Chapter Text
It’s not fair, Kuro thinks, watching Gear calmly pick up a book Youtarou had accidentally knocked over with no more than an admonishment to be more careful in the face of the human’s simple “Whoops, sorry…!”
It’s not fair, he thinks, when an egg sandwich that is, yet again, too salty for Gear’s tastes is gratefully consumed. When he tells Youtarou it is delicious, no complaint to be found.
It’s just… Not fair, Kuro sulks, fists clenching within the pocket of his coat, when Youtarou runs off while their backs are all turned and Gear drags him back by the arm, exasperated but not angry. No, no, never angry with Youtarou. Never angry like he got with him.
He doesn’t realize just how unfair it really all is.
London. A familiar city of twisting, winding roads, tiny side streets inaccessible to cars, and pains in his ass. To say he had complicated feelings about the place would be an understatement and a half, but politics are a bitch, so here he was. Specifically, the politics Mahiru was now being subjected to as his Eve.
Joy of joys.
The one light in his new pit of never ending suffering at the hands of C3 was that, when the London couple ( Couple. The word made his head zing, made his stomach roil, made so many useless apologies knock around in his brain and there they stayed because Gear had so clearly moved on. So had he) had heard C3 had subpoenaed them for testimony in the ongoing investigation against Mikuni and his role in the conspiracy to revive Saint Germaine, thus requiring them to fly to London for the duration of their stint as witnesses in magical court (a phrase which made Mahiru’s eyes sparkle until Tooru had informed him, with much amusement, that it was no different than normal court aside from being twice as stuffy), the two had readily opened up their flat to the three of them.
Which was nice.
But it led to another problem.
This weird bitter feeling in his chest whenever he had to watch Gear be happy with his lover, and boy if it didn’t make him feel like shit on multiple levels.
One of these days, he really was just going to burn C3 to the ground. Mahiru’s uncle could find a new job with that pathetically single guy who was so clearly crushing hard on him.
Does being a cuck just run in that family, or are those two special?
A question which could wait for another day.
At least they had a week to explore as they pleased, and Youtarou had been kind enough to prepare pamphlets and directions and warnings about various tourist spots, eateries, places to have fun and unwind, the whole nine yards. There were even carefully written notes, in both English and Japanese, about places they could nip into if they needed to get out of the chill for whatever reason, winter proper having come to pass since their last visit.
Was it bad that he was relieved the duo wouldn’t be accompanying them?
About five days into their little vacation, the sound of hushed, heated whispers met Kuro’s ears as he descended from the first floor to try and, as quietly as possible, get himself a mug of warm milk to help him sleep. The nerves had been building as the date of their first appearance approached, and with it, his insomnia worsened.
Finding himself frozen near the bottom of the stairs as the argument between Gear and Youtarou built wasn’t doing him any favors. Especially not with how when Gear was really, truly upset by something, he got… Quiet.
He was immortal. He could handle Gear’s wrath, how quickly his annoyance turned to violence, but Youtarou was only human. Surely, though, surely they were only being quiet for the sake of their guests? It wasn’t as if the werewolf entirely lacked self control. He had manners.
Usually.
Slowly, he crouched on the steps, peering through the bars and hoping he himself wouldn’t be noticed eavesdropping on their conversation. As it stood, he had to strain his ears to catch only snatches, but the sound of his little kitty body hitting the surface of the stair he was perched on would certainly be enough to alert Gear in the relative quiet of London’s starless nights.
“--They need us, Gear.”
“I’ve already done my part by letting them stay here. I will not be involving myself any further.”
“But-!”
“But nothing. We both agreed on this. You agreed on this. You can provide as much help as you like, but leave me out of it. Shirayuki almost lost her child because of these idiots, and you want me to go stand in front of them and be civil?”
“But Alicein Mikuni…”
“Can rot in hell for all I care. Him and the Alicein bo--Don’t touch me right now.”
“...Sorry. I’m sorry… I understand how you feel, I really do, but I can’t… I can’t throw Mahiru-kun to the slaughter like that. You know they’re going to be looking for anything they can use against him, too… Alicein Mikuni is just--”
“The foot in the door. I know that, I just…” A frustrated growl, one that made Kuro’s hair stand on end. After, though, Gear closes eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets it out slow. “I need to cool off. Lock the door.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be able to get home okay? Maybe I should go--”
“Don’t.”
“...Mm. Be careful, okay?”
“...I’m always careful.”
It’s such an awful feeling, the twisting, squeezing, acrid sensation where his heart is. He should be happy. He should feel glad. Be ecstatic that anger didn’t turn to violence like so many times he had seen before, like so many times that stood out in his mind, clear as day. But as Gear turns on his heel and heads out into the freezing night, pausing only long enough to grudgingly accept the coat and gloves lovingly passed his way (Youtarou’s hands don’t shake, he doesn’t hesitate, he knows they will be taken from him with the gentleness of a lamb), he can only think one thing, leaning his face against the cold metal bars of the stairwell railing and letting the sensation jolt him.
Why could you never do that for me?
He would learn. He would learn.
It wasn’t his fault. Not entirely.
He’s not sure how long he had been sitting there on the stairs when he’s finally spotted by a dozy eyed Youtarou, who looks about as startled to find him as he feels to be found.
“Kuro? What’re you doing there?”
What a dumb question.
Still, there’s something about the concern in the other man’s eyes that bids him to stay as he approaches and takes a seat next to him, as if he can sense Kuro’s distress despite not knowing him well enough to read his tells.
Or maybe he can. Living with a guy like Gear did things to you, as subtle as his facial expressions and body language could get.
Even though there is space between them, given with full awareness of their lack of emotional closeness, no doubt, Kuro still finds himself attempting to scoot away a little more, as if he can push his body through the bars and land on the floor below, far away from this human with kind eyes that shine in the dark with the same careful probing that Mahiru’s do.
It’s uncomfortable. The slow realization of the similarities of the current relationship Gear has and the one between himself and his own Eve. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want to face it. The clock on the mantle chimes the hour and Kuro closes his eyes, allows the sound to wash over him.
Patiently, Youtarou waits.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he finally offers, and receives an acknowledging hum in return. “Wanted something to drink, but…”
“... Ah. You heard all that, huh?” A self conscious little laugh. He hears the human shift, but doesn’t move himself, and Youtarou goes still after. A moment later, there’s a sigh. “Sorry. That’s… Embarrassing. We were trying to be quiet, but I guess it didn’t matter much, huh~? Were you scared?”
Of course he was scared. This whole situation was scary. From the argument to this conversation to the reason they were here, it all left Kuro terrified to the core. They’d only just found peace. What would he do if…
“Nah. It’s just.” He shrugged. “Kinda awkward.”
“I guess it would be. I wouldn’t know what to do, either. Like, do I go back to bed? Let the people know I’m there? Act like nothing’s wrong? What a mess!” Youtarou’s voice ended on a bright note and, despite himself, Kuro felt the hunch of his shoulders easing in the face of the other’s easy going nature. If he hadn’t seen and heard the way Youtarou’s face pinched when he was angry and the way his words became less crisp with his fluctuating emotions, he’d almost think nothing truly upset the guy. “You still want that drink?”
“...Yes please.”
“Okay, come on. Gear’s going to want something when he gets back, anyway. Might as well join me for some cocoa, right~?”
“Mm… I guess.”
Getting up to follow him was easier than Kuro had thought it would be.
In the dim moonlight the same silvery shade as Youtarou’s hair, gold swung gently from Kuro’s neck and disturbed the peaceful quiet the same as the clock, but only just.
In a way, it felt like it belonged.
Sitting at Gear’s kitchen table while his partner went about heating milk and mixing high quality powder into paste as quietly as possible, the unfamiliarity of the wood brought a strange sort of ease. It was almost as if he could lie to himself about whose home he was in when so very little of the furniture was as he remembered it. It wasn’t as if everything were sparkling and new. Far from it, in fact, the table he was currently seated at sharing its own scuffs and bumps. But that, too, filled him with melancholy.
This place truly wasn’t his home anymore.
“He still has a lot of your things, you know,” Youtarou suddenly speaks, his voice soft yet no less guilty of making Kuro jump in his seat. The vampire hunches, reaches for the hood he isn’t wearing and finds the fleece fabric of the collar of his pajamas instead, baby blue and just for him, courtesy of Tooru.
His Eve’s uncle was so indulgent. Kuro hadn’t even asked, didn’t need it, really, and yet he’d been given clothing of his own, taken shopping and asked what he had wanted. What he had liked.
(Is that what having a parent is like? He doesn’t remember)
“I don’t want to talk about Gear right now.”
A pause, and Youtarou nods. “Fair enough. How sweet do you like it?”
“Is it too late to ask for hot cola instead?”
“Oh, yuck! Absolutely not.” The words are full of mirth, easily finding humor in Kuro’s own brand of joking. More and more, he thinks he’s beginning to understand Gear’s own feelings. Youtarou is… A genuinely good guy.
Perhaps that’s what allows his next words to pass despite himself, spilling out as if by a will other than his own.
“It's really not fair... Gear goes easy on you..."
Youtarou, to his credit, only stops for a moment to contemplate the hypocritical nature of the vampire in his kitchen. He doesn’t comment on it, either, merely begins to ladle steaming, sweet cocoa into a mug, plopping a large marshmallow inside as well. “Does he?”
Gratefully, Kuro accepted the drink into his hands, sighing as the warmth seeped into his fingers and palms and just barely noting the warning that it was hot. Youtarou sits across from him not long after placing a lid over the pot of cocoa to keep it nice and warm for Gear’s return… And promptly scalds his tongue despite having just warned Kuro against doing the same.
“Good job.”
“Ahaha… I always do that.”
The first sip is creamy, chocolatey, perfect temperature. Not too sweet, not too bitter, the half heavy cream and milk mixed with bitter dark chocolate tempering each other wonderfully. Even the salt, which he’d been wary about, probably served to enhance the flavor even more.
“Oh, do you not like it?”
Perplexed, Kuro looks up, and Youtarou gestures to his mouth.
“You started frowning pretty intensely.”
“Oh. Uh. I was just…” Awkwardly, Kuro shifts, mumbling into his drink. “It doesn’t taste like the stuff Mahiru makes…”
“...I see~”
“What’s with that smug, knowing look? Can’t deal…”
A chuckle, Youtarou resting his cheek in his palm across from him. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Man. You sure are a weirdo…”
Youtarou grins at him, seeming proud of it. “Only weirdos can keep up with Gear, so I’ll take that as a compliment~”
Something about that comment strikes something unpleasant with him, and Kuro ducks his head to avoid the innocent happiness being shown to him. It doesn’t feel like he deserves to witness it. “... He really does spoil you a bunch. Doesn’t he.”
He feels like he’s repeating himself, but the words won’t come easily. It’s not something he can help. Still, Youtarou sits up a little straighter, gives him his full attention.
“Is that how it looks?”
“Does he not?”
A hum, turning his cup around in his hands. “Hmm… I guess? I’ve known him since I was a little kid, so… I guess I never really thought about it. Gear’s always been…” His lips turn downwards, ever so slightly. “...What was he like? In the past, I mean.”
Kuro shrugs and tries not to think of how much more intense those eyes suddenly seem. “Mostly the same. Loud. Irrational. Always picking fights, obsessed with new things, constantly dragging stuff we didn’t have room for back home…”
A laugh. “Yep, same old Gear!”
“...He’s nicer now, though,” Kuro concedes. “To you. And to Mahiru…” When he thinks about it, not once has Gear snapped at his Eve. There have been moments where he said some things that were out of pocket, but that was simply how… Gear was. “Even though he was so angry then, he left before he got violent.”
“...Is that not what you expected?”
“I don’t… Know what I expect anymore. I don’t know why I thought…”
A knowing, sympathetic look. “He said the same thing to me, you know. According to him, you’ve… Changed a lot. And he’s not sure how to handle you anymore.”
“...Have I?”
“I think that’s something you should talk to him about. Don’t you?”
“...Mm. Probably.”
The silence that comes afterward is more comforting than the drink. How reassuring, Kuro thinks, to know he’s not the only one who doesn’t know how to reach out his hand to someone he both knows and doesn’t. Perhaps… It’s high time he put the work in instead of expecting Gear to carry him.
He could walk on his own now, after all.