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1.
It happened rather unexpectedly, all things considered.
Hitoshi and Denki were outside of a club they’d promised to meet some friends at—Jirou, Ashido, the like—and Denki was psyching himself up as usual with a cigarette. He wasn’t a heavy smoker, not really – it was more of a social thing for him. Hitoshi knew this, had known this, for some time.
After all, they were roommates. Close ones, to boot. They knew everything about one another.
But from the entryway lingering and the cloying, irritating smell on Denki’s clothes—a miasma blanketing the scent the two of them shared—Hitoshi hated this dirty habit. But Denki was his roommate, not his to tell what to do, so he bit his tongue with a sinking in his chest at every snap of a lighter and shimmering orange smoulder of paper skin.
Denki dropped his lighter this time, though. It skittered on the gravel underfoot right ahead of Hitoshi’s foot. Out of habit, he picked it up and then there Denki was, expectantly leaning forward with his cigarette between his lips.
For a few seconds, Hitoshi was at a loss. He could have so easily lit it for him, just like that, but instead he said, “I’m not enabling your filthy habit.”
Denki’s eyes widened. “Then give me the—” he went to grab the lighter himself, but maybe this was the window Hitoshi needed to put an end to the rising disdain, the sorrow, that Denki’s smoking put into place. Perhaps this was what the pettiest, most controlling parts of Hitoshi’s personality needed to kickstart the rear of its ugly head. By the deep angle of Denki’s brow, Hitoshi could gather that it must have been particularly ugly. “What gives!?” Denki exclaimed, backing up from trying to fight for the lighter with a huff.
“You should quit. It’s not good for you.”
To Hitoshi’s surprise, Denki’s cheeks pinkened as he let out an airy laugh. “Oh, man, I could never. My oral fixation’s way too strong.” The cigarette bounced in his mouth with every spoken syllable.
That made Hitoshi stop short. “Oral fixation?” he repeated, fish-mouthed.
“Yeah, like the thing that makes you obsessed with something in your mouth.”
Oh. Hitoshi, for his own sanity, wished he could unhear that. “Like what?” But he had to ask, his hedonism winning him over.
“Oh, you know, man,” Denki replied, taking out the cigarette between two fingers and gesturing with it passively. “Cigarettes, gum, fingers, tits. Dick –” he added with wide eyes, like he was tacking it on to be inclusive – “all of that sorta stuff. Anything to suck or chew on, really.”
But Hitoshi was hung up on the word ‘fingers’ for now. His eyes trickled down to his hand. Denki’s followed along, and before either of them truly knew it, two of Hitoshi’s fingers were sliding into Denki’s mouth, which was warm and welcoming as he let out a little moan of approval.
Ball of his palm resting on Denki’s chin, Hitoshi guided his fingers out, barely giving himself time to revel over the drippy strands of saliva before he was pushing them back in, drawing out another, breathier moan from the dearest before him.
“Like that?” he asked, a little breathless himself, and Denki nodded so eagerly, suckling with a little gasp. Hitoshi managed to coax the cigarette out of his grasp, and tossed it into the ashtray atop the trashcan next to them. He pulled out, and after a moment of recollecting themselves, he said, “Come to me whenever you need a cigarette.” It came out hurried and flushed, but then Denki was nodding, smoothing over his nerves, and putting an arm around his own.
They went into the club together.
Just before the blaring music and flashing lights took over his senses, Hitoshi thought to himself: If being used by Denki to kick his bad habits gets me that close again, then so be it.
2.
That night had opened their relationship to a trend now. It became commonplace for Denki to sit himself on Hitoshi’s lap at home, or to sit next to him and pull an arm around himself, just so he had his fingers nearby to stick in his mouth and suck until he had a braindead look in his eyes. A Pavlovian response occurred with the latter, and now whenever Hitoshi spotted Denki approaching, he’d put an arm up ready for him.
If Hitoshi had both hands occupied with something else, Denki would find merit in his neck, his ear, his jaw, his lips. Then kissing—making out—became a common occurrence, leaving Hitoshi dizzy, and a little confounded at just how often Denki needed to smoke. He really hadn’t thought he was that heavy of a smoker, especially when at home, when the worst Hitoshi had seen of him until now was at least two or three cigarettes in only a few weeks.
Had he been wrong? Was Denki just good at suppressing his cravings? Good at sneaking past him, maybe? The third one seemed the most unlikely.
Their next outing with friends was at a bar just two months later. Out of habit, Denki was tucked safely under Hitoshi’s arm as Hitoshi and Tokoyami ate a squid ink pasta dish out of tupperware from a restaurant a few blocks away, sampling it to see if it was good enough for Tokoyami to buy another serving the following day on his way to the train station. He’d be heading out of the city to visit Shouji; it was a monthly ritual.
Jirou and Sero were the heaviest smokers in the group. Denki usually smoked with them, but tonight he was opting to stay back, making Hitoshi exceptionally proud. It wasn’t until several drinks in, when he’d started to get tipsy, that he’d forgotten his new rule, and went to get up with them.
All Hitoshi needed to do was tense his bicep, and then Denki was kept in place, falling back into him with a sweet smile. “Good boy,” Hitoshi whispered, granting a kiss to his head. Praise, he’d found quite early on, was a terrific motivator for Denki to persevere through his cravings. “Want some calamari?” he added, pinching a fried ringlet from his container with his chopsticks, because food was as well.
Denki nodded excitedly. He leaned his head forward, meeting the chopsticks halfway; Hitoshi smiled, using his free hand that was around Denki’s shoulders to push back soft blond hair, away from his face, and combing his fingers through from the hairline back. As his nails lightly met his scalp, Denki swallowed. “I’ve never had squid ink pasta before. It looks so cool.”
Well, then that wouldn’t do. Hitoshi rolled a hefty amount around his chopsticks – “Say ‘ah’ –” and fed it to him, eliciting a little moan of approval. He pulled away a little too soon; black tendrils of spaghetti cascaded over Denki’s bottom lip. Still a little tipsy, Denki paid it little mind and bit down. They fell, and Hitoshi caught them in his hand with a playful tut.
He was about to drop them back into the container, but Denki surprised him by eating straight out of the palm of his hand with a contented hum.
“Good?” Hitoshi asked, beyond amused. A little aroused, from the way Denki looked up at him with twinkling gold eyes to the whole act. No matter the mess, Denki made even eating seem so pretty.
Denki nodded and settled back against him with a smile. “Yeah.”
However, that was far from the end, and as spaghetti protruded from Hitoshi’s own mouth, Denki took it as a sign to steal a kiss, biting it off for him. The fervour increased quickly after that: Hitoshi threw down his chopsticks to take hold of Denki’s waist when he plunged himself into his lap, whining, hands in his hair, pulling his face further into his own. Denki was consuming him, playing rough in the way he was biting, chapping his lip and making desperate noises that left Hitoshi thankful for the loud crowd around them.
Denki paused to catch his breath—Hitoshi’s chest was already burning, his throat aching with every gasp of air—and whispered, whined, right in his ear, “You’ve left me so desperate for too long, Hitoshi. I need – fuck – I need you to take me home right now. I need you to fuck me. Please – please, man. You’re giving me blue balls so bad it hurts. It hurtsss,” he sobbed, immediately placating himself with another satisfying kiss. Tongue slipped in, this time, and fingers were gripping Hitoshi’s hair twice as roughly as before. It made him wince.
His heart was pounding. It made sense, he supposed. Social gatherings were where Denki smoked the most. He’d likely conditioned himself into—“OW!”
“Oh! Shit, did I knee you in the balls? I’m so sorry, oh my god!”
“No,” Hitoshi groused. “It wasn’t you, it was...” He arched to the side, glowering at the offending, steel-cap booted culprit opposite then. “What the hell was that for, you dumb bird?”
Tokoyami cleared his throat. Stolidly, he resumed eating.
Hitoshi gave it until Sero and Jirou returned from their smoke break to announce his and Denki’s early departure before the stench of cigarettes from the pair of them could reset all of Denki’s progress. Back at their apartment, Hitoshi was the one left fumbling with the key in the lock as Denki unhelpfully kissed his neck from behind him.
He kicked the door shut behind them when Denki preoccupied his arms with hopping into them. They kissed as Hitoshi haphazardly did the chain. Denki was hungry, impatient, consuming. Hitoshi barely transported them to his bedroom on time before he was used as a springboard for Denki to treat his bed like a landing zone, a hard impact that made the frame shudder.
Their first time together—desperate and devouring and delectable—was when Hitoshi came to realise how much of a puller Denki was. He pulled and pulled and grabbed and grabbed, rough and demanding, and then when Hitoshi came he wrapped his legs around his waist to bolt him in place, sternly informing him that it would be cruel for him to pull out. Don’t you dare pull out.
Hitoshi bowed, panting into his roommate’s mouth as he tried to soothe that sternness with gentle, loving pecks. Denki melted into it, the muscles in his legs relaxing just enough for Hitoshi to pull out and roll off the condom that Denki had insisted on wearing to minimise cleanup. A backwards affair, because now Denki was leaking, letting out a little, broken noise as he reached down and tried to finger it back in with a curl of his fingers and a curl of his elevated toes.
Hitoshi watched, enamoured by the needy, anguished noises and desirous attempt and making sure everything stayed where he wanted it to. Hitoshi paid tribute to the act by kissing him on the lips and promising, “Don’t worry about the mess, I’ll be back with a cloth, okay, baby? You were amazing, so amazing.” More kissing, pushing Denki’s hair out of his eyes, more kissing.
Denki stopped him from pulling away by keeping his arms firm around his neck. “I didn’t come. I can’t – I can’t come like that, Toshi, please.”
Hitoshi kissed him again, bidding his condolences. “Sorry, baby,” he said, in a breathy voice. His hand snaked down to Denki’s stiff dick, gingerly wrapping around and giving it one sloppy pump. “Tighter?”
Denki’s face was crumpled; he covered his eyes with the balls of his palms, sobbing and nodding.
It only took a few more seconds with a slightly tightened grip and pre as lube until Denki was coming with another cry. He was kissed all over as Hitoshi repeated his promise from before. Then, once they were clean enough to sleep, they stayed in the same bed, and Denki kept himself tucked up against Hitoshi’s chest.
Hitoshi cherished it, however long it would last.
3.
Sex started to become a thing between them after that, too. Again, Hitoshi was left confounded yet again but how often Denki got cravings. The rough, whiny sex after a night out was understandable: stronger cravings, stronger means to distract himself.
What wasn’t understandable was the softer sex back at home, the cuddling every night, the fact that Denki never went into his room anymore other than to grab a few articles of clothing, which only grew scarcer with the scarcening space in Hitoshi’s wardrobe and drawers that tipped him off to this newly formed joint custody battle over his bedroom storage he hadn’t realised until a little too late.
Well, I’m in there all the time, dude, Denki had explained when asked. It’s only rational, right?
That little minx knew exactly the right word to get him to agree to everything he wanted him to, it was insufferable.
What also wasn’t understandable was Hitoshi waking up to drool on his neck, matting his hair, because Denki had fallen asleep kissing his neck, or waking up in the middle of the night to Denki sleepily giving little micro-thrusts into his hip, or in the morning to a sloppy, half-awake make out through rancid morning breath before Denki would flip them over for Hitoshi to have at least an extra half hour before they had to get up of dozing and having his hair played with and ear whispered into over how perfect he is.
It wasn’t understandable: the calls Hitoshi got when Denki was at his agency asking what he was wearing, and occasional instructions for when he came home.
Like greeting him at the door in nothing but an apron, taking his jacket and guiding him to the dining table where he was just finishing preparing food. And Hitoshi would blush – really blush – in response to the over-the-top praises.
“It’s just pulled pork and barbecue sauce,” Hitoshi said once, all too shy for his own comfort.
“And noodles, and diced green peppers. And it’s hot, in a hot bowl, and was timed perfectly for when I came home,” Denki added with a bright smile. “My Toshi is such an amazing stay-at-home wife for me.”
And, okay, yeah, maybe praise worked on Hitoshi too just as much as it did Denki for him to indulge in such a fantasy. It left Hitoshi feeling like putty, willing to do anything for Denki just to chase more of it. More of the compliments about his ‘pretty hair’ and ‘gorgeous chest’ and ‘amazing cooking’. More of that look Denki would give him when he bottomed. More of the bites along his neck and shoulders that left him feeling raw and absolutely needed.
After a month or so, the suffocating ardour during sex dwindled. It pulled on Hitoshi’s heartstrings until they were close to snapping, but it was progressively replaced with something lazier and temperate. Harsh lovebites become little hickeys and kisses, languidly placed; bruising thrusts and carnal obsession became hours in bed, palms over skin and one inside of the other, strokes in and out either slow and rhythmic or non-existent... Denki loved the last part the most out of the two of them. Warming Hitoshi’s cock, sewing pleased little sighs into their idle conversation.
Whenever I think about you getting hurt, I feel like I need to – I dunno – use my quirk or throw up everywhere, he said when Hitoshi had asked him once why he liked it so much. Being like this proves you’re with me, that you’re safe and happy and that we both know it.
In turn, Hitoshi told him that he shouldn’t think about things like that. It wasn’t good for him.
And it wasn’t just in bed. Like now, where Hitoshi had to recline their armchair as far back as it would go and struggle not to hurt his neck as they played split-screen on their console. Denki, sitting on his dick, was blocking half of the screen.
God, would Hitoshi’s neck hurt tomorrow if he didn’t do something.
“Hey.” He gave a thrust upwards, and Denki gasped stutteringly, loudly, half-startled and half-aroused. “Move to the side, I can’t see my half of the screen.”
“You’re being an asshole,” Denki huffed, sulking. “All I wanted was to keep us nice and close without fucking, and here you are trying to ruin things, you pervert.”
“I have a view of your bare ass, can you blame me? Plus, my neck’s starting to hurt.”
“Fine, don’t play with me. Read a book or something! Go on your phone!”
Hitoshi frowned and exited the game. He discarded his controller on the couch close by, deciding enough was enough, and flipped them. The recliner nearly went over with them: their heads were now near the foot of it, Hitoshi’s chest to Denki’s back, both forced into a froggy all-fours position. Denki’s grip on his own controller remained firm.
Hitoshi nosed into Denki’s neck, sighing happily, “I love Sundays.”
Denki covered his mouth and giggled. “I love them too.” As Hitoshi started to kiss his shoulders, he added, “I love fucking you.”
“I love fucking you too,” Hitoshi smirked into his skin. “My Denki-baby.”
“My Toshi,” Denki exhaled with a room-saturating bliss, arching his back so his ass nudged back a little further into Hitoshi’s pelvis, drawing out a little gasp each. “I love – ah –” a short, experimental thrust forward made it apparent just how sensitive Denki had made himself – “I love this.”
Hitoshi rocked forward, grip on his dearest’s hips tightening when he knocked out a groan. “I love this too.”
“I love – fuck – I love waking up next to you.”
“Me too.” It was spurring him on, quickening his pace to give Denki exactly what he loved most. Denki was rolling his hips back, face red, moaning expletives and close phonetics to Hitoshi’s name into his own hand, through his own fingers.
“Love – love kissing you at the door when you come home.”
Hitoshi made an amused noise into Denki’s hair. “Even when you should have gone to bed hours ago.”
Denki keened, expression winding up tight as he furiously shook his head. “Can’t sleep without you any more. No. Love sleeping next to you. Need it.”
“Oh, isn’t my baby so sweet, hm? Don’t worry, baby, we’ll kick your addiction soon, okay? You’ve already come so far. Always keep up this good habit of coming to me when you need another cigarette. So good, all for me.” He kissed his shoulder then, winding one arm around his chest to pull him firm against his own, using his forearm to brace them, and another in preparation to start the timely stroke on Denki’s dick – the one he needed to finish – the one he’d give the say-so to start.
Denki was giggling again. Louder, bubblier, longer.
“Wha- What’s that, Denki?” Hitoshi was getting so close. His chest was tight and his stomach was burning.
“I forgot all about it,” he smiled, letting out an airy laugh that tapered into a moan. God, did that make Hitoshi so proud of him, for stopping smoking once and for all, well enough to have no setbacks, no conscious mind of it. No moments of uncertainty. No more cravings. Then, Denki was begging: “Now, uh, please. Please.”
Hitoshi started stroking, keeping time with his thrusts in. Denki’s own rocking faltered as his eyes rolled back. Hitoshi kissed his cheek, burying himself to the hilt as they came so close together.
The controller had long since rolled onto the floor, the game paused and forgotten. There were tissues on the coffee table that Hitoshi managed to stretch far enough to grab without the recliner toppling. He mopped them up as well as he could with just spit and a few tissues—and telling a beyond unwilling Denki to sit up a little and push—before gently repositioning them so they were back the right way round in the chair and cuddling.
After a few moments of silence, Denki mumbled into Hitoshi’s neck, “Do you think we can look online later and see if there’s – like – a toy that you can just put in me so I don’t leak? I’d like that.”
Hitoshi hid his flustered blush in the top of Denki’s damp hair. “You wanna keep it inside of you after, baby?” His voice cracked.
Denki exhaled a chuckle. “If it wasn’t obvious. It keeps us close, I like it.”
“You are a fucking wet dream.” Hitoshi punctuated his statement with a kiss to his forehead and a squeeze around him with both arms.
Denki hummed. As his eyes closed, he said, not sounding very sleepy, “I’m hungry. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry until these past several months. It’s weird.”
Hitoshi creased his brow, pensive. “Nicotine stops you from feeling hunger as often as non-smokers. It’s probably that, baby. You’ve been starving yourself.” A little hyperbolic, but it received the desired effect of making Denki bark out a laugh.
“Yeah, blame that and not the crazy levels of sex we’ve been having for – what – six months straight. You give yourself too little credit.”
“Do I?”
“Mm, yeah.” Denki kissed Hitoshi under the chin. He could feel the curl of his lips. “Your dick’s awesome.”
Hitoshi grinned into Denki’s head and gave him another little kiss atop it. After a moment of contemplation—trying to remember all the ingredients in their fridge and freezer alike—he said, “There’s those breaded chicken pieces we need to eat in the freezer. And those potato fries that are shaped like smiling faces that you bought because they were cute and never even opened nearly a whole year ago.”
“Oops,” Denki grinned, not sounding apologetic at all.
“I think there’s some frozen broccoli that’s nearly finished off... we may as well use that to clear space. Throw it all in the air-fryer...” Hitoshi was running a hand up and down Denki’s back to keep himself thinking, eyes over him and trained on the little portion of kitchen he could see from where he was, which just so happened to be the side of the refrigerator.
Denki snickered. “You and your air-fryer.”
“I don’t see you complaining about me and my air-fryer when I’m serving up dinner.”
“You’re right, you don’t.” He kissed him on the cheek. Hitoshi turned his head just so they could kiss on the lips. They’d kissed everywhere but on the lips today – how frustrating.
“Or I could use the broccoli and chicken and the peppers and noodles left over from that pulled pork the other day and make a stir-fry. All I need to do is pull the wok out.”
Denki laughed so hard he covered his face and rolled over.
Hitoshi pulled him into a spooning position by the stomach, frowning. “What?”
“The difference in meals! A sophisticated, adult stir-fry versus what’s essentially nuggets and fries!”
“And broccoli,” Hitoshi added, pointedly.
“And broccoli!” Denki chortled.
“Well, what does my Denki-baby want?” He gave a tentative press into Denki’s stomach with his palm, gauging how empty it was, hoping to encourage a quick decision.
“Mm, I don’t know, babe. Whatever’s easiest.”
“No – don’t be like that. I need a decision. What’s easiest is you making a decision.” He also didn’t want to pick wrong. He kissed Denki on the temple to assert that he wasn’t mad about it.
“Mm, okay. Stir-fry,” Denki said with a smile, before running his arms around Hitoshi’s neck and twisting until they could meet in the perfect kiss. “Thank you, you’re so good to me. I love you, Toshi.”
...
“Hey! No fair, you’re being mean again!” Denki pouted, giving him a good old elbow in the chest.
Hitoshi blinked. “What?”
“Say it back!”
“It back? I don’t – what did you say?”
Denki’s cheeks went bright red. “Oh. Um... I love you? You didn’t say it back.”
Hitoshi took a deep breath, sharp and loud, as he studied Denki’s face. It was too innocent, too hopeful, too casually said for it to be in the same way Hitoshi had loved him for the past several years.
They were twenty-five now. God, it had been a little over half a decade since they moved in at nineteen, when Sero had moved out to be with Ashido and Denki was looking for a roommate, when Hitoshi’s feelings were still a two-year old crush he was nursing and things weren’t so complicated.
Maybe, just maybe, Hitoshi could shut his eyes to the reality of things and pretend that it was all real.
He replied, warm and sincere: “I love you too, baby, of course I do.”
Denki smiled brightly. They kissed again and again until their lips started to swell, then Hitoshi got dressed and Denki went to shower.
Hitoshi made a start on the stir-fry.
4.
That evolved into Denki expecting the words at every given opportunity. At the door when they kissed goodbye there was always an I love you, see ya! that Hitoshi had to return. When they woke up facing one another in the mornings, Denki would smile sweetly and say Hi, I love you as his first words of the day—every day. When they went to bed together, Denki would say I love you and they’d just have to ping-pong the words back and forth until they grew too tired to continue.
Before and after sex: Mm, I love you, and I love you so much, Toshi.
Even during, babbling it dramatically like a plea-deal when he got frustratingly close: God, I love you, love you, yes, yes, yes! There – I’ll love you so much if you just – YES!
The professing his love for certain things became a bit of a habit, too. When they showered together it was I love it when you clean my back, I can never reach no matter how much I stretch, you know? and Your fingers always feel so good in my hair, I love it. I think all the extra massaging you do is helping the blood flow, because my hair’s gotten so much fuller since we started seeing each other. I love that.
(Seeing each other naked, you mean?
Denki had snorted at that. Yeah, he snickered, that.)
Then there was the I love your cooking so much every first bite of a meal Denki took and I love the way you make tea/coffee, you’re so good at it whenever he took his first sip.
I love it when you eat tiramisu! You just look so happy and cute, y’know? was the reason behind him buying so damn much of it when he passed the bakery Hitoshi liked on his way home.
I love your hoodies, was the reason behind him stealing them. I love your bed, it’s got everything I could ever need in it, was the reason behind him sleeping in it every night even when they didn’t have sex. I love your hair, was the reason behind him playing with it all the time. I love your eyes, was the reason behind him staring into them for minutes on end after they’d kissed. I love your voice, was the reason behind him begging Hitoshi to talk to him about anything—nonsense, if he had to—as he drifted off to sleep.
I love you, was the reason behind... Well, Hitoshi wasn’t so sure about that one. Being roommates? Keeping him around? It wasn’t meant to be hurtful, but that wasn’t to say it was painless whenever Hitoshi heard it spoken so freely, like it was just something that roommates—friends—said to one another.
Alongside it, was Denki’s new penchant for asking strange questions that he never provided an elucidation for whenever Hitoshi asked.
Like now. Denki was lying against the arm of the couch, reading A Farewell To Arms for what must have been the tenth time in the six years they’d lived together. Hitoshi was on top of him, an ear to his stomach, lulled by all of the intimate sounds of Denki’s insides, like his intestines grumbling – digesting his breakfast and lunch – and his every breath as his chest rose and fell, taking Hitoshi with it.
The carding fingers through Hitoshi’s hair slowly came to a stop. It caught his attention immediately.
“What do you suppose we do for Valentine’s Day? How do we decide who’s the girl? Or is there – like – a completely different holiday for guys like us?”
“Guys like us?” Hitoshi repeated. What... a holiday for roommates? “I think that’d be pretty excessive, don’t you?”
To Hitoshi’s surprise, Denki’s face split into a gratified smile. “Yeah, you’re right. We’re just the same as everybody else! We just need to decide, practically speaking, who’ll be the guy and who’ll be the girl, so we know where we are on things.”
“Denki, on what?”
“On Valentine’s Day! And then, uh, White Day. You know, celebrating it.”
Hitoshi frowned. “I thought we were doing the same as we do every year. Watch bad movies and order too much food.”
“Well, yeah, that’s nice, ’n’ all, dude, but that’s our anti-clebration when neither of us had dates and didn’t want to celebrate it.”
“We don’t want to celebrate it,” Hitoshi reminded.
Denki didn’t reply right away. He slunk back down, open book face-down on his chest as he stared at the ceiling like they were in a planetarium, eyes darting everywhere they could without his head moving so much as an inch. “Yeah, you’re right,” he finally said with a deep, stuttering breath, looking back at Hitoshi with a small smile and shining eyes. The carding through his hair continued, albeit weakly. “I know you don’t like going out much anyway. I don’t even know why I mentioned it.”
“I don’t either.” Because he didn’t. Where was the rationale behind changing things up without reason? He put his head back on Denki’s stomach. His breathing seemed shallower.
“But maybe we could figure out who gets the breakfast in bed, though. I mean, maybe not now – we still have a whole month to decide, right? Maybe we could get one of those stencils to make heart-shaped eggs.”
Hitoshi gave him a confused look. “Baby, what are you talking about?”
“Right. Yeah, let’s just... stick to what we usually do.” He was back to looking at the ceiling like it was a planetarium again. He gave a shaky, heavy exhale with puffed out cheeks that made it seem like he was trying to control his breathing.
Tense silence followed.
Eventually, Denki resumed reading and his breathing evened out. A few pages later, he closed it on his thumb and tapped Hitoshi on the shoulder to catch his attention.
“Mm?”
“Did you know that in Hemingway’s home in Florida there’s about thirty six-toed cats or something all from the one he owned when he was alive? A lot of people visit just for the cats.”
“I didn’t,” Hitoshi replied, eyebrows lifted in amazement. “Polydactylism is pretty rare. Maybe that’s why some people call them Hemingway cats.”
Denki stared, licking his lips. “Maybe,” he drawled out for sarcastic effect. “I mean, we’ll never know for certain.”
Hitoshi rolled his eyes. Then – “Maybe we should go there someday.”
A smile, saccharine and beautiful, followed. “What, like for our honeymoon, or something?”
Despite the timidness in Denki’s reaction, Hitoshi laughed, because clearly it must have been a joke. “Yeah, sure, our honeymoon.”
5.
Hitoshi thought all of the extra hugging and kissing made sense, at last, when Denki burst into tears when Hitoshi had to inform him he had to go undercover for a week on the other end of the country.
How am I meant to manage without you here? he’d bawled, loud and inconsolable. It was what made it click: Denki needed him to stay on track. He didn’t want to reverse all his excellent progress and end up smoking again. Surely that was it.
Denki clung onto him for the rest of the evening. Refused to let him move even if it was for the bathroom. We need to make the most of it, was the reason behind it. They’d slept on the couch. Denki turned his nose up at the breakfast Hitoshi made; Hitoshi didn’t push him to eat.
At the door, Denki hugged him for as long as he could before Hitoshi started to grow concerned that he was late, and then some. Promise me you’ll call every day. Promise me!
Hitoshi had promised. Then, on his burner phone, they talked every night before Denki went to bed and every morning before he did.
Denki seemed fine until the last night apart. Hitoshi couldn’t bear hearing him sound so defeated, and asked if he was okay. “Just one more day, baby, and I’ll be back with you, okay?”
One thing led to another, and then Denki was sniffling. He confessed, “I’ve done something terrible.”
“What’s that, Denki-baby?”
“You have every right to be mad but – but please don’t be, okay? I don’t think I can take it.” He sounded so small. Hitoshi wanted to hug him. He wanted to cry for him.
But most importantly, now Hitoshi was sitting up in bed, perplexed and extremely worried. “Denki, what’s wrong? What did you do?”
Denki hiccuped. “I smoked. I couldn’t help it – I’ve been so miserable without you. I’ve missed you so much, I didn’t mean to... I didn’t know what else to do. I-I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His voice trailed off into a wheezy sob. “Please tell me you’re still coming back. Please. I can’t take another week, Toshi, please come back.”
Hitoshi was left speechless. Listening to Denki like this hurt his heart. It was terrifying. “Denki, I’m not going to punish you for smoking.”
A sniff. “But you were so happy I’d stopped.”
“Of course I was. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to punish you. When have I ever given you that inclination?”
Denki made a pathetic attempt at a laugh. “You haven’t. I’m sorry. I love you.”
Hitoshi’s heart cinched. “I love you too.”
“I guess I’ve just been in my own head a lot this week. I’ve been so worried, you know?”
“Yeah, I do.” More than you could know. “No one’s been able to snap you out of it?”
“Well, I haven’t really seen anyone to know.”
“...” Hitoshi smoothed the wrinkles out of the section of motel quilt that covered his lap. “What does that mean, baby?” he questioned, stiffly.
Denki didn’t answer.
“Run me through your week, Denki. Tell me what’s happened.”
“I called in sick to work for the whole week. I didn’t mean to, I just... I woke up without you the day after you left and I just – I – I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I know how cowardly that is but I just couldn’t get myself out of bed without you. I answered the door to get this week’s order of groceries and that’s it. Are you mad?”
“Stop asking that.”
Denki sucked in sharply. “Okay.”
“Have you been eating okay?”
There was a shaky breath. Hitoshi could practically see the way Denki was ducking his head and shaking it.
“Then you still haven’t gone through everything. Tell me everything, Denki.”
“I, um... I’ve been hugging your pillow a lot. It’s the only way I can get myself to sleep. It still smells a little like you. And I silenced all contacts except yours so I wouldn’t miss anything.”
“You’re a sweetheart, but you shouldn’t torture yourself like this just because I’m not around. You need to take care of yourself.”
“I know,” Denki whispered. “I just love you so much, it’s ineffable.”
Hitoshi sighed to himself. He sat back against the headboard, rubbing his face as he thought to himself: If only you meant that in the same way I do. “How much have you smoked, Denki? Be honest.”
“I’m... on my second pack. Half way through.”
Holy shit. “Where are you now?”
“On the, er, fire escape.”
“Smoking?”
“No... I was before you called, though.”
“Okay.” Hitoshi looked around his dimly lit motel room, fighting the sting in his eyes. “Okay, Denki-baby, listen to me very carefully.”
“Okay.”
“Get inside, close the window. Do you have an ashtray?”
“No.” Denki sniffed. There was the familiar click of their window’s latch in the background.
“What have you been doing with the filters?”
“Running them under the kitchen faucet and throwing them in the trash.”
Hitoshi nodded. “Good. Do you have a lighter?”
“I’ve been using the one for the stove.”
“That’s fine, baby. Take out the cigarettes you have left and pinch the filters off all of them. Throw the bodies in the food waste and the filters in with the non-recyclables.”
There was some shuffling on the other end. About five minutes passed before Denki spoke again. “Done.”
“Good boy. Put the box in the recycling.”
“Done that too.”
Hitoshi couldn’t help but smile. “Now get in bed or in the shower or something. Warm yourself up for me, okay?”
More shuffling. The familiar creak of Hitoshi’s mattress. “Thank you for taking care of me. I appreciate it. And for not being mad.”
“Don’t be silly.” Hitoshi’s fist balled around the quilt. He wished he was there. Just one more day, he reminded himself, just as he had many times before.
“I think it’d be better if the place wasn’t so empty, you know? Like, I think I’d do so much better by the time we find a bigger place for when we’re ready to have kids.”
Hitoshi’s heart lunged into his throat. “What do you mean ‘when we’re ready to have kids’?”
“Oh...” Denki seemed suddenly shy. “I guess we’ve never spoken much about that.”
“We haven’t spoken about it at all. You want kids?”
“Yeah, I want kids,” Denki assented, so gently. “Do you?”
But Hitoshi was still stuck on “You want kids.”
Denki giggled. “Yeah. It’d be nice. Turning mean, old underground hero Hitoshi Shinsou into a family man once and for all. A big old softie. I mean, you’re already nearly there! You’re so sweet to me, it’s kind of unbelievable.”
Hitoshi gulped.
“What was that noise for?”
Hitoshi’s mouth was dry. Fucking dry. “Denki... we can’t have kids.”
“Well, duh! I’m not that stupid. We’d need help. Like, they’re rare, but there’s quirks that can switch your sex around – but there’s always a chance of complications and they’re super expensive. I was thinking we adopt, you know? There’s so many kids in the world that need help. Even if it’s just one, two, six, ten, who cares! we’ll be helping them no matter how many we end up having. Growing a family together; isn’t that amazing?”
Putting a hand to his chest, Hitoshi started to wonder if he was having a heart attack.
“Toshi? Hitoshi? Are you okay, what’s wrong?”
“Why – um – why with me?”
“Babe, I don’t follow.”
“Why do you want to have kids with me?”
“Well, who else am I going to have them with, silly? I’m with you, dude.” A laugh, then: “Or hadn’t you realised? I was sure all the cuddling and I love yous would have tipped you off by now, idiot.”
So that was it. Hitoshi was the last resort. He’d made Denki think that he was his only option. Come to think of it, when was the last time that Denki had gone on a date? Was he turning options down because of his and Hitoshi’s... unconventional relationship?
God, Hitoshi was a terrible person. He hadn’t even realised just how much he was holding Denki back.
Denki asked, quietly, after his laughter died down and Hitoshi hadn’t responded: “You do want kids, right?”
Hitoshi shut his eyes, hoping that he was doing it to the severity of the situation, hoping that he could just pretend just a little while longer that what they had was – or ever could be – real. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”
+1.
Reflecting on the whole seven months of their situation has been difficult. The wind is knocked out of him when he gets home. Denki looks tired as he hugs him hello, kisses him all over his face like an excited puppy.
Hitoshi drops his bag in a moment of indulgence, letting himself wrap his arms around Denki and kiss him back. It’s deep and grateful for everything despite the taste of mouthwash and stale cigarettes, but ultimately it’s a goodbye.
Denki seems none the wiser. He’s beaming, cheeks pretty and pink, hair a mess, smaller frame swallowed whole in one of Hitoshi’s grey hoodies, the legs of Hitoshi’s pyjama bottoms puddling around his feet. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, Denki.”
“Guess what I did!”
Hitoshi does not have it in him to be as enthusiastic. “What?”
“I timed it just right! Literally like two minutes before you unlocked the door, I turned the faucet off. The bathroom vent is on, too. I made us a bubble bath with all those lavender-scented products I bought you a few months back.” As he talks, Denki is ushering Hitoshi towards his bathroom. It’s the only one out of the two they have that has a tub. “It smells great, and we haven’t had a bath together in a while! So I figured we better catch up on the whole week we missed! Including Valentine’s Day – man! It’s a good thing we never actually made plans for that, right? We would have had to cancel them, wouldn’t that have been a waste?”
Hitoshi’s back is pressed into the bathroom wall. Denki’s undressing him, hands warm and soft against his own cold skin. Soon he’s undressed too, and they’re settled in the bath with Denki’s back to the outer edge of the tub, his head on Hitoshi’s chest.
“I love your chest, you know,” Denki’s saying, but Hitoshi’s only half paying him much mind. The other half is wondering how he’s let Denki do this: get him in a bubble bath, doted upon into silence when he’d intended on discussing something important, with dry skin and distance between them. “You’ve been eating so well lately, and your chest shows it. So beautiful.” He kisses the location just above Hitoshi’s left nipple. It leaves him a little tingly.
“You haven’t,” Hitoshi retorts, only a little chastising.
“Hey! I like to think that I did pretty well for someone whose only sustenance was two cheese slices and a dream of seeing the love of his life again.”
He hums dismally, and gives Denki’s thin hip a little squeeze. The extra hard point of bone is unappreciated.
“I missed you so much. I don’t think you could ever know how much it hurt.” Denki arches up to kiss Hitoshi’s jaw, so sweetly. “I’m so happy you’re back. I love you more than anything in the world, I hope you know that.”
“You almost sound obsessed.” When Hitoshi diverts his gaze from the ceiling down to Denki, he’s astonished to find him presenting a big, bright, giddy smile, and a deep pink blush to match.
“I know! I can’t help it. You’re just so – so amazing. Addicting, even. Yeah, that’s it. You’re an addiction. And I have no plans on kicking this one...” Denki’s pushing himself up now by the foot he has placed on the end of the tub, arms around Hitoshi’s neck. They kiss. It’s deeper than the one at the door; it stifles Denki’s crazy case of the giggles at his own little joke; it’s so easy to just lose himself in it...
Denki moans, breaking the kiss into little, tacky intervals. He smiles again as he rubs the tips of their noses together. “I love you so much, Toshi,” he whispers before plunging back in.
Hitoshi pushes him off. The water splashes. “I can’t do this.”
The hand that has braced itself on Hitoshi’s chest travels to his cheek, trying to soothe. “Why? What’s wrong, Toshi?”
“Or – not that I can’t. I just don’t think we should. Anymore.”
Denki sat back on his feet, looking bewildered if not a little frightened, like he’d just been slapped by a loved one. “What do you mean?” There’s a semblance of a smile as he tilts his head, but it’s awkward and gritted.
“I still want to be roommates. A-And friends. But I think us... I think us having sex is holding you back. I shouldn’t be your only option.”
Denki smiles, but it’s not meeting his eyes, even as he laughs. “What other option is there?”
“Denki...”
“Hitoshi, dude, you’re in a bath with an electricity user. What other option is there?” he repeats, firmer, and with his voice raised enough to make Hitoshi flinch.
Hitoshi refuses to cave: “I just don’t think we should be doing this anymore.”
Denki’s nostrils flare with how deeply he breathes in. Brow tense, he looks down at his hands. They’re in his lap, under the water, beyond dispersing bubbles.
There’s silence.
“Is there someone else?” Denki’s shoulders are starting to shake.
“Why would there be anyone else, Denki-baby?”
“Because you’re talking about other options when you’re breaking up with me!” he yells. Shaking, so much shaking. His eyes brim with tears.
Hitoshi pulls a confused face. “I’m not breaking up with you.”
Denki gasps. His streaming eyes look up at him desperately as he exclaims, “You’re not? S-So it really is just about the sex? You need space?”
“What are you—”
“No, no. I get it now, I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions, didn’t I? Okay, so you need space. I should have noticed it by myself, I’m sorry, Toshi.” He inches closer, eyes big and sweet and kind. That smile is back, but it’s kinder too, easier to perceive. “I can give you space. We don’t have to have sex – you’re probably tired from your trip, right?”
“...”
“Tell me that’s it. Please tell me that’s it, Toshi. Th-That’s it, right? You’re just tired? We- I can fix this, right? Tell me everything I’ve done wrong and I’ll fix it.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Too much shaking. “I could cook more. Learn more recipes, make a start. I know it’s usually a ‘Hitoshi cooks or Denki orders them both takeout’ type deal, and I’m sorry. I’ll try my best to fix that.”
“I—”
“Or I could clean more. Make our bed every morning. O-Or we could get that cat you always wanted. I was never opposed to that just because we never got ’round to it, I hope you realise that, o-okay?”
“Den—”
“Or – or – I could cover all of our bills, I think. If you cover the grocery bill I could probably manage that. No, wait, that’s not fair. I could probably figure something out – take up more shifts at the agency, probably – then you won’t have to fork out a single yen. Wouldn’t have to work, either, probably, i-if that’s what you wanted. I would just –” he makes a gagging noise, a hand to his stomach and another to his mouth – “I would just need to figure something out.”
Denki’s eyes are like pinpricks. Hitoshi’s tempted to ask if he even knows where he is. “That’s not the issue.”
“Then why?” Denki asks, and suddenly it’s a sob. Lips trembling, nose running, eyes streaming. All of it. If Hitoshi had no context to the noises he was making, he could have easily assumed he’d been stabbed right in the stomach before breaking down the door to reach him. “Tell me what’s wrong – tell me what I did. Why are you ‘not’ breaking up with me?” He uses airquotes with one hand.
“Denki, I’m not breaking up with you because we’re not together.”
Denki recoils, wearing that suddenly slapped expression again. “What?”
Hitoshi sighs. It’s not that hard to understand, is it? “I’m not breaking up with you,” he repeats, slower, “because we’re not together.”
Denki exits the tub; kicks the soles of his feet dry on the floor towel as he wraps the one from the radiator’s overhead rail around his waist. “You’re a fucking asshole,” he mutters. With that, he leaves the bathroom without shutting the door behind him.
He’s left Hitoshi to drain the tub and rinse the oils from the bottom before towelling himself off. There’s fresh pyjamas and fluffy socks folded on the closed toilet lid for him. He puts them on (the hoodie is the extremely oversized one that Denki had bought him a few months ago – its size is always smothering), exits, doesn’t have to look far for Denki – he’s on the couch. Elbows on his knees, mouth in his hands, perched on the end of the seat, as far as he can possibly make it without falling off.
Hitoshi, tensely, sits the whole middle cushion away from him.
“You know,” Denki begins after a few minutes of load-bearing, ruminant silence, “I was joking, kind of, on our call last night.” He sits back, slumping, with a great sigh. “About you not realising it. But there was this – tiny, little voice telling me to make it. To test the waters, because of how weird you were acting. I guess it makes sense now, huh?”
“I’m sor—”
“I feel so embarrassed.”
Hitoshi frowns. “What do you have to feel embarrassed about?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’ve been playing dumb for seven whole fucking months, you don’t get to do it for any longer.”
“Okay.” Hitoshi looks down at his own lap, ashamed to look anywhere else.
“I have had a crush on you for ten whole years. I’ve been in love with you for six. I was handling it just fine but these past seven months have been the happiest I’ve ever been – it’s the best relationship I’ve ever had – and now...” The momentum in Denki’s voice breaks in two from how violently he’s shaking again. “And now I’m realising that the guy who I was in it with didn’t even know? Are you kidding me?” he adds, whispering because it sounds like he can’t do anything louder.
“I’m an idiot.”
“Yeah. I’m seeing that now.”
Silence.
“Was it just sex for you?” Denki asks after a bit.
“No. It was all genuine, I just... I was just kidding myself into thinking it wasn’t, I guess. Maybe because I was scared it would end? or that it was too good to be true? I don’t know, I’m not a... not a psychologist, or anything.”
“Right.”
“...Denki?”
Denki turns his head. Doesn’t say anything.
“I really am sorry.”
“I know,” he replies, softly. “I can see it on your face. What did you –” a bitter laugh – “what did you even think this was, anyway? Our relationship, I mean. Just something that friends do?” he mocks. It stings, but is also deserved.
“You’re really affectionate... and I just figured it was because you needed to distract yourself from smoking again, so—”
“Fucking idiot,” Denki snaps. “If I needed to smoke that much before I quit then I’d have already died by now. And, also, it was you who wanted me to quit, not me. If I’d known how much you hated me smoking, I’d have quit on my own accord without us doing any of this. You know that, right? Surely you know that.”
Hitoshi swallows.
“I wasn’t even that heavy of a smoker. I barely even got cravings.”
“I know.”
“So why...” Denki looks up, inhaling pointedly through his nose. “You were just doing mental gymnastics, then. ‘Oh, woe is me, the unlovable villain’, get a grip.”
“My apologies, Denki, honest,” Hitoshi stresses.
A few moments pass by in silence. Denki cuts through it, asking, “So what now? Do we continue on like normal or do I move out?”
Hitoshi’s heart leaps into his throat. “I don’t want you to move out.”
Denki’s lips are a thin line as he stares at him, long and hard. “That doesn’t sound like you wanna keep dating, either.”
“Of course I do! If- If you’ll have me, that is.” If you still want me.
Denki chuckles. “You’re lucky I don’t make you beg for it.” He looks Hitoshi up and down, then – “Lift the bottom of your hoodie for me?”
Ah, so that’s why Denki had put this one in particular out. It’s the special cuddle hoodie that he’d feigned innocence over buying. They must have sent the wrong size! he’d protested. In hindsight, he really hadn’t been subtle.
Hitoshi really is an idiot. Still, he knows when to obey one of Denki’s requests, and immediately Denki throws himself over and crawls under, making himself as small as possible to fit exactly on Hitoshi’s lap, the hem being tucked under his side to keep him warm. The neck of the hoodie is large enough for Hitoshi to bow his head through and kiss Denki’s head, arms snaking around him and squeezing affectionately.
“I still think you’re an asshole, by the way.”
Hitoshi braves it: “A forgiven asshole?”
“No.”
His heart plummets. “Then what can I do to make it up to you? I’ll do anything, baby. Anything.” Another squeeze, mostly to reassure himself that Denki is still there.
Denki peeks up through the neck. Hitoshi blushes: it’s adorable. “Well,” Denki starts, almost petulantly, “you can start by saying you love me and mean it this time.”
“I’ve always meant it.”
“Then do it again just to make sure.” He puts his head against Hitoshi’s chest.
“Okay. I love you.”
“Again.”
Oh. “I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
Denki hums. “Again,” he tries.
“I love you.”
“It’s like a button,” he giggles. “You’re like my own personal build-a-bear with one of those heart thingies in it. And a voice box and string.”
“I thought you said it was like a button, not a string.”
“It can be both. Say it again.”
Hitoshi tries not to laugh as he heeds: “I love you.”
“What would you prefer to be referred to as? A button toy or a string toy?”
“A button toy.” Why it matters, Hitoshi isn’t sure.
Denki presses a hand on Hitoshi’s right pectoral. “Is it there?”
Ah. “Yeah, sure. I love you.”
He presses it again.
“I love you.”
And again.
“I love you.”
And again –
“I love you –” aga- “My voice is going to run out, I hope you know that.”
Denki laughs. It’s pure and bright and—thank god—happy again. His hands reach around Hitoshi’s neck and they kiss through the neckhole. “I love you too,” he says, at last.
Hitoshi doesn’t need another press of his button to reply with “I love you more.”
Because he just does. And he’ll say it every single waking hour from now on, like a habit.