Chapter Text
With the house cleared out and Chiffon under the doctor's strict observation, he finally allowed himself to collapse onto the couch, head in hands. He heard the approaching footsteps of his partner tentatively near him.
A weight settled next to him, head resting against his arm and hand massaging gentle circles on his lower back. It helped a bit, some of the stress ebbing from his tensed shoulders.
At least until the other asked softly, “Whose Lola?”
It made him stiffen all over again as the memories threatened to overwhelm him. Memories of his failure and her disappearance. Of the horrible scene that had followed that day in the chateau. It sickened him, stomach churning as if it were the sea herself.
“Breathe for me,” the blonde gently reminded him, prompting him to inhale deeply through his nose and exhale noisily from his mouth. He repeated the exercise until words crawled their way back onto his tongue.
Until he could explain slowly, “She’s my sister, Chiffon’s twin. A year ago she left us, abandoning her arranged marriage to a giant named Loki and taking with her the possibility of Totoland ever having giants. That's why she was so taken by your brother’s offer.” Each word felt foreign to him, like a memory that had happened to someone else. So much of the things that happened to him felt that way, only an observer to his own life.
Corazon’s ministrations continued as he pressed curiously, “And you couldn’t stop her?”
The choice of words, the enounciation of ‘couldn’t, made his stomach lurch in dreadful anticipation. In shame. He wanted to ignore them, let the implication speak for itself, but it was a lie, one he’d let contaminate the minds of all his siblings.
“I didn’t,” he admitted reluctantly.
From where Corazon’s face pressed into his arm, he felt it morph into a grin, hot breath dampening the sun kissed skin.
The memory edged back into his conscious. Even as he held his tongue, withholding the image of her pressing a vivre card into his hands, only joking that someone as responsible as him should be the one to hold onto it, just in case. But he’d known. Been aware of her heart's intentions to leave them and looked away. It was her dream after all, and a mistake his brain reminded him, crushed under the burden of what his pitiful naivety had caused.
Every blow Chiffon took, that was on him. And he’d sworn to never make that mistake again, dreams and hope best left for children.
But his words just now, they had also made Corazon smile.
The man didn’t know anything, not really. Not about Mama or the way their family worked and that was for the best. He intended to keep it that way.
Chiffon remained unconscious for another two days, peacefully slumbering in the guest room of his house. It was as if her presence here sucked the air out of their home, both men waiting with bated breath for signs of movement, for a concious presence. But he was thankful to have the blonde here as work called him in and out of the house. The last thing he needed was something else to go wrong, for Mama to become angered and look for her outlet.
When Chiffon did wake, it was as in a blur of confusion and fright, eyes blown wide to match the disarray of her cotton candy pink hair, as he told her what happened. The dismay melted into a dead eyed stare as she lay there nearly immobile. She sat, body resting back against large pillows to prop her up as she sunk into herself. Darkness surrounded her, emanating from under the door and into the kitchen as the thickets of mists.
And more than that, she never once smiled.
The days passed, one much like the next. Corazon spent his at her side, or near enough to be within ear reach as the darkened bruises there began to fade. But mostly she wished to be left alone.
When he was home, she lay there with eyes shut tight on her back, feigning rest. He could tell as much. But it didn’t hurt, not more than usual. Whenever an episode like this occurred, it was their pattern. She’d warm up to him again he reminded himself, a chant hummed on moistened breathe in the still of night.
In their down time, the garden came together. Ripe with the scent of bushes of bougainvillea, shoddily built arches assembled and carefully grafted with orchids. It was a spring day, his Cameko-Polo getting good use out of the beauty that was Corazon among the blooms.
They’d even begun digging up the koi pond the man had lovingly if not artistically doodled in the sketch. Nights were spent pouring over books, trying to decipher how best to make something like it structurally sound to partial success.
His home which had once been his only true sanctuary, which he’d ached at losing in their marriage, even that the blonde filled with life and vibrance in this darkest of times. Even when he pulsed with pain. When hisCorazon’s heart beat in these halls, it was made better for it, the organ circulating the life blood of what had once been just a fancy prison.
Despite everything, it felt truly like home. A place he could entrust to Corazon, even hsi tenuous hold on his sister’s safety. They were safe her with this man. Corazon.
Which is why he even felt comfortable leaving her side, secure enough between the blonde and these four walls, that she could be safe. Or whatever passed for the meaning of that word in a world like this. A world with Kaido, with Mama, with him.
After a day of nothing battles against a torrent of never ending no name pirates, his body stood tight in annoyance, muscles geared up. As he walked up the stairwell to change, he passed by the guest room to hear the deep grumble of Corazon’s voice. The door was slightly ajar, so he stilled his movement lest it stop.
It was one of the children’s books he kept on the lower shelves just in case, The Tale of Noland the Liar. As he listened to the story, the journey of a man who did nothing but lie only to result in his execution, he found himself entrapped. Each rumble of words that left his mouth drew him in as if it was a sirens song, till a tale as old as time pulsed with new meaning.
Because when Corazon spoke those words, that tall tale, he grasped then tight in his heart and yearned to believe. Even if he knew Noland as a liar, he found himself on hands and knees reverently worshiping and trusting in this city of gold, in the tale as the man spun it. Even when he knew how it ended, what the price of a dream was.
Corazon had that effect of him.
Deep brown eyes met his own accompanied by an achingly familiar toothy grin as he realized his body had drifted toward the door. Chiffon rested with her eyes closed and fading bruises painting her skin under piles of blankets. But not really, he could sense she was awake, just content to listen.
He smiled aimlessly back, then felt stupid for having done so, scarf firmly in place. But it had been instinctual, natural, an inevitability. He waved instead.
Corazon’s grin intensified as he pointed at the book in his hands, then held up a single finger. One minute then.
Nodding in understanding, he turned to go but not before catching the way the blonde kissed his palm then blew it toward him. It slammed into the side of his partially turned face like an armament infused punch, knocking him off kilter.
So he made a strategic retreat to his bedroom.
Just out of the shower and clambering into sleepwear, he heard a knock on his bedroom door. Already aware of who it was, he propped it open curiously to pin the blonde with a questioning gaze.
He rocked back and forth on his feet in a nervous pattern, not afraid but unsure as he asked, “Do you mind if I come in?”
He didn’t. So he stepped aside to allow the other man passage. The man hovered close to the walls just to idle around, hands ghosting atop cabinets and bookshelves. Then they found their way to him, skimming down his arm till their fingers caught together like an unruly spool of yarn. Powerless against the tug, he followed it till Corazon pushed him gently down onto the bed so they were eye level.
His head tilted in that ever curious way, eyes soft as tempered chocolate as his hands crept their way onto the upper edges of his scarf. The silent question passed between their gaze, broken only by his quick check of the door. The wooden panel sat snug in the frame.
So he nodded.
Corazon’s motivations for why remained shrouded in mystery to him, but his heart raced with want. A burning desire swept him to be bare before him, to be seen as he was. How a time so short as a single day could move him so was incomprehensible, yet he yearned for it.
The fabric fell away, allowing for the other to trace his thumb across the jagged expanse connecting ear to lip and back again. A shiver racked his frame at the sensation, unused to a touch other than the scruffy textile of well loved and therefore well pilled fabric.
“That’s better,” he teased gently. Almost always so gentle with him, “I almost forgot what you looked like.”
That was impossible though. No one ever forgot his face, seared into memory the way a first kill was. The way carnage and bloodshed etched itself into the inner eye, so as one slept it was never forgotten.
The wandering hand cupped his cheek, “God, so fucking cute.”
Katakuri snorted at that, violently and instinctively. With a roll of his eyes, he reached up till the other man’s head fit firmly in his palm, pushing him to the side.
The blonde snorted in turn, breath wet against his palm and pout searing hot.
“What did I do?”
Lowering his hand, he wiped the appendage on his pants as he turned to tuck his smile into his shoulder. It was embarrassing, letting out a world weary groan as he deflected, “You’re an idiot.”
Laughter drifted closer to his ear as the bed dipped down next to him, “That’s fair. But only for you, and the kids.” A finger poked him annoyingly in the shoulder, “Got that big guy?”
So he shoved the other back again, gently, even as he nodded his acceptance to those terms.
“Your room’s really pink,” he commented conversationally.
Despite that lack of judgment he found himself defensive, “Is that bad?”
He shrugged, “I prefer black myself, pink was always more of my brother's thing.”
And that made him wonder again, “Is that bad?”
“No. It suits you,” he replied with a shake of his head. Then that finger reached out to prod him again as he joked, “Like I said, cute.”
His face heated up to match the decor. Katakuri wasn’t cute goddamn it.
But he saw the other’s hand whip back up towards his mouth, biting on the knuckle of a crooked index finger to contain a loud exhale, face flushed and eyes downcast to avoid his stare. Now that was cute.
They sat in silence for a minute, the muffled shifting of their bodies atop his sheet the only noise.
“Do you know why she didn’t leave with Lola?”
Smoothie had told him once, ages ago so he replied with a small smile, “It was Lola’s dream. Chiffon wanted to stay here, she loves Totoland. And chocolate.”
Corazon hummed, “And what was her dream?”
He had to think back, to years ago when she was still small, to a day when Lola and her had hung around him like pests, using him as nothing more than a jungle gym.
“I think,” he started unsure, “It was to open up a chocolate shop.”
The blonde placed a hand on his stomach and groaned, falling backward, “Ugh, that’s such a good dream. I’m sure she’d be kick ass at it.”
He hummed in agreement. Chiffon had the talent.
The blonde then wiggled backward till his feet were propped up on the bed, sticking one to the side to poke his thigh in a bid for attention. All this poking and prodding was unnecessary in his opinion, his attention was always focused on him, an orbit that drew in all surrounding matter. But he didn’t mind enough to stop it, worried it would cease the casual touching altogether.
“And how about you?” he asked. “Any dreams percolating around that beautiful dome of yours?”
The first thing that popped into mind at the comment, was the desire to pull Corazon even closer. The distance achingly far. But that was ridiculous to think when they were already so close. And also, not a real dream.
“Protecting my family,” he said instead, reflexively and whole heartedly. His body leaned in with the movement, every twitch of muscle an accentuation of the words.
The other only huffed out, “That’s not a dream. Dream’s are selfish, they’re just because you want them. That doesn’t really count.”
And if that didn’t count… it made him pause. If that didn’t count then he guessed he didn’t really have a dream. But he did cave just a little, allowing himself to stop the incessant poking of his thigh by placing a hand delicately atop the other’s ankle and holding it still. His thumb traced the blonde’s own scarred skin as if to press calm into the flesh.
It worked a little, the other stilling.
“And you?”
Corazon’s suddenly slack jawed face knitted itself back together as he said, “Nope,” popping the p and everything. But the tiniest tremor in his leg gave him away.
“Not even an old one?” he asked curiously, thumb still idly tracing the mountains and vally’s of the old scar. Even as his own mind rang with the single word, the name Law. Whoever the kid was, wherever he was, pulling Corazon toward him and away from Katakuri.
It took a minute, thoughts heavy on his face before he let the words spill from his chapped lips, “For my kid to live.”
It confused him. Not that it involve the kid, this Law, but that this dream felt the same as his. So he spoke up to protest the unfairness of the dream. That was the furthest thing from selfish he could think of.
But his expression turned far away at his words, lost in a now familiar haze of nostalgia as he admitted, “That’s where you're wrong. He wanted to die, I wanted him to live. It was selfishness in the end, plain and simple.”
It was a strange way of looking at it, but he could see the logic even as it made him wonder aloud, “Do you think he’s happy then?”
Corazon shuddered as a deep sorrow flooded his features, fathoms of uncertainty weighing down his youthful visage of pure light. He wanted to take it back, to remove the question from that liminal space between them. But it was too late.
Hs answer elucidated something for him as the mumbled answer of an achingly unsure, “I don’t know,” reached him
His thumb stuttered for a second on his ankle, puzzle pieces falling into place before resuming his gentle rhythm,.
It made sense now why the other had such a hard time tracking the kid despite his aptitude for observation haki. His heart was weighed down by uncertainty, plain as day. Corazon wanted to find Law but didn’t want to face judgment, the unpredictable reality that he might have done the wrong thing. It was the same truth that Katakauri looked away from everyday when he thought of his family, whether he was correct, right, a true protector. It was a heavy burden.
He smiled but knew it didn’t reach his eyes despite its width as he said silently, almost for his own ears only, “I hope Chiffon gets to lead a life of her own someday.”
His mind reminded him that they had no will, that their dreams and hopes were Mama’s. That Chiffon needed to learn to accept that.
But his own traitorous heart pounded in furious disagreement.
~
Another two weeks passed in this gentle rhythm, until Chiffon was mobile again and hobbling her away around the house on crutches. Never let it be said that being Mama’s child didn’t come with some perks, speedy healing among them.
She spent most of her days outdoors, parked on the patio with a book. It must have been good for her, sun returning a familiar warm flush to her cheeks. In the light, she looked broken but when the sun caught her eyes just right, they burned.
Her smiles were still sparse and fleeting, but they had begun to extend to even him once more. Chattering listlessly to him about whatever crossed her mind, the both of them hellbent on ignoring the incident like a bad habit.
But this time it wasn’t enough for him, her unhappiness like a whisper of discontent that thrummed under his skin. Maybe he couldn’t stop Mama, but he could make her happy. Or maybe some approximation of it.
Enlisting Corazon’s help in the endeavor, they brainstormed possible activities before settling on a Charlotte favorite. Baking.
Katakuri had a whole room dedicated to the job, but usually kept the door to it hidden behind a wall of mochi. The activity was embarrassing as a warrior, an extension of his weakness. But if it made Chiffon smile, it was worth it. This was him being brave.
The trio gathered in the kitchen, stepping stools of mochi formed and placed beneath the countertops for their convenience. Her warrniess wore off as the batter came together, as flour dusted the air and their clothes. A tune snuck its way from between gapped teeth, Corazon rumbling along with her.
This all left most of the heavy lifting to him, but he didn’t mind. It made him, well, it made him happy. His own joy amplified itself as the donuts came out of the oven, settling onto the counter and the pair frosting them with horrendous designs. At least on Corazon’s part, Chiffon far too gifted to create anything less than marvelous.
And the duo cheered regardless of their mismatched aptitude, tapping donuts together and biting down, twin teeth marks left on the fluffy rings.
In this secret baking room, covered in flour, she looked so young, smiling down at their donuts as her smile dimmed, whispering out a near silent, “I wish Lola was here.” But then the smile vanished in its entirety, replaced with a darker, stormy expression like an unchurned sea of still powdered punch, “No, I wish I was with her.”
He frowned without thought, “Both of you should be here.”
The last of the good atmosphere evaporated. She scoffed and her face turned to him scornfully, “Leaving was the best thing she did.”
“It was a mistake,” he argued. It was his mistake too, but he knew firmly she should have never left.
But Chiffon didn’t want to hear it, ears tinging red with anger as she bit out, “The only mistake was that I didn’t go with her!” The words were red hot with anger, bruises green and fading, probably pained at the contortion of muscles and skin needed to glare at him.
“Don’t say that,” he ordered, the command forcefully ripped straight out of his chest.
“It’s true though,” she bit back through a bout of hysterical laughter. “Mama doesn’t love her. Or me. She loves none of us.”
“That’s false, she does love us.”
“No she doesn’t.”
“Yes she does.”
“No she doesn’t.”
“Yes she does.”
The verbal battle halted into silence as she took in a heavy breathe. A grim look crossed her face as she pushed up her sleeves to show the molted burns from the day after Lola left that encased each of her wrists like shackles, “No she doesn’t. She doesn’t love anyone, she’s a monster. Big bro, why can’t you see it.”
His heart clenched at the wound, the one he’d watched from the sidelines as it was burned into her skin, “That was Oven-”
But she cut him off, “On whose orders? Don’t pretend like no is a word we can tell Mama, like she wouldn’t have killed him if he’d declined.” She pointed at his chest angrily, “Just admit it, she doesn’t love us.”
“We’re her blood,” he protested anyway. Something must be broken in Chiffon if she couldn’t see that. Blood was what mattered. It was all they had, and to forsake that bond was treason.
“Blood? Don’t make me laugh. She hates us, but actually it’s worse than that. If she hated us then at least I could say she thought about us enough to hate. But no, she doesn’t even care enough to do that,” she ranted fervently, untying her apron to toss it onto the floor.
“Don’t lie,” he argued. This was just her projecting, even when Mama hurt them or punished them, it was because she cared. Because she loved them. “We are her blood. I’m your blood. All we have is each other.”
Her eyes rolled back hard enough to momentarily just see the whites, “You remember what she said as he burned me. That this should serve as my reminder that I am bound to her. But,” and she stepped toward him, pushing at his chest to shove him back, “I know the truth. I’m bound to no one and one day big bro, one day I’m gonna find Lola and we’ll escape together.”
“I won’t let that happen. We stay together,” he warned. Never again.
She shoved at him again, “You just don’t get it.”
And it was Pudding all over again, like when the two of them had exchanged confused looks as Corazon talked about love. As he realized his mistake.
He didn’t want to make the same mistake twice, so even as his chest heaved in frustration he asked, pleaded for the first time, “Chiffon, you know that I love you, right?”
She jumped back from him, a crutch clattering to the ground in her haste as undesired tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. It too her a moment to notice, the wet dampness of them long situated in streams down her cheeks before she thought to rech up and wipe them away in desperate annoyance, “Fuck, I know and I love you too. I know what you do for us but you’re just so,” she held her hands out as if to strangle him, shaking his imaginary body back and forth even as she said sadly, “You’re so blinded. Perfect Katakuri, huh? Can’t even see the truth when it’s right there.”
It hurt, her words like daggers jabbing at something fragile in him. Something pulsing, alive and frenetic, ready to burst. It hurt him worse for all the reasons he knew they shouldn’t hurt at all.
“Don’t say such things. You know I have a duty to report to Mama,” he warned instead.
She stilled at that, body going rigged in fear and he regretted it immediately. Wanting nothing more than to snatch the words out of the air. But it was too late and he was Perfect Katakuri. He only spoke the truth. If Chiffon wanted to leave, to betray Mama, he would have to take her side. It was the hard thing to do but he was sure it was the right thing, the only way to protect them all.
It was the right thing.
It was the right thing.
It was the right thing…
With stiff motions, and equally statuesque and lifeless grin spread onto her face. It was all teeth as she curtsied to him deeply. Chopped dead words slipped past her lips, “My apologies Sweet General. I don’t know what overcame me.”
Leaning down to grab her crutch, she tucked it under her arm to stand, back ramrod straight as she bit out, “As much as I have appreciated your hospitality, I think it's time I return home. If you’ll excuse me.” Then she turned on her heels and made toward the stairwell.
Katakuri reached out as if to stop her, “But you’re not-”
“Not what? Safe? How could I not be in the loving embrace of Mama? Tell me Sweet General!” she shouted out as she stalled right in the doorway, head not turning back to him.
His heart seized, “...you’re not healed.”
“And whose fault is that?” she barked out. Then in a more tempered tone, dark and stilted with the weight of meaning she demanded, “Say it.”
But he couldn’t, not about Mama. Not when he was the real culprit. So instead he admitted solemnly, “I’m sorry.”
Her fist clenched visibly at her side before he heard a giant exhale, the appendage unclenching with the gust of her breath. Her eyes were watery and he caught the shortest glimpse of them as she peeked over her shoulder.
“Don’t be.”
Then she disappeared up the stairs toward his room, to Brulee and Mirror World and the uncertain fate that awaited her at the chateau. More than likely, she’d be fine. For a while that is. But it didn’t sit well with him, the swish of her pink skirt emblazoned into his brain, stomach churning with preemptive guilt.
Blinking hard and coughing roughly, to clear away his own emotions, he turned to clean up only to be startled by a tuft of blonde hair standing right where he’d last been. But instead of that pretty glow, his face was etched in a frown, half eaten pastry clutched in his hand forgotten.
Katakuri set his shoulders tightly, gearing up for a lecture, a reprimand. He wanted it, the other’s disapproval and harsh words. Deserved it. Even though he’d only said the truth, that damned truth, the fucking-
But like a dog, the blonde shook himself, red bobbles bouncing against his shoulders as he tossed the last bite of pastry into his mouth. With the tiniest shift of his hips, he began cleaning, packing up treats and ingredients. Katakuri stood there for a moment too long in anticipation. The barrage never came.
Like a bear coming out of hibernation, he moved slow and unsure as he followed suit, the pair falling into a familiar rhythm even as his skin itched with silent jugement. Even Corazon’s elbow knocked lightly into his ribs, paired with the tiniest little smile up at him, it didn’t ease this feeling. The sensation only intensified like a fight without his haki, dangerously vulnerable.
The dishes went fast, too fast. And when everything was put away and cleaned only his own guilt tainted the space. He trailed slowly after the blonde, following his movements with just his eyes as he scooped their book off the side table and settled on the couch, patting the empty spot next to him.
His instincts forbid him from doing so, settling down. They screamed at him to run, to apologize, to be anywhere but here. Not when he was so guilty, or right, or guilty and right? Was is possible to be two of those at once, it seemed so. But this was more intense, biting. All he wanted to do was wither away, for just once in his life to not be seen and scrutinized. To just be wholly and completely lov-
“Please?”
Like a dog he sat. The book was pushed into his chest and reading glasses placed delicately onto his nose by scarred hands.
But he couldn’t crack the book open, couldn’t give the man what he wanted. All he could do was stare. Stare and wait, instincts long moved on from fight or flee to simply freeze.
The blonde huffed out an exasperated little breath, “What do you want me to say?”
The words caught in the back of his throat, even as long fingers intertwined with his own, dwarfing his pale skin. The words choked him. Time passed until he wrangled them under his command, tongue heavy in his mouth.
“The truth,” he finally murmured back, white knuckling the book. He needed to know what was brewing behind those eyes, what he thought of him now. If he hated him. Needed to hear the truth from someone else so badly his brain ran closed loops of static and dread.
Corazon only quirked a brow at him, “I think you know.”
“Just say it,” he begged. And he knew it was begging, pathetic and weak in its cadence.
His sigh was exasperated, “You wanna hear me say that she’s right, that you're wrong? Why? If you're right it shouldn’t matter what I think.”
“I- I value your opinion.”
“Are you sure? You might not like what I have to say,”
He nodded, throat long closed now and tongue dulled to sensation.
“Well, I kind of just said it,” he joked. It wasn’t funny.
But Katakuri needed more, he needed to know why. He knew he was right, Mama was right. He told the truth, he was the protector. But what if-
“Please,” he rallied past numb lips.
The blonde inhaled sharply through his nose, the sound slicing through the thick stillness. For a moment it was all he thought he’d get, the hand tightening around his own and knuckles pale. The truth plain and simple that Katakuri didn’t deserve a reason. That Corazon thought he was wrong and like everyone else, thought him too stupid or loyal to understand. To bother convincing.
And he was loyal, he was Mama’s dog but-
But…
“Please,” he heaved out.
The blonde nodded this time, releasing his grip on Katakuri’s hand and stretching upword toward the ceiling in a large and unrefined motion. His neck cracked, left then right, up then down. Then it rolled in on big circle until it tiled on its axis up at him, the glow of teeth protruding from his lips in a small smile.
“If you’re sure,” he smirked, eyebrows raised as if to doubt him. An attempt to wrangle out any last second hesitations he had.
But he nodded again, and again, and again. His head bobbing obediently and desperate, begging through action and not words. The desperation in it made him repress a shudder as a terrible thought crossed his mind, that like a dog he begged. Yearned and wanted, waited in quiet agony for approval.
For Corazon’s approval. Or in this case his reproach.
His pointer finger split the air, darting this way and that until it zoomed in towards his face to boop his nose, “Enought of that please. I don’t bite.”
He nodded. Then stilled his entire body.
It did make the blonde laugh, and despite the nervous tinge to it the ring of it was genuine. The sound of it made him smile in turn, until he realized and stilled those muscles as well.
Then he started, “You know Doffy’s my brother right? Not just because I’m part of The Family but because we are quite literally related. You know, by blood?”
An uneasy feeling settled over him as he nodded his acknowledgement. A feeling he wrentched away from even as he peered closer to ask about. No, he begged wordlessly.
“When I told Pudding about my son and me, I know I made it sound romantic. Doffy the betrayer, shooting me! Oh no!” he waved his hands around as if to cower in mock fear. Then they settled back into his lap and looked right into his eyes, straight into his soul, “But I knew what I was doing the moment I left with Law. Mutiny, betrayal, call it what you will, but I knew Katakuri. Blood or not, none of that mattered anymore. Not when my true family was at stake.”
“You talk about blood and loyalty, well,” he huffed out a laugh, slightly manic as his lips turned down at the sides. His eyes were blown wide now into bottomless chasams, “Well, you must hate me now then. Because things like blood, those fuckers I share blood with- I wouldn’t choose them. Not ever. I don’t know what that makes me in your eyes, but my family is the people I choose . It’s Law,” he sighed deep and strong, shoulders expanding with the motion as he filled with air, then deflating so his bangs covered his eyes, “And I’m beginning to think it’s you too. So yeah, I think your wrong.”
Katakuri didn’t know what to think, what to say. It wasn’t condemnation, it wasn’t far from absolution, it just was. He was wrong, he told himself. His family was different, Corazon didn’t understand.
But maybe.
He opened the book up, pushing his glasses further up his face and began to read. The other looked up at him in confusion, but it abated as he turned the page. Then he settled into his spot against his chest, where he belonged.
Katakuri eventually made his way to bed, covers pulled up tight around his chin and door bare flat, shut tight, so just the wooden frame of it stared back at him. Bu his heart tugged in short painful bursts to where he could sense the blonde across the hall. Observed his soft tread across the floor as he closed his eyes.
Blood. Chiffon. Mama. Pudding.
And beyond all of that now, Corazon tucked away on the swinging bench on his patio. The sunlight dappling his skin and eyelids, closed tight as he searched. The warmth of that sun, of the man, made him heat just from the proximity of the memory. How he ever survived the real thing was a mystery.
He didn’t just want Corazon anymore, not in the passive way he’d grow accustomed to. In the way that ensconced him evey morning and evening, coffee on his upper lip and an extra warm mug in hand for him. His head tucked in his shoulder as he read.
He needed him.
The thought that any day, he might leave. Or try to leave. It terrified him, haunted him like a spectre he once met in Thriller Bark. His life without the other had been so empty, peaceful in its own kind of way, but bereft of light.
So as he lay there, alone in his bed, he thought to himself. Turned ideas over in his head like donuts in oil until one rose to the top, golden brown. An idea on how to get him to stay, on how to make him want to stay. Here with him.
He could do it, and tomorrow was as good a day as any to begin and wear him down.