Chapter Text
Fuuta pursed his lips, feeling the eyes of his old family portrait glaring back at him. It was the only picture he still had left of him together with his mom, the rest either being taken by her or hidden somewhere in some box at his dad's shitty apartment.
“You okay? You’ve been standing in the hallway staring for like, three minutes.” Mikoto pat him on the back, standing next to Fuuta, trying to read his facial expression.
Fuuta rolled his eyes, shrugging. “I don’t know. I’m feeling nostalgic, I guess?”
Mikoto began to massage Fuuta’s shoulders gently. “Aw, come on, don’t give me that. I know something’s up. You’ve been acting like this for the last few days— it’s not like you to sulk.”
For a moment, Fuuta was silent. “Yeah, yeah, you always know the right thing to say. I’ve just been…reflecting. I feel bad I haven’t introduced you to anyone in my family. Especially since we're engaged.” Fuuta smiled. Saying it out loud felt good.
Mikoto's hands switched focus, intertwining with Fuuta’s. “Introduced me to them? You haven’t even spoken to them yourself since… Ah, you know.”
Neither of the two wanted to acknowledge the time they lost while captive in MILGRAM, at least not verbally. While time mentally passed for them, the world remained unchanged once their consciousness was freed from the prison.
Fuuta began anxiously running his fingers over the other’s knuckles. “Yeah. I know. But there hasn’t been anything ‘big’ in my life to even give me a reason to reach out.”
He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.
“Mom’s been out of my life since I was ten, then my sister went off to some beauty school when I was twelve, my Dad’s a piece of shit. What else is there to say? Back then, I’d be lucky to come home to food in the fridge.”
Mikoto felt uneasy, picturing these details. He could tell that this was something Fuuta’d been holding in for a long time, and he wondered why he’d kept onto it for so long. The fingers he had intertwined around the other’s hand now gripped tighter, unwilling to let go.
Fuuta flinched. “But, a part of me kinda wants to show them how good I’ve been doing.” his voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
“Ah, I forgot you had a sister! Hey, wouldn’t it be cute if our sisters got along? You never talk about her— if you don’t want to see your Dad, how about we just invite her out for lunch?”
Mikoto observed Fuuta’s expressions carefully. The way his eyebrows contored, and where his eyes darted.
“Mikoto, your sister’s an angel. No way would she get along with my bitch of an older sister.” Fuuta gawked at the thought, making fake noises of disgust.
Mikoto was surprised at the visceral reaction, and stared back at him, blankly. He knew Fuuta was not someone to mince his words— even when it’d benefit him greatly to do so— but a wrong button was clearly pushed.
He gently patted Fuuta on the head, attempting to scold him. “Hey.” Mikoto’s tone shifted. “You shouldn’t talk about your sister like that. She grew up with the same circumstances as you, so show her some empathy, alright? What’s her name?”
“…Her name’s Junko. And of course I empathize with her—! Don’t pretend like you know what I went through— she left me alone, just like how my Mom did.”
Fuuta pushed Mikoto off him, making Mikoto’s pulse quicken, slightly. Navigating this conversation felt like walking across a minefield.
“Eh? I’m just saying! I bet she hates your Dad as much as you do. She’s only a little older than you, right?”
“She does. But she didn’t come for me when she left… Even when I went off to college, it’s not like she ever asked how I made it out. Why should I respect her?” Fuuta’s voice was hoarse, tears forming.
“Fuuta…” Mikoto’s voice trailed. He put his arm around him. “You can correct me if I’m wrong, so don’t get mad. But… aren’t these just feelings you have about your Mom? You don’t need to project them onto your sister. She was just trying to move on with her life, going to get an education and start a new chapter, you know? What if you were older, and she was the younger one?” Mikoto tried his best to challenge Fuuta’s thinking without pushing any buttons.
“I don’t blame my Mom for leaving, though. I love my Mom, it isn’t her fault my Dad’s pathetic and she wanted to leave. Junko could’ve stayed and helped out— she fucking knew we were struggling. She knew I couldn’t get out of there for another few years. I don’t understand why she didn’t take me with her…”
Mikoto opened his mouth, then closed it. He needed to think carefully about his next words; he didn’t want to give Fuuta the option to be evasive. This was something that he couldn’t stay quiet about, yet he didn’t want to break the endlessly fragile man standing across from him.
“It’s not your sister's fault for leaving. How old was she, around sixteen? seventeen? She couldn’t have taken you with her. She wanted to escape as badly as you did.” Mikoto hesitated. “…In my opinion, you should be directing this anger at your Mom. It was her responsibility to support you and Junko.”
Fuuta didn’t want to acknowledge his mother's mistakes. He wanted to stay in denial about anything bad about her, not wanting his emotions to soil what memories he had left of her. So, he directed these emotions onto his sister— he hated that Mikoto was able to see right through him. It made him feel so vulnerable and exposed. He wasn’t good at having the right emotions, or the logical reaction, like Mikoto was. But he was happy he had someone who could make up for these flaws he had; who read him like an open book, forcing him to confront his emotions.
“Hah. As usual, you’re right.” Fuuta’s expression softened, leaning into Mikoto’s arms, which were already wrapped around him. He wiped his eyes and blinked. “Now I feel shitty for how I talked about Junko. She’s not all bad.”
Mikoto smiled, after a moment. “Let’s sit down. Tell me more about her.”
Fuuta made a noncommittal noise.
“I can make tea for us or something while we talk. Sit in the kitchen.” Fuuta was bossy, as usual, practically dragging Mikoto by the arm to the kitchen.
“You sure love to keep your hands busy.” Mikoto’s teasing was met with a shove.
“You’re lucky I still do anything for you, jackass. Now sit.” Fuuta’s eyebrows furrowed and he grabbed the kettle out of the cabinet. “What were we talking about again?”
“Junko. Your sister. You can’t weasel your way out of this, you promised you’d tell me more about her, now tell me~” Mikoto said in a sing-songy whine, impatient and eager to know about the family member his lover had been hiding.
“I didn’t promise you shit, but I did say I’d tell you more. If I’m being honest, there’s not much more I know than you do. She’s always been into fashion, random gimmicky crap like that. Maybe you two would get along talking about that stuff? Kind of a punk, too. She was always starting something or getting into petty fights. That’s… part of why I got upset when you brought up your sister talking to her.” Fuuta leaned on the counter, letting the kettle boil as he continued. He smacked his lips.“Back when I used social media more, I’d kind of keep an eye on her— stop smiling. She seemed to be doing well, according to the last time I checked. Just look up her name and I’m sure she’ll pop up.”
“Such a stalker you are! Old habits die hard, huh.” Mikoto fidgeted with his ring, before realizing he should probably be looking her up about now. “Mm. I’ll try to find her. It’s just under Junko Kajiyama, right?” Mikoto pulled out his phone and began to search. A smirk formed on his face.
“What’s with that creepy-ass smile?” The kettle started to hiss, and Fuuta pulled it off the stove, pouring it into the two respective mugs laid out on the counter.
His eyes lit up. “She follows me already. Isn’t that a funny coincidence?” Mikoto brought the mug up to his lips to take a sip before immediately pulling away from the boiling tea.
“Haven’t I told you to wait a minute to drink the tea?! Let it cool down— wait, she follows you? Like, your public profile? Your work profile?!”
“Yep. Look, where I’m pointing. It says ‘follow back’, which means—“
“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to explain Instagram to me, Mikoto. Just.. why? What’s her profile look like?”
“Aww, it’s nice. It’s some cute outfits and makeup she’s done. Actually, it’s more than that… there’s nails, hair.. She does a lot! What a busy girl! Some of it’s really good, too.”
Fuuta gulped, motionlessly staring at the other.
“…How many followers does she have?”
Mikoto scratched his neck, going to take another sip of tea. “Ah, well..”
“Mikoto. Tell me.” Fuuta’s eyes were fixated on the other.
“Around five thousand or so…”
He took a deep breath. “I see.” Fuuta’s tone was laced with slight jealousy. Just an ounce of it, but it was present nonetheless.
“Well I have fifteen thousand, so who's the real winner? Kidding! But she’s certainly popular in her area, such a big following for a local beautician… Maybe she works for a celebrity or something.”
Fuuta put his head down on the counter, groaning dramatically.
“I’m sure she’ll be excited if her little bro wants to get in touch. Should I send her a message, or should you?”
“Obviously I’ll message her first. I’ll try to set up something on a day when you don’t have work.” His voice was muffled, head still down in his arms on the table.
“Ah, if she’s free this weekend, make it for then if you can. My schedule is kind of packed for the next few weeks, so…” Mikoto started to fidget again.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll message her now then I guess.” Fuuta got up to grab his phone off the couch. “I’m nervous though. ‘Hey big sis, I know we haven’t spoken in years and our last conversation involved me crying and screaming for you, but I’m engaged now! How’s your amazing career going? Woohoo!’” Fuuta mocked himself, begrudgingly opening Instagram and pulling up her profile.
“There’s no need to be so negative, it’s exciting! Both of you two have had such big changes in your lives. And I’m excited to meet her.” Mikoto stared over Fuuta’s shoulder, watching him repeatedly type and repeat his sentences.
Fuuta pushed Mikoto off him and shielded his phone. “Hey, who said you could watch?! It’s making me nervous. I’ll show you after.”
[ Junko. Still remember me? I don’t know what you have going on, but we should talk, or something. I miss you and there’s someone I want to introduce you to, so let’s figure something out. I don’t really know how to put years worth of bullshit in one message, but are you free Saturday? We could meet at the cafe Mom used to take us to, forgot the name off the top of my head, but you know the one. Tell me if this works for you or not. ]
The message he typed out reflected at him, mockingly. He wondered if it was too much.
“Mikoto. C’mere… do you think I should send this?” Fuuta shoved his phone in Mikoto’s face, repeatedly.
“Hmm..” His eyes carefully read each like Fuuta wrote out in the message. “Yeah! Nothing seems wrong. Maybe tell her you love her in the message, though. She’ll be happy to hear that from her little brother.”
Fuuta huffed and rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell her that when I see her. I’m just gonna send it.”
“I guess that’s true.”
Mikoto could see Fuuta trembling, slightly.
“Also, I’m excited to go to that cafe you mentioned~ is it near where you used to live, with your Dad?” Mikoto wanted to keep the conversation going, hopefully distracting Fuuta from his anxiety.
“Not really. It’s actually closer to here, by the city. Whenever we had money, my Mom would take me and Junko out to that fancy cafe people are always talking about. I’m sure you’ve been there a few times, it’s kind of near your office?” Fuuta stayed on the couch where he found his phone originally, sulking and getting comfortable in the pillows.
“Ohh! Like, the fancy one that does the pictures in the lattes? I’ve been there for lunch before, but it’s pricey so I keep my distance…” Mikoto chuckled awkwardly as he finished speaking, still attempting to keep the conversation flowing. He could tell Fuuta’s anxiety was still present, green irises glued to the phone; rocking back and forth in intervals. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the Fuuta this on edge.
“Fuuta?” Mikoto got up from the counter, getting closer to him. He began running his fingertips on Fuuta’s sides, watching the boy tense up. Fuuta smiled and stopped him, pulling Mikoto’s hand away from his hips. He held it instead. He traced his fingers in circles along Mikoto’s palm, working into each callous on his smooth hands. He was an artist, after all— each blemish or cut on his hand being from some project or another. “It’s okay. She’ll respond soon.”
Fuuta pressed a kiss to the base of Mikoto’s neck. filling whatever space was left between the two on the couch. Mikoto flushed.
“Hm?” Mikoto pulled Fuuta into his lap, his body warm and soft, nuzzling his forehead. Mikoto began to glide his hand down to the end of the other’s boxers, preparing to go further before—
Bzzt.
He nearly threw Mikoto off the couch entirely, scrambling to get to his phone and fixing his shirt. “Ah! It’s her!”
Mikoto made a noise of discontent. Not that he was unhappy with Junko getting back to him— but couldn’t it wait until later?
“Yaaaay~ What did she say?” Mikoto smiled brightly, masking his disappointment at the unfortunate timing. His voice was over the top, to the point where even Fuuta could notice that he was trying too hard. He felt a pang of guilt layered over the disappointment; he was the one who encouraged this, after all.
“What’s your problem? You’re the reason this is happening.” Fuuta giggled. He, of course, also recognized the unfortunate timing. “She didn’t say much. Just that she’ll be there around noon, on Saturday. And that she misses me.” He took a deep breath.
Fuuta sat in silence, letting his mind settle. He turned to the other.
Mikoto pressed his hand onto Fuuta’s chest, feeling each thump under his palm.
“It’s going to go great. Don’t worry.”
Mikoto was at a loss for what more to say. Only Fuuta knew what to expect when it came to meeting up with her; all he could really do was encourage him, and hope for the best. Noticing the gleam of tears forming in the other’s eye, he reached his hand to brush Fuuta’s cheek.
Fuuta’s gaze lowered. “Can you hold me?”
“Of course.”
Fuuta knew it was easy to forget, at times, they both weren’t the best at communicating. Being riddled with his own anxieties— unable to comfort himself more often than not. He hated coming off as needy; but he needed physical comfort, more than words. Fuuta’s breath grew heavier, and his chest tightened. For some reason, being held felt scarier when asking for it. But this was his fiancé now, after all. He’s learned over the years he either had to communicate what he wanted or boil in silence, and the ladder was much more excruciating.
“I’m just glad you’ll be there with me when I talk to her… I guess a part of me is excited to see the two of you get along. So that’s something to look forward to.”
Mikoto’s arms tightened around him. “See? You’re already looking on the bright side! That’s good. I already told you how excited I am to meet her, and she follows me, right? It could only go well. Take a deep breath.”
Fuuta closed his eyes and nuzzled his head into Mikoto. Mikoto began to trail his hand along Fuuta’s backside, each stroke being lighter than the last. He was practically cradling the boy, waiting for him to doze off peacefully.
“You’re a lot like a cat, you know? I can’t move an inch, or you’ll jump off me and disappear.” Mikoto’s voice fell on deaf ears, echoing across the ornate apartment the two shared.
Moments like these, he thought, made life worth living still. He couldn’t remember the last time he considered giving up on everything; abandoning his life— his job, his family— becoming nothing. Now, most of his empty thoughts revolve around looking forward to dinner and wedding planning. Life was enjoyable when there was something to live for that was more than just survival. However, there was no question that these thoughts still surfaced in his mind. Mikoto’s lips were dry.
He didn’t want to linger on it. He was happy, and that’s what mattered. And he now knew the difference between what it means to be happy and to be happy. Content.