Work Text:
Oosaki brought the lighter back.
The ferry to Oshima was much shorter than the trip to Hachijojima, only around an hour with change. Another hour by bus, and he was there. His heart pounded. Maybe the trunk he was carrying, as if he expected that he would be allowed to stay, his anxiety. He gathered his nerves and knocked. It was Saturday. He would probably be home, with how asocial they both were, no matter how cruel that made him sound—
The door opened. Aomi was as stonefaced as ever, the only sign of shock being how his eyebrows sat a bit higher on his face. Oosaki fumbled, quickly pulling the lighter out of his shirt pocket. “You asked me to return this.” He tried to break the silence. It quickly filled in again. “Yes.” He didn’t even glance at the object in the other’s hand, simply staring into him. “...Please come in.” Oosaki placed it back into his pocket, awkwardly reaching down to grab his suitcase while shuffling inside.
The floor plan was wide open, and so was the back door to the garden. The natural light shone in as he placed his luggage down and took off his shoes. “Please sit.” He then wordlessly walked to the kitchen. Oosaki sat, cross-legged, not disciplined enough to sit in seiza. He watched Aomi through the sliding door, the kitchen an inlet cut off from some of the sunlight. The only sign that he was off today was how his dress shirt seemed a few sizes too big, flowing as he placed a kettle above the hearth. He quickly came back out, lightly placing a tray in the middle of the table. He sat across from Oosaki, more politely than he had, pouring sencha into the other’s cup before his own. …His hands were ungloved.
“Thank you for coming.” He raised the cup to his face, letting the steam fog up his glasses. Oosaki took a sip, and Aomi followed in his stead. He finally ruffled through his pocket again. “Here.” He slid the object across the table, the sun bouncing off the chrome finish. The other took his time, slowly placing down his teacup, and picked up the lighter with both hands. He flicked the flint wheel, sparking into a green flame. “Thank you very much.” He closed the lid with a click, the corners of his mouth rising very slightly.
Oosaki took another sip, almost stalling on what to say out of the hundreds of thoughts in his head. “How did you end up living on Oshima?” He broke the silence. Aomi glanced away at the question. “...I moved here after Shinonome-kun died.” Oh. They were silent. Aomi turned his attention back to Oosaki. “We can talk about it later. Over a drink.” Of course, the other could parse his feelings through his almost-unreadable exterior. “Maybe.” He (again, impolitely) almost took a chug from the small cup in front of him, the liquid narrowly missing his windpipe. Maybe. What happened when they last met, or, when they first met, was entirely his fault, no matter how Aomi’s mind may have twisted it. Across from Oosaki, his eyes gently narrowed. “There’s no rush.” His straightforwardness was almost tempting, it always was—
“What about the lighter?” Aomi closed his eyes, the tension in his shoulders dissolving. “I got it on a school trip. Atami. I had to chaperone for the first years.” He ran his index finger over the indented design. “...I thought it was cute.” Oosaki finished his tea, placing down the cup a little too loud. “Do you think snakes are cute?” Aomi glanced up. “Of course.” As if it was odd to think otherwise. “You?” …He thought Kaede was cute. His features, his eyes, were sharp. Viper-like. “I’ve never thought about it. I don't cast judgement on animals.” The man across from him slowly nodded, the only response he gave. “...How is the flame green?” He placed his cup down, opening and sparking the lighter again. “It’s laced with copper.” He quickly, unflinchingly, waved his finger through the flame, as if just to watch it dance.
“...Would it be dangerous to light cigarettes with?” At least Oosaki could carry something, some molecule reminding him of Aomi, some expiation, with him. Across from him, his acquaintance, his friend, let out a small, quick, exhale, the closest thing to a laugh a man like him could muster. “No. Probably.” His own teacup hovered by his lips, taking a long, steady sip before shifting his focus back to Oosaki. “...I’d like to try it sometime. Golden Bat.” As if he were talking about a restaurant. “It isn’t a good habit.” Aomi finally set his cup down. “I don’t mind. I like the smell.” As candid as always. …Oosaki couldn’t trust his reasoning, his invisible penitence clouding any reasonable thoughts he had about him. “Maybe.” Something, protective, sparked within him. As if he could control him. He shook off the thought, burying it deep in his chest.
Hours, what felt like minutes, passed, the bright sunlight fading to an orange to pink glow painting the interior. The teapot, as well as a tokkuri, had already been emptied, a few stray drops of sake spilled on the tray and table. Aomi had already moved his position, who knows how long ago, sitting diagonal from Oosaki, lingering far too close for him to handle. “He didn’t have any hope for me to begin with.” He started blabbering on again. His reticence softened, spilling out more of his inner thoughts. “But he still taught me.”
He reached over, closing the gap between them, to grasp Oosaki’s right hand in his left. “...You don’t need to wear those around me.” He obliged before Aomi’s fingers could snake their way under the fabric of his gloves. Finally, he placed his hand back down, the other man gently grasping it. …Of course he could feel even more blood rushing to his face and his ears, already flushed from the alcohol in his system. From just a simple gesture. He turned his hand over, exposing the scorched earth on his palm. Aomi’s fingers were more slender than his, accentuated by the extra skin padding in between them, going up to the first knuckle in between his ring and middle.
“I can still play piano like this. …I’m glad.” He gently stroked the tight, red skin on the other’s hand, thankfully pulling away after not too long. “...Do you like whiskey?” Oosaki tilted his head, very slightly. “I don’t know.” The man next to him stood up, taking the tray full of ceramics with him. He followed, feet prickly from sitting on his own legs for so long. Aomi produced another two far-too-nice glasses from the cabinet, the left tail of his shirt now untucked from his pants. Grabbing the bottle with barely a dent in it, he picked up the glasses in between his fingers, an unpleasant clink bringing Oosaki back to the fact that Aomi was walking past the table to head upstairs. He accompanied him, studying the layout of the floor before ducking after the other into a room. Aomi’s room.
A shamisen hung on the wall, the sunset coming in from the multiple windows washed out the second he flicked on the overhead light. He placed the bottle and cups on the table in the middle on the floor, pouring a finger for Oosaki as he sat down. He took a small sip of the amber liquid, drying his throat on the way down. “It’s good.” He picked up the bottle, pouring some for Aomi, who once again sat at his side. He pulled out the carton in his front pocket, placing it on the table. “...May I?” He mustered up the sheer audacity to ask. The other eyed the box. “...I don’t have an ashtray. You can use the glass.” He was stunned for a second. “Are you sure?” Aomi took out the lighter, of course he brought it with him, and offered the flame to him. …Reluctantly, he accepted, drawing a cigarette out of the carton.
“Oosaki-san.” …He said his name. The first time all day. “How have you been?” He was taken aback, just a little. He hadn’t thought about himself in a while. “...I’m okay. Work hasn’t been stressful.” Against his better judgement, he scooted in his seat to directly face Aomi. “Background investigations are easy. Shinkiba—”
Shinkiba. Aomi couldn’t have remembered meeting him. He himself was too focused on keeping the man under him from dying, eventually collapsing in his boss’ arms when they got to Hachijojima again. “...Shinkiba is my adoptive father.” Across from him, Aomi paused his motion to take another sip, waiting for more information. “It isn’t a nice story.” He finished taking a sip, not breaking eye contact. “It’s okay. I like hearing you speak.” …Not for a good reason. “My family all left or died. …I was living on the streets. I tried to steal from him, but he took me in.” He nodded, at least half-satisfied for now. “...Did you have anyone else?” Oosaki turned his head away. “No.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Aomi look down into his glass. “Me neither.”
A minute, two minutes, maybe more, passed, the both of them wordlessly finishing their drinks, a cigarette butt resting in the leftover film of liquid. “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” His blood ran cold, as if it wasn't true. “...Yes.” He still couldn't believe himself. Maybe it just came from some twisted devotion, a reparation, for what happened on the second floor of the merchant’s house. But he was still smitten, this calculating, caring, yet cruel, cat-killing teacher, doused in half-lies to mold him into the image of his father. …He could still parse out what was real. Aomi, no, Kaede, loved the rain, animals, children, his own sense of justice, things unique to him. And he wanted to know more.
“Then, I love you too.” The chill down his spine was back. His guilt took over again, just after he had shaken it off. He could indulge him, give him the solace of this repetition compulsion, just this once. “I would like to get to know you better. Kaede-san.” His name, that he hated, that he only allowed Oosaki to utter. “...I feel we got off on the wrong foot.” Kaede leaned in, smoothly putting his hand over the other’s again. His crimson gaze looked up, half-lidded, through his glasses.
“Just tell me what you want.” His directness was tantalizing, inviting, too many indecent thoughts swirling in his head. “...Can I kiss you?” He landed on the least debauched fantasy. The corners of Kaede’s mouth raised, a small, toying gin. “Is that all you want?” Oosaki shook his head, embarrassed. “I want to touch you. …Be with you.” He finally murmured it out. He averted his gaze, the other still able to see his red face. A hand grazed his cheek, turning his head back. Kaede pulled him in, simply pressing their lips together, nothing more, his glasses nudging against his face. He let him hold him there, their first proper, non-suffocating, non-resuscitating kiss.
He gently pushed him away, standing up to lead him to his bed. The frame was low to the ground, a futon acting as a thin mattress. They sat, Oosaki almost tumbling onto his back before he latched onto Kaede for security. He leaned in this time, kissing him deeper, teeth accidentally clicking against each other a few times. At some point, they flopped over, Oosaki trying his best to not pin the other down. He pulled away, catching his breath, momentarily touching their foreheads as he did. He lay next to him, reaching his hand out to hover over his chest. “Can I?” Kaede responded by craning his neck up, exposing the thick scar on his throat. “...I don’t want to hurt you again.” Oosaki hesitated, resting his hand on the man’s chest, the man next to him letting out a bated breath at the touch. “...Please.”
He started unbuttoning his shirt, placing his lips on the mark on his neck as he did so. The color had faded, from hot red ichor that further stained his palms to pink to a few shades darker than his skin. His chest was finally exposed, Oosaki moving his head down to lick his inverted nubs. Kaede’s breath hitched, his whimpers sweet, breathy. He slid off both their pants, not caring where they went. He slowed down, simply holding him, listening to his heart fluttering in his chest. He could make it up to him. Fix it, somehow. Their legs tangled together, finally putting Kaede first.
Oosaki rest his head on the wall behind the bed. A cigarette dangled from his lips, momentarily stealing Kaede’s lighter once again. He lay next to him, still periodically shaking even after cleaning them both up. He blew out another drag, leaning over to plant a kiss on the top of his head. He smelled clean, like sea salt, now tainted by the smog in Oosaki’s mouth. …The guilt was finally setting in. “Was it okay?” Kaede looked up, wordlessly nodding as he stared. At least that settled his nerves a bit. He turned, trying to shuffle into a sitting position—
A hand reached out to grab his sleeve. Kaede’s eyes pleaded, almost childlike. Oosaki held back a sigh, allowing himself to be pulled back. He wrapped an arm around the other, his skin hot to the touch. …Maybe it wasn’t so bad.
Oosaki awoke, the first thing he noticed being the lack of a presence next to him. …He hadn’t even asked if he could stay the night. He got ready and headed down the stairs, the sight of Kaede reading greeting him. He was back to his usual, composed self, nodding to Oosaki and closing his book when he saw him. He strode over, looking at him somewhat expectedly.
“Are you leaving?” Oosaki nodded. He gave a hum of acknowledgement, stepping past him to the foyer. He instead twirled around, quickly giving him a small kiss. He finally opened the door, allowing the other to step outside. “...I want to go to Kamakura.” Oosaki turned around, dejected. “...My place is small. I only rent a 10-mat room.” Aomi, now that he wasn’t completely alone with him, didn’t back down. “I don’t mind.” He didn’t respond. Aomi gestured for him to wait, quickly pacing back inside and disappearing for a minute. He returned, pushing a piece of paper into his hand so that he couldn’t refuse. …A phone number. He leaned in the doorway, almost seductively.
“I’ll keep going. If I can talk to you.”