lean against each other for a long moment, shaky breaths eventually slowing.
Kaoru steps back to lean against the counter, accepting the damp paper towels Kojiro hands him before he washes his hands. After spending a fruitless moment trying to tie his yukata back up - muscle memory has failed him, his muscles still with tremors running through them - Kaoru looks up at Kojiro, cocking his head in confusion.
The other man has his hands braced on either side of the kitchen sink, head hanging down. His shirt is still rucked up, pants still undone, and Kaoru can’t help twitching in his shorts and wondering if round two could be an option. Although - not with the bit of expression on Kojiro’s face that Kaoru can see.
“Kojiro -”
“We shouldn’t have done that.”
Kaoru blinks, mouth half open. “Well that’s just what someone wants to hear after having sex for the first time in their memory.”
Kojiro scrubs a hand over his face before finally facing Kaoru. He looks troubled, dark brows knit together. “And that’s only the start of why we shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t - fair, to either of us. Especially you.” He rubs a hand over his mouth, gaze somewhere off in the darkness of the living room. “You’re going to kill me,” he mutters to himself, and somehow Kaoru knows it’s not about him right now, but rather the other him.
“Kojiro -” Kaoru starts again, and this time Kojiro looks at him in return. Kaoru doesn’t know what his expression is like right then, but something in Kojiro’s face seems to crumble. He runs a restless hand through his hair before reaching forward to gather Kaoru close in a tight hug.
A kiss is pressed to the top of Kaoru’s head. “I’m sorry, this whole thing is just - a giant fucking mess, and I just. I missed you.” Kaoru can feel how hard Kojiro’s heart is pounding, how there’s no real malice in what he’s saying, just confusion.
Kaoru is the one to pull away this time. “The more I do, the more that I live…the more I remember. I’ll be back fully before you know it and everything will be fine.”
For some reason Kojiro doesn’t seem reassured by this. He kisses Kaoru’s forehead gently, like a blessing, a benediction. “Yeah,” he says, but it somehow isn’t convincing. He grabs Kaoru’s crutches from where they’re leaning against the couch, and they each make their way off to their respective bedrooms slowly.
On the other side of the guest bedroom door, Kaoru sighs and stares at the ceiling. He feels both more like himself than he has in weeks, but somehow empty at the same time.
Crawling between cold sheets, he tells himself it’ll be better in the morning.
-x-x-x-x-x-
It’s not, but that’s all right. Kojiro has the early shift in the restaurant so Kaoru is able to spread out over the kitchen table, looking carefully at the scroll that the customers want painted and then examples of his own work. He practices over and over, until graceful lines fill the page.
He paints the scroll then sets it aside - although he’s seen that he usually photographs the work and sends it to the customer for approval, he holds off this time. Something in his chest is panicky, fluttery - he’s worried about disappointing the other Kaoru, of offending him with his amateurish attempts.
Silly, no? He still can’t help feeling that way.
Kojiro returns home, and it would be more awkward if Kaoru didn’t realize he hadn’t eaten all day. Kojiro frowns, lectures him about pain meds on an empty stomach as he cooks up a risotto, haphazardly pouring wine from his glass into the dish in between sips.
Kaoru looks longingly at the wine and is immediately rebuffed. “Ah yes, let’s screw up taking your pain medication and then add alcohol on top of it, that’ll go just fine,” Kojiro says acidly. He sets a bowl down in front of Kaoru with a clatter, the soft richness of the simple dish showing the comfort that his words hide.
Dinner conversation is steered away from anything personal - instead it’s about how the new staff members are getting on at the restaurant and Kaoru’s attempt at calligraphy. Kojiro doesn’t laugh out loud when he sees the scroll, but it’s a near thing. “Practice is always good,” he says.
It’s the same routine as the previous night, Kaoru washing up as Kojiro puts things away. This time, though, when Kaoru is bent over trying to fit a colander underneath the sink, Kojiro is halfway across the room and not there to catch Kaoru when his foot goes out from under him.
“Ooof.” Crack! Kaoru’s forehead hits the corner of the cabinet door above him and he finds himself flat on his ass, blinking black dots out of his vision. Kojiro is there in moments, fussing over him.
“No cut, but you’ll have a helluva bruise,” he says, delicately touching where a goose egg is already raising on Kaoru’s temple. “See, the absolute last thing you needed was alcohol, you’re clumsy enough as it is.”
“I’m not clumsy, I just have ten pounds of plastic wrapped around my leg throwing me off balance,” Kaoru grumbles, allowing himself to be helped to his feet.
“Whatever. Take an extra pill tonight, okay?”
Kaoru nods tiredly, not protesting when Kojiro hustles him to the bedroom. He’s watched like a hawk as he brushes his teeth and his hair. Handed a glass of water and his medications, he rolls his eyes as Kojiro watches him swallow them down.
“Maybe I should wake you up every hour -”
“No, Kojiro. I didn’t black out, I don’t have a concussion. What I am is annoyed and tired. I’m going to bed, all right?” Kaoru doesn’t have it in him to sound pleasant, but it doesn’t change the worried lines that cut between Kojiro’s brows.
Finally able to shake him off, Kaoru goes off to bed. His head throbs in time with his heartbeat, and it’s a long time before he’s finally able to drop off to sleep.
-x-x-x-x-x-
White.
White ceiling - that’s not right. White curtains letting far too much light in…did he forget to close the blackout curtains last night? Kaoru’s bedroom window faces west anyways, specifically because he wakes up late and detests morning sunshine.
Fumbling his glasses off of an unfamiliar nightstand, Kaoru looks around himself in confusion. This looks like Kojiro’s guest room with its tacky quilt and terrible wicker furniture but -
Kaoru’s head throbs, and when he puts his hand to the lump under his hair it all comes rushing back. The accident - staying with Kojiro - his memory loss and the scraps of its return - dancing around each other for weeks - terrible calligraphy practice - having sex with that bastard Kojiro -
The creak from his jaw clenching tight is audible. Kaoru takes long, deep meditative breaths so as to slow his heart rate and sudden urge to commit murder. Opening his eyes he realizes that at least he’s wearing Carla. “Carla, the date and time, please.”
“It is Saturday July 1st, nine thirty am, master.”
Kojiro would be doing prep for brunch. Good.
Kaoru stands carefully, spends a minute figuring out how much he can walk without crutches. Not much, but enough to make the bed. Kaoru may be angry, but he’s still a good houseguest. He finds his duffel bag, throws in his clothing. He pulls off the sweatpants and t-shirt of Kojiro’s he’d been sleeping in, sneering at the worn clothing even as he knows that it was soft and the best thing to fit his booted leg in.
Frowning at his own reflection, Kaoru ties his yukata and obi quickly and precisely. Digging in an interior pocket he locates a hair tie, which he uses to pull his hair into a tail over his left shoulder. God, has he been using Kojiro’s shampoo? He has terrible split ends.
He locates his phone and charger, tossing the latter into the bag as he thumbs through his contacts, thinking. Drumming his fingers on the dresser top, Kaoru calls a number and waits as the line rings.
“H’lo?” comes a muffled voice.
“Miya, it’s me. Wake up.”
“It’s early…”
“Yes it is. Can you borrow your mother’s car?”
Miya yawns into the phone. “Yeah, why?”
“I need you to come pick me up. Come to the side door.” After getting a sleepy assent, Kaoru hangs up. He looks around, trying to see what else he’s missing. He gets his things out from the bathroom, manages to get the crutches and the bag all in to the living room without falling over. He grabs his tablet, a few books, some odds and ends. He really did practically move in, didn’t he.
At the sound of the door opening, Kaoru turns to see a sleepy Miya with his hood pulled up and mismatched socks wandering in. Catching sight of Kaoru, Miya’s eyes widen and he stumbles over the rug.
“You’re - back.”
“Indeed I am. Could you get my bag, please? I need to get home.”
Miya hesitates, glancing at the door - and presumably the restaurant and Kojiro beyond it - before looking back and nodding. He slings the bag over his shoulder and he and Kaoru make their careful way down the hallway. It’s only a few steps from the apartment door to the side door, but there’s clear sight of the kitchen and Kojiro comes bounding over in his chef whites, slightly egg-splattered.
“Hey guys, do you want…brunch…” he looks at Kaoru and how he’s dressed, then finally at his face. Kojiro’s own face tightens up into a blank expression.
“Thank you for letting me stay these past few weeks and for taking care of me,” Kaoru says, so formal that one almost expects a bow at the end. “If you need any money for the disruption or what I ate while I was here -”
“No, it’s fine. You know it’s fine,” Kojiro says quietly. “You’d do the same for me.”
Miya takes the opportunity to escape nearly at a run, throwing Kaoru’s bag into the backseat of the car and starting it up. And, purposefully or not, leaving them alone.
“I’m sorry for leaving you as my emergency contact,” Kaoru says stiffly. “I should have changed it.”
Kojiro laughs tiredly, no humor in it, and rubs a hand over his face. “Be real, who the hell else would you have listed? Miya? Come on.”
“Still.” Silence falls, and Kaoru waits. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“I’m waiting for your apology.”
“My -” Kojiro barks a laugh. “My fucking what?”
“Your apology -”
“For taking care of you? For making sure you ate and slept and didn’t fall down a flight of stairs? Yeah, sure let me apologize for all of -”
“For lying!” It’s loud enough that Kojiro’s staff in the kitchen look over, then quickly look away - they already know they’re not paid enough to get in the middle of those two. “For making me think that we were together and that you still - you still -” he can’t make himself say the words. “For fucking me and giving me what I can’t have any longer.”
“I told you that you’d kill me,” mutters Kojiro, half to himself. “I’m sorry about the sex. But not about the rest - you were so hurt, Kaoru. All you knew was your own name, and it was fucking terrifying for us, okay? And I wasn’t going to hash through a couple of decades of relationship shit with you while you were like that.” He sighs, and Kaoru can see lines across his forehead and under his eyes that didn’t used to be there. “I wasn’t going to tell you we had broken up. Not when you had nothing else.”
“So what, it was fun for you playing happy husbands when I had nothing to do but depend on you? Nice. I’m glad you got your little fantasy -”
“Fuck off! It was miserable! You were you, but you weren’t…you. You looked like you and talked like you, but you never argued. Never made fun of me. Never really laughed.” Kaoru is shocked to see Kojiro near tears. “You don’t know what it was like, okay. It’s like you were a Kaoru paper doll and I didn’t know how to get you back.”
They’re both breathing hard into the quiet, the only sounds the clanking and sounds of cooking from the kitchen.
“Regardless of what we are or aren’t, I’ll never apologize for taking care of you,” Kojiro says softly.
Kaoru opens his mouth, then closes it. Does it again. Turns and goes out the door because he doesn’t know what to say or do or - anything, really.
His crutches go in the back of Miya’s mother’s sensible sedan, and Kaoru carefully gets into the passenger seat. Miya pulls out, gnawing on his lip and obviously wanting to say something and just as obviously afraid to.
“Go ahead, let it out,” Kaoru says with a sigh.
“I’m sorry, we all just…ugh, no one knew what to do,” Miya says all in a rush. “We were afraid that if we told you that you guys broke up that you’d want to leave and we didn’t know where else you could go, and Kojiro…” he trails off, looking for words. “Despite everything Kojiro knows you, like none of the rest of us do. If anyone could bring you back, it would be him.”
Kaoru doesn’t argue, just reaches over and ruffles Miya’s hair. The boy bats him away, but with a grin. It’s a short drive, just a few blocks, but Kaoru still rolls down the window. It feels like forever since he’s felt the wind in his face, since he’s been outside. He lets his fingers flutter in the wind, the cool breeze belling out his sleeves.
Before long they’re there, and Kaoru is carefully going up the stairs to his place. He reluctantly acknowledges that when he was in the full cast instead of the metal-and-plastic boot he’s now in, it would have been a very bad idea to try and go up the three flights to his apartment. As it is, he’s still breathing hard and with sore thighs from keeping his balance when he gets to the top.
Collapsing onto the couch, Kaoru lets his head fall back with a sigh. Miya sets the bag down and perches in his usual spot on Kaoru’s armchair. Kaoru adjusts his glasses as he looks at Miya. It’s only ten thirty and he already feels like death. “You’ve already been helpful, but could I bother you for another favor?” he asks, smiling gratefully when Miya nods.
Digging all the cash he has out of his wallet, Kaoru squints at it before handing it to Miya. “If you could pick up some groceries, just some staples. I’m afraid of what’s in the fridge, to be honest. And buy yourself some lunch while you’re at it, please. Or brunch, I suppose.”
With some encouragement they face the terrors of the fridge, and Miya takes down a garbage bag full of food that’s sat there for a month to throw out on his way to the car. Kaoru looks around once he’s alone. It’s clean, if not a bit dusty. He normally has a cleaning service come in once a week to do the shop downstairs, he wonders if he could hire them to do his apartment as well.
Everything gets put away - clothing into closets and hampers, various items back into the bathroom where they were stolen from. Kaoru looks at the attempts at calligraphy that he had tried and tries his best not to laugh at his memoryless self before putting them in the recycling bin.
He needs to contact his customers. He needs to figure out how to repay Miya and Hiromi for helping him out so much. He should check to make sure he has cat food and then get Jiji back. He has so much work to do. He -
He’s back, and is himself again. Finally.
For the first time in weeks, Kaoru puts his face in his hands and breaks into tears.
-x-x-x-x-x-
Things go back to - normal, for relative meanings of normal.
Kaoru contacts his clients properly and gets commissions off in record time. He hires Miya officially and starts teaching him the AI side of AI calligraphy. Gift baskets are sent to Hiromi and Miya’s families in thanks. Jiji comes back, several pounds heavier than when she left, and she follows Kaoru around like a large white burr stuck to him for a few days until she is sure he won’t abandon him again.
He debates about what to get Kojiro. Not only in thanks, but his birthday is also fast approaching. All that, layered on top of ‘we’re no longer dating but have known each other for so long we’re still virtually family’ makes for some frustrated note-taking.
Kojiro hates waste - the scrimping and saving, the turning of every spare chicken bone into stock and every vegetable scrap and eggshell into compost for the herb garden is what has let him stay in the black and have control over his ingredients. Japan has to import too much for an Italian restaurant to really be farm-to-table, but he’s just about the next best thing. Kaoru has sat through endless rants over the years about stupid specialty stores that use just a bit of an item and throw the rest away to rot.
Kaoru buys him an enormous Edible Arrangement.
He smirks to himself as he hits the button for delivery, already hearing the diatribe in the back of his head. He tells Miya about it later when he comes in for his shift, trying to act less amused than he is. To his surprise, Miya just makes a noncommittal noise, one black eyebrow raising above skeptical green eyes.
When asked about it, Miya cocks his head. “It sounds like what my mom would call pigtail-pulling.”
Kaoru sniffs derisively. “Hardly. We are broken up. There are no pigtails to pull.”
“Mmmm,” Miya gives him a long look, then goes back to soldering components. Kaoru goes back to his studio to work on scrolls, but something in him just isn’t feeling it that day.
Miya’s wrong, is the thing. They broke up around a month before the accident, after one too many fights about how they both worked too much, how they didn’t have time for each other, how it all got…stale.
They reacted in somewhat different ways. Kojiro stripped his apartment of anything that featured Kaoru, leaving him with walls bare of pictures and art, and refused to mention the other man to their mutual friends at all. Kaoru, on the other hand, lived his life exactly as he had before, just with a Kojiro shaped hole at the center of it. He finally, three weeks after they’d talked for the last time, started to put together a box of Kojiro’s items that he was going to send back to him.
It wasn’t much - they spent far more time at Kojiro’s place than Kaoru’s. When the thought crossed the back of Kaoru’s mind of them moving in together, it was always into Kojiro’s place. It was just - homier, more lived in. It felt more like home than Kaoru’s own, at that. Even now.
Kaoru is tucking an apron of Kojiro’s into the box of his things when he finds it. He’d bought it months ago for Kojiro’s birthday, and then promptly forgotten about it in all the chaos. It’s a beautifully handmade leather book that has ‘Recipes’ tooled into the leather of the front.
There’s a note written on the first page, personal and sappy and ending with ‘all my love, Kaoru’. He stares at it, wondering what to do. He can’t just rip the page out - cut it out, perhaps? It would be obvious, though. Closing the book and setting it on his dresser, Kaoru resolves to think about it another day.
It keeps catching his eye, though.
The day after Kojiro’s birthday, Kaoru glances at the clock. Almost eleven at night - the restaurant will be closed and Kojiro will be cleaning up. Without thinking too much about it he grabs up the recipe book - now neatly wrapped - and hobbles out to his car. He’s exchanged the crutches for a cane and can get around rather well, now.
Kaoru has out the keys he never gave back, but doesn’t need them as the restaurant door opens easily. It appears deserted apart from Kojiro behind the bar, washing glasses. “We’re closed!” he calls out, not turning around.
Inhaling the familiar smell of garlic and tomato and well-worn wood, Kaoru makes his way to the bar, perching on a stool. Kojiro turns to look at him, a distinct lack of surprise in his expression. “We’re closed,” he repeats quietly. Kaoru looks at him. Kojiro looks back for a long minute, before sighing and getting out a bottle of white wine that he pours into two glasses.
Setting the wrapped book on the bar, Kaoru says, just as quietly, “Happy birthday.”
Raising a sarcastic eyebrow, Kojiro ducks below the bar to open the bar fridge, hauling up an enormous…thing with a grunt. It’s a flowerpot, stuffed full of skewers of strawberries, melons, and pineapples, all carved into delicate little shapes. Kaoru bites the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. “Wow, someone must have really cared if they sent that to you.”
Kojiro glares.
“Are there any more chocolate dipped ones left?” Kaoru asks, poking through the fruit.
“Not after Reki got to them.”
“Mmm. Shame.”
“You’re an asshole,” Kojiro says without heat. He comes around the bar, sits in the chair next to Kaoru.
“Of course I am.” Nudging the book closer, Kaoru pulls off a strawberry and pops it in his mouth. He watches as Kojiro opens it up, fingers stroking over the rich leather cover and gilt-edged pages. Kaoru has to look away as he opens it, reads the inscription.
“I found it in a box of your things that I was going to give back, I bought it awhile ago.”
“You’re an asshole,” Kojiro says again, but this time it sounds sad. Almost longing.
They’re both silent for a few minutes, sipping wine and not looking at each other. Finally Kaoru sets aside his empty glass, straightens his back. “I should go -”
“I didn’t realize how much I missed you until you were back,” Kojiro says, interrupting him. Sad garnet eyes pin Kaoru in place like weights. “It was like some - some support beam propping up my life was back in place.”
“It wasn’t really me.”
“Oh, I fucking know. You were just there, looking all adorable and confused and I couldn’t, couldn’t touch you like I wanted. Couldn’t do anything I wanted to do.” Kojiro sounds frustrated, at himself more than anything.
“Didn’t stop you from getting into my pants.”
“And I shouldn’t have, I know that.” Kojiro rubs a hand over his eyes. “You have no idea how tempting you can be when you put your mind to it, Kaoru. I was weak, I’ll cop to that.”
Silence for a minute. “Why did we break up?” Kaoru asks, something of a lump in his throat.
“We were too busy. I have the restaurant, you have your business…those have become the primary relationships in our lives.”
Kaoru turns, sets a hand on Kojiro’s knee. “What if they weren’t?”
“Huh?”
“The weeks that I was - sick. You spent so much time with me, and your staff didn’t die picking up the slack, no? And I was virtually useless for a month, and yet my customers still are happily taking their commissions.”
Kojiro blinks at him. “I’m…I don’t know what you’re saying.”
Kaoru looks at Kojiro with all the earnestness he can muster, all the feelings that have been marinating in the back of his brain for a week. “I’m saying that we cut down on work and spent more time together and the world didn’t end. I’m saying that we fixed it, and then I got better and we went right back to how things were.”
“My staff wasn’t super happy -”
“Hire more.”
“I can’t just -”
“You can more than afford it, shut up. Promote what’s his face, the one with the hair, to be kitchen manager and get a couple more cooks. You don’t have to be there six days a week to run the place.”
Kojiro is quiet for a moment, before he looks at Kaoru, hard. “And you? With the trips, and the stress before the competitions, and - ?”
“Maybe I don’t need to do as many as I used to. I’m running out of shelf space for trophies and plaques anyways.” A breath. “And I don’t like living out of suitcases, traveling all the time. Miya’s working for me now too, which gives me some extra time.”
They’re both silent for a while, the only sound the quiet shush of traffic outside. Finally Kojiro taps on the recipe book. “Did you mean it?”
Kaoru looks away. There’s some…sappy stuff in there, like how the book could be given to future children. “When I wrote it, yes.”
“And now?”
“Well that depends on whether you’re - mmph!” Kaoru is cut off by Kojiro’s mouth on his, by the familiar taste he didn’t realize he missed so much until it was in front of him once more. The kiss is slow, exploratory. Learning each other once more after so long away. A gentle hand cradles Kaoru’s jaw, thumb rubbing over a sharp cheekbone.
It’s so easy to get lost in Kojiro’s mouth, in his body. Before he knows it Kaoru is off his chair and tucked between Kojiro’s thighs, the muscles bracketing Kaoru’s narrow hips as he presses close. Kaoru bites at the tendons in Kojiro’s neck, at the stark ridge of his collarbone, and Kojiro moans helplessly.
“There’s a perfectly good bed upstairs that we could put to use,” Kaoru murmurs, and Kojiro nods frantically before grabbing Kaoru’s hand and pulling him along.
Kaoru doesn’t remember the journey down the hall or how he got there without breaking his leg again. Doesn’t remember going to Kojiro’s bedroom, doesn’t remember losing his clothing. It’s like he blinks and then there are acres of tanned skin spread out below him and gleaming in the moonlight. He runs his fingers up the bars of Kojiro’s ribcage, relishing in the feeling of strong bone and soft skin under his hands.
“So beautiful…” he says softly, smiling when Kojiro turns his head to the side. All the work on his body but he can’t handle it when Kaoru picks him apart. Kaoru lets his hands move over the lines of muscle and bone like he’s painting them. He murmurs quiet words of admiration, of praise. It’s deserved - half of Kojiro’s musculature isn’t from working out bur rather from breaking down an entire cow or dicing up fifty pounds of squash. It’s muscle from hard work, from purpose.
“Did you get even bigger while I was gone?” Kaoru whispers into his ear as he thumbs at Kojiro’s nipples, making him squirm. “Couldn’t fuck so you worked out, tried to exhaust yourself but it didn’t work, did it? You need something…” he shifts a hand down between them, strokes at where Kojiro is hard and hot and leaking, “...more.”
“Kaoru - please, can I - can I please?”
There’s only one thing Kojiro would be stuttering over like that, so Kaoru nods, shifting to strip off his underwear as Kojiro fumbles his lube out of his nightstand. Kaoru’s legs are spread wide to straddle Kojiro’s hips, but he shifts them apart even further at the slick fingers that trace down and around his entrance.
Kaoru leans down to rest on his forearms as he kisses Kojiro slowly, languidly. He shifts his hips as Kojiro works his fingers into him, massaging the tight muscle until he’s slick and soft and open. Kaoru slowly ruts against Kojiro, cock sliding against the washboard texture of his stomach muscles until he’s close, so close. It wouldn’t be fair to poor Kojiro, though, who is practically squirming in anticipation below him, though.
And so Kaoru sits up and then sits back down, and Kojiro fits inside him like a puzzle piece clicking into place. They’ve done this too many times for it to be anything but smooth - broad tan hands on narrow pale hips, Kaoru’s body easily rising and falling and taking Kojiro into himself over and over again.
Kojiro looks up at Kaoru with an unreadable look in his wide eyes. It’s almost uncomfortable to be looked at so clearly, so Kaoru leans down, catches the other man’s mouth in a kiss. It shifts everything so that Kaoru is once more rubbing himself against Kojiro, and now it’s only a matter of time.
Soon Kaoru is moaning softly into Kojiro’s mouth as he clenches down, spilling hot between their chests. He collapses down, hair messily covering the two of them. Kojiro’s hands work Kaoru’s hips down onto himself like his own personal fucktoy, over and over until he’s groaning out his own orgasm. Kaoru can feel him throb inside, feel where it gets hot and slick. It’s a good, very good feeling.
They lay there for a few minutes as sweat and come cools, muscles burning as skin gets sticky. Eventually Kojiro pulls out, both men hissing at the sensitivity. Kojiro slips a hand between Kaoru’s legs, touching where he’s gaping open slightly, hot and soft and dripping.
“Stop that,” Kaoru murmurs.
“No,” Kojiro says hoarsely, the first coherent word he’s uttered in some time. He lazily fingers Kaoru until he shifts away from oversensitivity, then shifts back to plaster himself along Kojiro’s side.
“For all our issues, this was never one of them,” Kaoru says sleepily as he tucks his head under Kojiro’s chin.
He can hear the beating of Kojrio’s heart, the whoosh of his air through his lungs. “Are we going to be okay?” Kojiro asks, and there are layers to the simple question.
Kaoru sits up a bit, cascade of silken pink hair sheeting down onto them. Gold eyes are serious as they look down. “We are going to be just fine.” He can hear the truth in the words as he says them, the determination in his voice. “It might seem sudden but - we spent a month healing together.”
Kojiro smiles up at him, face broad and open and trusting. “I think so too,” he says.
-x-x-x-x-x-
“No - Langa, keep passing the pasta, that whole bowl isn’t for you.”
“Awww…”
“Has anyone seen my knife?”
“Where are the napkins?”
It’s absolute chaos, but everyone is together at Sia la luce. They’re celebrating…something that Kaoru isn’t too clear on, and he’s vaguely afraid that this is about him and Kojiro getting back together.
He realizes, though, that he doesn’t care. He’s surrounded by friends that have become family, and things are good. Both he and Kojiro have worked to spend less time at work and more time at home, and pretty much everyone is happy about it.
The noise washes over him, the memories build, and Kaoru is home.