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Since the moment Haru had arrived at the airport, he found himself repeatedly assaulted on all fronts by an overkill of opulence. It oozed up, slimy, greasy, unclean, from everything -- from the private jet he'd been held captive in, well furnished with plush seats and stocked with fine champagne, to the limo that picked them up once they landed, to the comically luxurious hotel they were dropped off at. He'd made it abundantly clear beforehand how he detested slapping people in the face with money; at the moment he felt personally attacked by it, as if he'd been called out back behind a bar and surrounded by giant anthropomorphic wads of cash intending to kick his ass. They all had Daisuke's face for some reason, too.
The shock of being abruptly dropped off the deep end into soft leather cushions and cherry wood accents left Haru stunned into relative silence for the entire duration of their travel. When he came to, so to speak, he was standing beside Daisuke in a glistening marble lobby, slack-jawed, numb, and entirely too aware of how under-dressed he was for a place like this. Self-conscious, he fussed with his tie, straightening and re-straightening as he repeatedly shot sharp, dagger-like glares in Daisuke's direction.
Certainly this had to be intentional. Was the man flaunting even harder than before, intending to grind his wealth into the face of someone who had dared to openly express disgust? Was it a power move, to demonstrate the massive canyon that separated their respective social standings? To lord it over Haru, make him feel uncomfortable, small, and out of place, to hold him down and shut him up?
With the shock subsiding, Haru found his irritation towards this man burning anew. Worse yet, Daisuke had the audacity to not even appear the least bit smug or self-satisfied.
No, he was standing there quietly, hands in his pockets, glancing off in the direction of nothing worth noting. It would be incorrect to say he looked bored -- patient was a better word for it, but for the life of him Haru couldn't read the guy, and had no idea what to make of it.
"...Shall we?" Daisuke prompted after several more moments of stillness. Haru abruptly realized the awkwardly long amount of time he'd simply stared, both at the hotel and at his travelling companion.
Standing up taller, stiffening through the length of his spine, he answered with a dismissive snort before hastily heading in the direction of the receptionist's desk. Haru got there first but realized, with yet another wave of crippling humiliation, that he still had no idea what arrangements had been made for them. He was forced to wait for Daisuke to join him, all while the attractive young lady at the desk greeted him with a friendly, expectant smile.
"For Kambe," Daisuke offered by way of his own greeting -- or more like, a distinct lackthereof. To the woman's credit, she took foregoing the usual pleasantries in stride.
"Of course, Kambe-sama. We've been expecting you." That friendly exterior didn't waver.
Haru noted off-handedly that her Japanese was rather impeccable as he watched her retrieve an envelope. She hadn't needed to look up anything on the computer, and it seemed the envelope itself had been prepared in advance -- they'd certainly been expecting something. She bowed respectively as she offered it to Daisuke.
"Your room has been prepared as requested. Please allow us the privilege of attending to your every need during your stay."
As Haru considered insisting the poor girl needn't bother with such respectful prostrations to a complete and utter asshole, one of her words caught somewhere in the cogs of his brain and chewed through it slowly. Daisuke was taking the envelope and tucking it inside his coat, clearly preparing to depart when the spark ignited in Haru's mind and he jolted with obvious alarm.
"...Room? Like one room?" he was gripping the desk with both hands, leaning forward and into the poor woman's personal space, good manners temporarily somewhat forgotten in the face of his own personal emergency. "That must be a mistake. There should be two. Right??"
Caught off-guard by his earnest and urgent sense of panic, the girl raised her hands in front of herself, leaning back ever so slightly as she glanced between Haru and Daisuke. She was clearly at a bit of a loss, and seemed to silently be deferring to Daisuke for guidance with the imploring nature of her gaze.
"M-my apologies, sir, we only received a request for one room. But I can most certainly rectify this for you by promptly reserving another--"
"That won't be necessary," Daisuke interrupted, tone not explicitly rude, but firm enough to imply the finality of the conversation. "The room that I requested will be sufficient." He turned, then, to address Haru, gaze cool and even. "Are you finished?"
The force behind those words, delivered in Daisuke's usual calm and collected way, caught Haru's tongue and tied it neatly into knots. He found every foul thing he wanted to call Daisuke in that moment getting stuck in his throat, bobbing somewhere beneath his adam's apple each time he swallowed thickly, until they died there in his silence. And yet, he was nearly shaking with rage, both for the way he'd been so flippantly dismissed and for the way that Daisuke's expression remained as pristine as an undisturbed pool of water.
For the second time that evening Haru stormed off in a huff, long legs carrying him rapidly away from the stunned woman behind the desk, his ears burning beneath the fringe of his hair. And, again, he realized too late that he was in no position to take the lead -- he hadn't the slightest clue where he was going, and found the massive lobby was less intuitive to navigate than he had anticipated when setting off. He slowed his pace without stopping, and soon enough Daisuke caught up to him, taking the lead without the slightest ripple across his face.
They made it to the elevator in silence. Silence, as they waited for it to announce its arrival with a soft, polite ding. They stepped inside, the only two passengers, and the doors slid noiselessly shut behind them.
"Bastard--" Haru hissed out, hardly a moment after they'd been plunged into relative privacy. He was like a balloon, full to the point of popping and unable to contain his outburst any longer. Hands fisting in the front of Daisuke's jacket, he shoved him unceremoniously against the wall of the elevator, glaring hot and furious. "Just what is all this? The jet, the limo, the hotel-- one room?! Is this some kind of joke?"
Daisuke continued to regard him with an impassive gaze, not seeming particularly concerned or offended at the abrupt manhandling. He took his time looking Haru over, appearing to merely absorb the fury directed at him with all the interest of someone observing a wave crashing at their feet. Then, glancing past Haru, he reached over to press the button for the top floor.
"Would you have preferred a different establishment? This was convenient for our purposes."
Without fail, every word out of Daisuke's mouth pissed him off. Partially because, equally without fail, those words had a tendency to diffuse all the sharp remarks he had poised to spill off his tongue. But he held Daisuke there a moment longer, his grip white-knuckled, jaw set in a hard line and eyes narrowed, as if he oh so defiantly wanted to snark back something anyway.
It was no use. Daisuke deflected his rage so effortlessly...which was, in and of itself, a cause of further irritation.
Releasing Daisuke just as unceremoniously as he'd grabbed him in the first place, Haru pushed himself away to lean his back against the wall, arms folded across his chest as he waited out the rest of the elevator ride in a reprisal of his previous silence.
When at last they arrived at the topmost floor, Haru finally refrained from storming out first, but soon found the restraint was unnecessary. As they left the elevator, he realized the options for where to go were rather limited; in fact, there was only one door available to them. Daisuke approached it without batting an eye and retrieved the envelope from inside his jacket. Waving it in front of the handle, it unlocked with a soft click, and he headed inside, not bothering to spare Haru a backwards glance.
Haru followed along hastily, and found himself stunned once more into a sort of stupor. It was like walking into the living room of some rich asshole's mansion, well furnished and decorated, each piece screaming "expensive". The couch was huge, the tv even bigger, and the place came equipped with a tasteful brunch bar, poised neatly to separate out a small kitchenette from the living space. There was even a welcome gift: a vase with an attractive arrangement of flowers sat primly on the coffee table, accompanied by a bottle of champagne and a handsome, slender box. As Haru continued to openly gawk, Daisuke had already made his way to the fridge, as comfortable here as if he owned the place.
"Your room and bathroom are down the hall to the left. You'll find mine down the hall to the right." As he spoke he retrieved a glass bottle of mineral water and two fine crystal glasses. "You'll find your luggage already unpacked in the drawers. If something isn't to your liking, the phone has a direct line to a dedicated receptionist. It should be resolved promptly."
He poured water into both glasses, seeming either entirely oblivious to or actively attempting to ignore Haru's disbelief. Daisuke took one of the glasses himself, leaving the second behind to gently imply it was intended for Haru, then made his way back around the brunch bar to regard him more directly. Although he didn't verbally prompt a response, his gaze seemed to be looking for one.
Haru looked between the man before him, holding his crystal glass of expensive ass water, then again to the couch, the tv, the coffee table, the champagne. Suddenly, he felt almost shameful of the "cozy" little apartment he called home, and found himself wondering if that was Daisuke's intention with all this. He looked away, hands curling into fists at his side. Haru certainly understood why only one room was necessary now, at least, though he hardly considered this to count as "only one".
"...I'll stay somewhere else." He finally spoke up, low and quiet.
Daisuke didn't say anything.
"I said I'll stay somewhere else!" Haru repeated, lifting his gaze to glare at Daisuke again. Agreeing to this whole trip was a mistake -- he wasn't sure what transgression he was being punished for in this moment, but he pleaded for mercy with whatever god saw fit to flay him alive.
"Where?"
It was an entirely unexpected and odd question. Haru looked bewildered, briefly, before his glare returned in full force.
"I don't know-- some other hotel! This is ridiculous, you expect the force to foot the bill for your spoiled ass preferences?"
"I requested to pay for our accommodations."
"Of course you did!! Somehow that's even worse!" Haru was laughing, but realistically felt more like crying. Maybe crumpling into a ball there on the floor. Maybe not getting up again until it was time to go back home. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, willing away the throbbing that threatened to build up behind his eyes and temples. "You act like you've been here before."
"I have."
A pause, and then Haru's hand slowly lowered. A sneaking suspicion had planted itself in his mind, further fueled by Daisuke's affirmation. With sudden determination, he brushed past Daisuke to approach the coffee table, taking the champagne in his hands first and turning it around and around to inspect the label. Gleaning little, he moved onto the box next, opening it to reveal several thick cigars -- the spitting image of the ones he'd seen Daisuke puffing away on numerous times before.
"Looking for something?" The mild inquiry came from behind Haru, and was promptly ignored in favor of his makeshift investigation.
The box didn't tell him that much, either, so he turned his attention to the vase of flowers, around which a silk ribbon was tied into a picturesque bow. Partially obscured by one strip of the ribbon was a glossy card -- on one side, a very polite welcome to the hotel, with multiple assurances that their every whim would be seen to. The other side?
Haru felt his eyebrow twitch.
Straightening, he wordlessly stormed off down the hall, following Daisuke's directions to find the room he'd been assigned to. As promised, his luggage had been brought in, and the suitcase itself was tucked neatly in a closet. Refusing to be distracted by the enormous bed, the handsome dressers, light fixtures, or the glossy screen of another massive tv, Haru snatched up the pad of paper lying next to the phone.
Another twitch.
Into the bathroom, and he was glaring down at artistically wrapped squares of soap and tiny bottles of shampoo, all neatly laid out on marble counter.
When he returned to the main room, he found Daisuke as he'd left him, standing there with his water in his ridiculous crystal glass, looking curious but unconcerned. Haru chucked a handful of tiny soaps and the notepad at him.
"You own the damn hotel too?!"
Haru was disappointed to see Daisuke catch what he'd thrown, all with his one free hand. When he glanced down and took note of the seemingly random conglomeration of items, a subtle smirk tugged at one corner of his lips. All of them bore the Kambe logo in flowing golden script.
"My family--"
"Don't answer that!" Haru snapped back. With a grunt of frustration, he raked a hand through his hair a few times, hardly seeming to notice the disorder he introduced to the already travel-brushed strands.
Deciding that was sufficient interaction for the evening (or perhaps a lifetime), he wordlessly brushed past Daisuke a second time, now heading in the direction of the door, suddenly claustrophobic in a room larger than his entire living space. He needed some air, and several other things...most of which he wasn't even sure of yet, but all of which required him being anywhere but there.
"Where are you going?"
It was oddly satisfying to be asked, and even more satisfying to give a flippant response. "To eat." There was impatience and vitriol laced through his tone, he clearly intending to dissuade Daisuke from doing exactly the thing he ended up doing next.
Footsteps started up behind him. Haru tried to ignore it, wanting ever so much to leave it at that, pleased as he was with such a clean end to a frustrating exchange. In the few days they'd known each other he so rarely had the privilege of feeling like he had the upper hand, which was hardly appropriate given the differences in their seniority. The more Haru made a fool of himself, the more desperate he became to one up Daisuke, if only to reaffirm to himself his own value in the face of someone so painfully privileged.
But he didn't even make it to the door.
"Don't follow me!" It was deja vu. Haru wondered what he'd done to be targeted by such an infuriating person. "Just because we came here together for work doesn't mean we have to spend our personal time together too!"
"The key card is required to access the restaurant." Daisuke had stopped several paces behind Haru.
"I wasn't going to eat there." He shot back, feeling less like a righteously irritated senpai and more like a stubborn, pouty brat by the moment. It was a prevalent feeling around Daisuke, and one he despised almost as much as the man who inspired it in him. Not that I could afford anything on the menu, anyway, he added to himself, and found the sulky tone to his thoughts even more pronounced than the one in his voice.
"Do you speak English or Cantonese?"
Startled, Haru glanced over his shoulder. His expression must have been enough of a prompt for Daisuke to continue.
"You may find it difficult to order at most of the local restaurants."
What had Haru expected when he'd accepted this request from his boss? A cramped, economy class seat. A dingy hotel room with paper thin walls. Squinting at foreign maps on his phone for an awkward amount of time. Probably running late to everything. Exhaustion, confusion, and an embarrassing number of empty cup noodles (which would, eventually, lead to a disappointed talk from his physician about sodium levels). None of this was in line with his expectations, and the exhaustion of being spun around on his head hit him all at once.
Abruptly, Haru felt himself run out of steam. He couldn't find it in himself to continue arguing -- if this could really be seen as an argument. Perhaps a one-sided spat, as Daisuke never seemed quite willing to meet him with his frustration.
He opened the door to the room and walked out. Daisuke followed behind him. They returned to the elevator in this silence. Another victory to Kambe, he thought bitterly on the ride down.
That was how Haru ended up sitting at a table across from Daisuke at the hotel's restaurant, albeit reluctantly. Without the energy to wander the streets of a foreign city, he'd resigned himself to the easiest option, though his wallet hurt at just the thought of it. If the rest of the hotel hadn't been any indication, the restaurant further screamed "money" at the top of its inanimate lungs.
It was classy and modern, decorated by sleek furniture and dim lighting. Soft jazz music added to the upscale ambiance, and a sparse spattering of tables with high-backed chairs added to the sense of exclusivity. They'd arrived a bit late as it was, so there were only a few parties anyway, but Haru got the feeling that if they hadn't shown up with the glossy gold and black card Daisuke flashed, they'd likely have been turned away and directed to place reservations before trying again.
That feeling of being underdressed and painfully out of place returned tenfold as Haru fought to ignore the well-dressed waiter that lingered close to their table, silver pitcher of water at the ready and an exquisitely embroidered cloth napkin draped neatly over one arm. He wore silky white gloves, and although he didn't seem to actively be watching them, he had the uncanny ability to sense when Haru was intending to take a sip of water, and hardly a moment passed between Haru's fingers leaving his glass and that pitcher appearing to refill even the most miniscule amount. It made him so self-conscious he could feel sweat beginning to bead around the nape of his neck, and although his throat was dry, he suddenly found himself reluctant to try and drink anything.
Daisuke, meanwhile, looked again as if he might've been sitting in his very own dining room. His posture, while perfect, was relaxed, his suit fitting in with fine tablecloths and delicately painted china. To him, the ever-present waiter seemed more like a fixture on the wall than a breathing human whose sole job for the duration of their stay was to wait with bated breath to fill their cups. And, as he didn't bother trying to say anything, Haru was left to suffer under the crippling weight of his awkward self-awareness, until another waiter came by to hand each of them a single paged, leather-bound menu.
"Good evening, honored guests. It is our chef's most heartfelt recommendation that you choose to heighten your dining experience with us this evening by indulging in our seasonal prix fixe menu. It is an offering of eight unique tasting courses inspired by the blended cultures of Hong Kong, featuring fine ingredients sourced from around the world by our chef himself, and each course is paired with a hand selected beverage to harmonize your meal."
As the man gave his pitch, Haru kept his eyes locked on the glossy menu, his palms growing increasingly clammy with each frilly word. There's no...prices...on the menu... he realized in his mounting horror. Was it too late to excuse himself? Did he even have enough in his bank account for a bowl of rice here? ...Did they even serve rice here?? His shoulders were starting to tremble, and he was subconsciously shrinking into his chair.
If my weekly salary is that much, minus my rent, and I bike to work for the next month instead of taking the subway...and I don't buy any meat for the next two months...
Frantic calculations began to pile up between his ears, drowning out the waiter, the soft jazz, competing with the pounding of his heart.
"My request was placed with the kitchen when the room reservation was made." Daisuke responded simply at the end of the waiter's long-winded speech. He was handing back the menu without having glanced down at it once.
Snapped out of his downward spiral into the future debt he was piling on himself just to afford this meal, Haru raised his gaze to stare at Daisuke. There was a pause, and then the waiter gave a disappointed, disapproving sigh.
"...Of course. The chef has made every effort to accommodate your request. The preparations are nearly complete, and your meal will be ready shortly. Perhaps a drink order, in the meantime?"
"That won't be necessary."
Something about the finality of Daisuke's words left Haru feeling almost disappointed as well, or at least mildly surprised. When prompted, he offered up his own menu, though he was still looking at Daisuke, as if hoping to find some sort of clue about his apparent meal request.
"Very well," the waiter concluded, making a point not to really glance in Haru's direction even as he retrieved the menu. Haru wondered if it was to save him the embarrassment of being seen in such a dressed down state compared to his dining companion...or perhaps it was just that painfully obvious he couldn't afford the scraps off the other patron's plates, and was therefore deemed unworthy of notice. As he retreated, Haru found his mouth moving faster than his mind could catch up.
"Really? You'll sip champagne on your own personal jet but you go to a place like this, make some kind of mysterious special request in advance, and you aren't even bothering to order a drink? That seems backwards, or at least inconsistent." Having temporarily forgotten his impending financial doom, Haru snorted a little to himself. "That sort of restraint doesn't suit you at all."
But he also didn't think much of his shared observation, and was already digging out his phone to try and distract himself from the awkward atmosphere by scrolling mindlessly through various social media. He didn't notice the pensive expression he'd left Daisuke with, or the way that, eventually, he gestured for the water-bearing statue of a man next to their table to approach.
"The 1990 Margaux."
With a nod, the man disappeared silently, plunging them back into their uncomfortable silence. Even the internet couldn't seem to dispel Haru's sense of unease -- he found it difficult to actually focus on the words scrolling by on his screen with each swipe of his thumb, eyes glazing over thumbnail pictures of food, pets, strangers' faces. He again wondered if it was too late to excuse himself; there had to be something edible lurking in that kitchenette of theirs, right? Or, worst case, maybe some place nearby delivered...
At least this stretch of silence was again short-lived, the waiter returning promptly with a sleek, if somewhat plain looking dark bottle of wine and two glasses. His movements were very smooth and practiced, he setting a glass down before each of them, one at a time, before he began the ceremony of removing foil and cork. Haru was oddly transfixed by the production, though the bottle itself wasn't nearly as showy as he might've expected from Daisuke.
Haru himself wasn't much of a drinker, if only because he demanded such a high standard of self-discipline. Mostly, there'd been a time when he'd failed to meet that standard and made a fool of himself at a work function. He wasn't too keen on presenting people with the idea that he didn't take himself or his work seriously again. Occasionally he had indulged...and, occasionally, there had been instances toeing the line of over-indulgence. So while not unfamiliar with alcohol itself, what came out of that bottle was something entirely beyond his level of experience. He watched with thinly veiled awe as the liquid swirled attractively in the bowl of the glass, such a deep red it was nearly black, coiling with a silky fluidity that set it apart from water. They were both given generous glassfuls, though Haru didn't recall any mention of his inclusion.
The waiter set the bottle down on the table between them, then backed off just as quietly with a brief bow. Haru continued to stare at the wine placed before him, idly wondering somewhere in the back of his mind just how much that single glass would cost. Daisuke, on the other hand, didn't hesitate to reach for his own glass. The look he fixed Haru with seemed to ask, "better?", before he took a sip. And to Haru's great relief, Daisuke also added in a gesture for the permanently present waiter to leave them, as something of an afterthought.
It was hard to remind himself of self-imposed standards and such when the wine was already poured, especially given their surroundings and his newfound sense of freedom at no longer being trapped beneath the gaze of a water wielding hawk.
That, Haru thought wryly to himself, and when'll I ever get another opportunity to drink something that probably costs as much as my monthly rent?
He blamed it on being worn down by the travel, and the bickering, and Daisuke being Daisuke.
Just bringing the wine below his nose, Haru found himself overwhelmed by the rich, fruity aroma, amplified nicely by the curved walls of the glass. He swallowed thickly, then took a sip.
"What the hell--?!" the abrupt incredulous outburst drew the concerned attention of most of the employees in the restaurant, but Daisuke simply glanced in Haru's direction with the barest note of amused curiosity.
The flavor was unrealistically complex, beyond anything Haru had ever had the privilege to put in his mouth. It was a million things all at once, and he grappled with a miserably limited vocabulary to describe the way it rolled around his tongue, fruit and satin and flower and spice. The intensity was bordering uncomfortable.
Daisuke seemed to read all this from Haru's expression; another one of his small smirks teased up the corners of his lips, poised over the rim of his glass. In that moment he looked especially like a smug rich asshole...not like he didn't always, but the image burned behind Haru's eyelids, as hot as the tips of his ears as he hastily sank down into his chair again, cradling his glass as if it were a shield for him to hide behind.
He sulked as he took another sip, his eyes wandering to a banner cross his phone screen announcing a new message from Kamei. He opened it, desperate for a distraction from his near-permanent state of embarrassment.
"How's Hong Kong? Buy me a souvenir yet?"
Haru rolled his eyes and sent back a quick, "Haven't even had dinner. I got stuck eating at this guy's restaurant."
As he hit "send", Haru again found himself the victim of a surprise attack, this time delivered by way of silver tray, carried over by the disapproving waiter from before. At this point, having expected something ridiculous like filet mignon or foie gras or maybe a caviar stuffed game hen, Haru was instead presented with a steaming bowl of ramen. He was looking down into the rich brown broth long after the waiter wished them a wonderful meal and took his leave.
"...I eat more than just ramen, you know." Haru muttered flatly, though it lacked some of his more irritable edge. In truth, the familiar scent of fatty pork and savory soy broth was comforting after being made to endure the alien world of the upper crust.
"Try it," Daisuke insisted. Then, as if an afterthought, added, "You're welcome to order off the menu, if you'd prefer." He hadn't yet picked up his own chopsticks.
Feeling acutely aware of Daisuke's eyes on him, Haru felt strangely as if he had no choice but to comply with the request. It was almost eager...if someone like Daisuke was even capable of experiencing or expressing a feeling like that. Setting down the glass of wine, Haru picked up the chopsticks beside his bowl, hesitated a moment, then guided some of the noodles into his mouth.
It tasted like home and comfort, if those things could be captured in flavors.
"...It's good." He offered quietly, exerting a great effort to mute his enthusiasm after his previous unintentional outburst. But he still betrayed his forced nonchalance by going in for a second bite with barely restrained vigor.
It seemed satisfactory for Daisuke, at any rate. If Haru hadn't known any better, he'd have thought Daisuke even looked a little pleased.
As Haru slurped down noodles, his phone buzzed and lit up. He set his chopsticks back down, chasing broth with wine (and, momentarily, he was floored at how oddly fitting the combination was) before opening the reply from Kamei.
"His restaurant?! No way!! You're out there living the high life while they're working me like a dog...I can't believe you left me behind..."
You had plenty of opportunity to volunteer to go on this trip instead, Haru thought irritably to himself. Distracted by responding, he didn't quite realize how much more wine he was mindlessly swallowing. "The whole place reeks of wealth, just like him, but it's all for appearances. There's nothing respectable about it. Who wants to look at an ice sculpture of a swan while they're trying to eat anyway?"
So he said...and yet, as uncomfortable as the ambiance was, Haru had to admit the ramen and the wine were both phenomenal. Glancing up from his phone, he watched Daisuke eating noodles with much more refinement than he'd ever seen anyone employ over a bowl of noodle soup. Haru sat up just a little bit straighter, and averted his gaze to elsewhere in the restaurant instead. It really was a classy place...
No matter how you look at it, it's kind of like a date, isn't it? Haru thought bitterly. A luxury hotel, a table for two at a fancy restaurant, incredible food and wine...so why do I have to be here with him, of all people?! He sulkily jabbed his chopsticks at a piece of bamboo floating atop the broth. Literally anyone else would be fine...
He found his thoughts wandering to the other Kambe he'd met...Suzue? The composure that was so stifling and obnoxious on Daisuke seemed elegant and graceful on her. If it had only been her here instead...
As Haru glanced up at Daisuke again, hoping to drill holes into him with another glare, he caught the man looking elsewhere. Discovering that he wasn't the recipient of Daisuke's attention 24/7 after all, the irritable look he'd twisted his face up into melted away, and he found himself watching that stoic, unreadable face. For all his insistence that the two Kambe's were leagues apart (internally, of course, in a long-rambling monologue that no one had or ever would ask for), the similarities were plenty evident; they both had those composed, intelligent eyes.
Daisuke turned to look at him again and Haru all but bubbled over in a panic, covering up his blatant staring by reaching hastily to choke down wine, hardly pausing to savor all the nuanced flavors of a thirty year effort. He nearly choked in the process.
"It can't just be me drinking this," he added on to his forced display, hoping to distract from what he'd been caught doing. "You're the one that ordered this. You don't like it or something?" he gestured at Daisuke's glass, significantly more full than Haru's own. Without waiting for an answer, he'd already picked up the bottle between them.
"That won't be necessary--" Daisuke started as if in mild protest, but Haru was in the process of pouring another generous glug over what Daisuke had left in his glass. It was significantly more sloppy than the job the waiter had done, but Haru pretended not to notice he was slinging it around like cheap sake. At least it didn't end up on the table cloth, anyway.
He definitely noticed the soft sigh Daisuke gave, though. It was something new and so, for all Haru's displeasure, he couldn't help but find himself a bit curious. This time, to avoid adding to the heaping pile of his embarrassment, Haru made sure to watch Daisuke from his peripheral vision instead of head on.
Most people usually expressed what they were feeling with their faces, but not Daisuke. Or at least, not to a particularly noticeable extent. And yet, there was something there...sort of, if it could be called an expression. Did Haru detect a hint of exasperation? Perhaps not impossible, but it hardly seemed likely.
I can't tell what he's thinking at all... Haru complained to himself as he returned to slurping down noodles. I don't know what to say to him either. Is he even trying to hold a conversation with me? Does he really just think I'm not worth his time, or could it be he seriously only has about as much personality as a rock? Somehow, the thought was terribly amusing to Haru, and he found himself smirking around the noodles trailing out his mouth.
At least, Haru mused wryly as he chewed, what Daisuke lacked in depth of personality he made up for with virtually bottomless pockets. There's something all that money can't buy, asshole, he thought to himself, disproportionately smug about it, as if it marked a personal victory. To celebrate it, he went in for more wine.
What he wasn't expecting to see was Daisuke carefully tilting the bottle to refill Haru's glass.
Daisuke Kambe was pouring him wine.
The Daisuke Kambe.
As the notion buzzed wildly about Haru's brain, Daisuke had already set the bottle back down and moved to drink from his own glass. Glancing over the rim at Haru, he raised a slender eyebrow, subtly, as if in a silent question.
...He really did make the drink look refined.
"...Thanks," Haru muttered, almost sheepish, as he picked it up to drink.
The stretches of silence were starting to kill him. He could hardly taste anything anymore.
"So..." the nonchalance was a bit too obviously forced. "...a symposium...?"
"Tomorrow morning," Daisuke offered in confirmation, apparently merciful enough not to prolong Haru's struggle to find words. Haru mentally kicked himself for indulging in all this wine -- he could already feel a bit of a buzz settling in. Of course it'd be tomorrow morning, it wasn't like they were here on vacation. Together.
And yet, he still found himself drinking more of it. Self-discipline! he tried to remind himself.
"How far is it? Do we need a cab or something?" he was already grabbing his phone to pull up a map.
"No. I arranged for it to take place in the hotel's conference center." It was delivered so casually that Haru took a moment to realize the full implications of the statement. He slowly put down his phone.
"...You arranged?"
"It seemed the most convenient venue."
Haru stared Daisuke down a moment, then morosely swallowed half his glass in one go.
"You seem to have everything perfectly under control," as you always do, Haru added to himself. "There was no need to send us both."
Without batting an eye, Daisuke reached for the bottle again and poured him more, oozing the sort of refined elegance cultured by birth into wealth. Haru huffed out another unconvincing thank you.
"I requested that you accompany me." The admission was delivered so casually that, at first, Haru simply accepted it, glass halfway back to his lips. When the full weight of it settled on his mind, he wasn't sure what to do with the realization that Daisuke had wanted him, specifically, to accompany him to Hong Kong.
The jet, the limo, the room, the dinner, all arranged with Haru in mind. Reeling from the impact of deceptively soft words, Haru's hand shook imperceptibly as he swallowed more wine like water.
"You don't seem to drink wine often, inspector Kato." Daisuke spoke again once it was obvious Haru wouldn't.
"...That's a statement, not a question," Haru started, slow at first, almost wary. Daisuke didn't say anything, but his silence seemed to confirm Haru's accusation. "I don't drink often. Why?"
"You're drinking it like you're ashamed to have it in your mouth."
Daisuke had the unfortunate habit of leaving Haru speechless; he'd done it yet again, the comment feeling so far out of left field to Haru that he found himself unable to even conjure up a startled reaction this time. He simply stared, openly now, unable to forcibly draw his gaze away, held in place as it was by Daisuke's own. There was a certain intensity there that differed ever so slightly from the usual sharpness of those cold eyes, a heaviness that coiled around Haru's shoulders.
"You taste wine with your nose just as much as your tongue," Daisuke continued, undeterred. "It requires a certain measure of patience. Some bouquets can only be fully appreciated when you allow them sufficient time to bloom."
As if to demonstrate, Daisuke held his cup beneath his nose, swirling the liquid attractively in the bowl of the glass. After a pause, and without once averting his eyes from Haru's, he brought it to his lips. Haru felt goosebumps rise across the backs of his arms, heat creeping up from the base of his neck, though for the life of him he couldn't explain why.
Daisuke had likely spoken more in this one conversation than across all the time they'd spent together over the last few days, but Haru found himself wondering if silence would've been preferable to...this. Whatever this was. The mood had taken an entirely different turn, one that Haru couldn't name, but the heaviness from before continued to linger over their table like a raincloud, thick and oppressive, even as Daisuke allowed the topic to settle and die in peace.
Haru's mind remained blank, though he fought to process what Daisuke had meant, both by the weight of his gaze and the oddity of his words. As his phone lit up next to him, he jumped at the opportunity to busy himself with Kamei's message.
"me!! mememe!!!!!!! I want to look at an ice sculpture of a swan while eating!!!!!!!!!!"
It was just the sort of stupidity he needed right now to take his mind off of how it'd felt to be held down beneath those eyes.
...Yeah, he was going to stop thinking about it now. Right now. Immediately.
"You were more than welcome to volunteer instead. I'm going to arrest you for exclamation mark abuse at this rate."
Reluctant to put his phone down, Haru resorted to more mindless scrolling as they continued their meal, pointedly not looking at Daisuke again, no matter how many times he felt he was being watched. But he did drink a little slower, if only to prolong the periods of time between Daisuke lifting the bottle to politely refill his glass.
How many times had they quietly poured more for one another, again...?
The tightness of his shirt collar around his neck suggested possibly a couple times too many.
The room was a bit too warm to be comfortable, hazy and muted without being so distant that he was concerned for his ability to stand. Speaking of which, Haru felt he'd lingered long enough to be courteous, and was becoming increasingly desperate to crawl underneath a thick blanket and slowly suffocate himself. Mustering up the courage to excuse himself, Haru took a deep, steadying breath. There was no reason to feel so unsettled, he told himself.
He looked up, the words prepped and on his tongue, just in time to watch Daisuke fumble and drop his ramen egg back into the broth with a heavy plop. It was so uncharacteristic of the suave asshole that Haru spent several moments wondering if he'd imagined it.
Wait...is he...?
When he looked a little closer, Haru swore he could see a faint flush of color dusted across Daisuke's cheeks. The man looked almost perplexed, as if he himself wasn't sure what had just happened.
Unable to help himself, a snort of amusement bubbled up from Haru's chest, and he quickly clasped a hand over his mouth to hold it in, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Daisuke didn't seem to notice, suddenly seeming determined to catch the stubborn egg, and lifted it again with his chopsticks...only to repeat the process of losing his grip and watching it splash soup dangerously high up the walls of his bowl.
Haru was absolutely losing it.
As much as he wanted to watch Daisuke lose his egg ad infinitum, Haru's sides were threatening to split from the force of maintaining his composure, he practically bent double over the table. If he laughed much harder he was certain he was going to puke. There were tears in his eyes.
"O-oi," he started, voice unsteady with stray giggles as he wiped away dampness from his cheeks. "I'm gonna head back."
That caught Daisuke's attention. He seemed to forget all about his struggle in an instant, blinking slowly at Haru a few times before he set down his chopsticks and made to get up.
...Only to wobble precariously in his chair and catch himself on the edge of the table. One hand lifted to hold the side of his face, brow subtly furrowed and lips drawn in an firm, displeased line. With the slight haziness in his eyes and the flush in his cheeks, he looked...almost cute.
Choosing to completely and thoroughly disregard that stray thought, Haru got to his own feet, concerned despite himself (seeing as, not once, had Daisuke really expressed much concern for his own well being, and hardly deserved anyone else's worry).
"Can you stand?" Haru asked, although it was pretty plainly obvious that the answer was a resounding "no". The waiters had taken notice and were starting to look on, though no one seemed quite brave enough to question Daisuke's fortitude. As Daisuke tried and failed to straighten, appearing to reel at even this small change in altitude, Haru was able to narrow it down to a single explanation. "Are you drunk?" A hint of incredulous amusement crept into his voice, and he cleared his throat to shoo it away.
A cursory glance in the direction of all the ogling wait staff also made it clear what Haru's only real course of action was. The amusement was suddenly offset by exasperation. For all their servitude, no one here was offering to assist.
"Seriously...?" he muttered to himself as he came around the table to stand beside Daisuke. Heaving a sigh, he took only the briefest of moments to mentally steel himself before he slid an arm around Daisuke's waist, the other guiding Daisuke's across his shoulders to support him. "Of all people, I never would've expected you to be a lightweight." he commented with a snort, then glanced at the waiters. "Can we get the check?"
Daisuke was oddly compliant with being handled -- he leaned his weight heavily against Haru, and the heat of his body was apparent even through all those expensive layers of clothing.
"There's no need, sir, the bill has already--" Their waiter started, doing a rather fine job of maintaining a poker face.
"HEUSC," Daisuke spoke up suddenly, with more authority and much less of a slur than Haru would've expected from someone struggling to stand. "Purchase this establishment."
"Transaction failed. The establishment is already in possession of the Kambe corporation."
"Purchase it again," Daisuke insisted with mild irritation as he touched the stud in his left earlobe. "For twice the original purchasing price--"
"Okay, okay," Haru hurriedly interrupted, lest he end up collapsing from laughter under their combined weight. He could only hope he sounded placating around his muffled laughter. "Let's buy it in the morning. I want to go to bed..."
Strangely, that seemed to be a sufficient compromise for Daisuke. He quieted, hand falling away from his ear, and allowed Haru to begin walking them out of the restaurant, back towards the elevator. Although no one had bothered to offer any assistance with the drunk man he was half-dragging, they were all awfully quick to bow deeply as the two of them shuffled past. Haru rolled his eyes.
Once in the elevator, Haru leaned Daisuke against the wall so he could untangle himself and roll the tension from his shoulders. Every time he thought of the egg falling back into the ramen and Daisuke's face, looking down at it with such honest confusion, he couldn't help himself and had to bite into his tongue to keep back his laughter. It made carrying Daisuke's borderline deadweight to the elevator exceedingly difficult. Even now, standing in the silence of the ascending elevator, Haru had to struggle not to almost literally fall into a giggling fit.
It wasn't until the doors slid open on their floor that he looked over at Daisuke again. The man had slid down the wall and was seated there, threatening to nod off.
"Oi--!!" Haru exclaimed around even more of those amused snorts, despite being very much irritated by Daisuke's attempt to make a bed of the elevator. "Do you revert in age when you're drunk? What are you, a grade schooler after a trip to the aquarium? Don't fall asleep in the elevator..."
Though, try as he might to tug on Daisuke's arm, he simply refused to budge, and peered up at Haru without much concern. Somehow, despite the very different circumstances of their elevator ride, it was reminiscent of that same gaze he'd fixed Haru with after being slammed angrily against the wall.
"HEUSC, the elevator--"
"Don't try to buy the elevator!" Haru scolded, immediately feeling ridiculous for having to actually say a sentence like that out loud. "We're almost there. Show a little more resilience, won't you? Aren't you a cop?"
As the doors tried to slide back shut, Haru reached out and jabbed the "open" button at least several more times than necessary, for good measure. Then, he resigned himself to being disrespected even by drunk Daisuke (or perhaps, especially by drunk Daisuke), and stooped down to heft the man up, maneuvering him clumsily and with maximum awkwardness onto his back.
"You're not a rag doll. The least you can do is help position yourself."
Though arguably, the sluggish squirming that resulted from Haru's demand was likely worse than having Daisuke limp. In the end, he had Daisuke's legs around his hips and arms around his neck, his hands under Daisuke's thighs. Not entirely sober himself, he teetered a bit dangerously one way, then the other before he was able to right himself properly and trudge, with exaggerated dejection, out of the elevator. At least they really were almost there. Just a few heavy steps down the hall saw them to the door, which Haru stared at, hoping to will open purely by the force of his desire alone.
When that didn't work, he jabbed his elbow into Daisuke's side to get his attention.
When that didn't work, he craned his neck to peer at the head of hair resting on his shoulder.
"...You better not be asleep. How am I supposed to get back in the room? ...Are you listening? I'm gonna drop you."
That got a response. The arms around Haru's shoulders tightened, and Daisuke gave a soft mm as he shifted. He turned his head so that his cheek was resting atop Haru's shoulder, nose brushing against the exposed line of his neck and ghosting warm breath across his skin. Haru instantly stiffened, fingers digging just a little into the outer edges of Daisuke's thighs as his ears started to burn.
"HEUSC...open the door." The murmur was muffled against Haru's skin. Haru could tell because he could feel it. Very clearly.
There was a soft click, and the light above the handle of the door flashed green. As much as Haru wanted to stand there and contemplate how the hell that had even worked, he was far too overtaken with the sudden urgency to deposit Daisuke somewhere and find a hole to crawl into. It took a bit of careful balancing to free a hand enough to grip the handle, but embarrassment was a powerful fuel; having succeeded in getting the two of them into the room, he made a beeline for the couch, where he attempted to dump Daisuke unceremoniously by releasing his legs and leaning back.
Unfortunately Daisuke hadn't gotten the memo, as he maintained an iron grip around Haru's neck, resulting in unbalancing the both of them. Daisuke landed on the couch, sure, but Haru went down with him, landing face up with his back pressed to Daisuke's chest. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, winded by the rollercoaster of emotions this evening had been thus far, and finding he had little energy left to waste on exploding over this mishap in particular.
"...You're heavy for someone so short," was his compromise, delivered with an emotionally exhausted snort. Haru draped his arm over his eyes, willing the room to stop vibrating. Behind his eyelids, he watched Daisuke drop his egg again, and began to shake with renewed laughter.
The arms holding him hostage finally unwound from around him, and Haru hefted himself up into a seated position with significant effort. All the exertion made an already stifling outfit even more uncomfortably warm, and he shrugged unthinkingly out of his jacket, his loosened tie shortly following suit. He glanced back at Daisuke then, still sprawled across the couch where Haru had left him, and staring up at Haru, very much awake. There was still a haze to his usually crystal clear eyes and a rosy color to his pale cheeks, but he looked deceptively lucid, all things considered.
Unable to handle more of that heavy intensity, Haru deflected it with the first thing he could think of: he took his tie and draped it around Daisuke's forehead.
Were he in his proper state of mind, he never would have even considered pulling a stunt like this. But, sitting strangely close, warm on wine and lingering gazes, it seemed the most natural course of action.
Haru burst abruptly into uncontrollable laughter, no longer caring to restrain himself.
Instead of tossing the tie off immediately, Daisuke caught the trailing end of it with his fingers and lifted to inspect the fabric, tracing over it with a thumb. There was almost that sort of patience again as he let Haru's laughter run its course in silence.
Once it began to subside, Haru's stomach aching and eyes glossy with tears again, he took note of the tie still around Daisuke's own neck. It was that same sort of alcohol-inspired boldness that resulted in Haru reaching for it.
"How much even was this thing, anyway?" he asked, then, after a brief pause, added, "...actually, I don't want to know."
Daisuke smirked up at him, which still managed to make him look infuriatingly smug, even when he had a tie around his forehead. His hands went to his neck, loosening the knot and sliding the article free with a soft rustle of glossy fabric. Then, with surprisingly steady hands for someone unable to walk himself back to the room, he looped it behind Haru's neck and began to tie it for him.
"More than dinner," Daisuke offered mildly, his movements smooth, practiced, almost automatic. Although the tie was still loose around Haru's neck, he found it strangely difficult to breathe.
"...How much was dinner?" Haru asked, swallowing thick and making his adam's apple bob just above Daisuke's knuckles.
"I thought you didn't want to know." With a gentle tug, Daisuke smoothed out the knot of the tie, then leaned back to admire his work, smirk still present.
"I don't," Haru confirmed simply. He was painfully aware of the weight of the tie.
His lips twitched, and then he was fighting back more laughter -- this bout noticeably a bit more of the nervous variety.
"Y-you look....ridiculous--" Haru stammered out, then fumbled in his pocket for his phone. Prepping the camera, he leaned a little closer to Daisuke to fit them both in the frame, and put on his most stoic expression. After snapping several, some more blurry than others, he added, "Do I look like a rich asshole?"
He was too busy admiring himself in the selfie camera to notice Daisuke was still staring.
"omg he's so drunk wwwww" Haru shot off quickly to Kamei, complete with several of their selfies attached.
He was still snickering about it to himself when he felt the warm pad of Daisuke's thumb just below his eye, brushing a soft crescent across the skin. The remaining laughter died in his throat, his phone slowly lowering back to his lap.
"You have long eyelashes," Daisuke commented, appearing to lack all sense of shame in this moment.
Haru was frozen in place, unable to move and slowly burning alive from the inside out.
What?? was what he wanted to ask, but it just echoed repeatedly inside his skull.
"How much?" Daisuke asked after allowing Haru some time to impersonate a statue. This time Haru at least managed to get his voice working again.
"This again?" ...well, barely working, he supposed. It threatened to crack. "How much for what?" Perhaps it was just Haru's imagination, but the color in Daisuke's cheeks seemed to deepen ever so slightly, and he glanced away, just for a moment.
"How much to kiss you?"
Comprehension took its time dawning across Haru's face, bringing with it more of that heat, equal parts sweet and unbearable. A silence that may have drawn on almost indefinitely in normal circumstances was shortened, the alcohol having severed the connection between his mind and his mouth, allowing him to blurt out words unthinkingly.
"The hell--" he fumbled, startled and mad and tipsy and a million other things all at once. "That's not something you can just buy!" he insisted it as if it were the most common knowledge assertion one could make.
"Then what do I need to give you?" Daisuke was holding Haru in place with his stare again, determination manifested as firmness in his tone.
"You idiot," Haru scolded. "It's more than just that! It's not an object you can buy, it's an expression of feeling! It has to be the right person, the right time, the right place...you don't kiss someone because you're asked, but because you feel it with your heart!" Suddenly spurred into an impassioned lecture, he seemed to momentarily forget why he needed to "educate" Daisuke in the first place, wrapped up as he was in describing the romanticism of the act itself.
"Like when you meet that person, and just from a smile you feel drawn to them...and the more time you spend together, the more you can't look away, and your heart always seems to be racing, and your mind stops working...when it gets to the point that, every time you're together, you can hardly stand it, and that feeling wells up in your chest until you feel like you're about to burst, so you have no choice but to lean in--!"
Just as his voice was beginning to raise in pitch and crack from flustering himself all over again, he was jerked forward by his temporarily borrowed tie.
Daisuke's lips were on his.
It was far clumsier than Haru had expected, given how steady Daisuke's hands had been tying the tie around his neck -- it was off-center, catching more around the corner of his mouth than dead on. They lingered a moment like that, connected, Haru hunched awkwardly over Daisuke and held in place by the taut line of the tie. As eager as Daisuke had been to initiate, there was still something almost restrained about the kiss, it lacking the sort of heated exploration usually accompanying such spontaneity. Nor did Daisuke hold him there for long; the tension through the tie dropped first, and then he pulled back.
There was something distantly pensive in his eyes, as if he were searching for something too far away to focus on.
Haru's lips still tingled. He swallowed. Not a single thought surfaced.
"...Really?" he asked quietly, after a long moment in which Daisuke didn't bother to explain himself. When he received only a questioning stare in answer, he continued. "Is spending money all you know how to do?" He sounded mad. Irritable. Impatient. Was he all of those things? He couldn't tell. His lips were warm.
Why was he so agitated? Did he hate it that much?
Daisuke's lips pressed subtly together into a firm line, and he looked away.
Did he look pained? ...Why did Haru's chest feel like it was about to burst?
"Idiot--" he muttered, unsure which of them it was even meant for, just before he grabbed Daisuke by the front of his jacket and pulled him into another kiss.
This time, aligned properly, their lips fit neatly together; Daisuke's were warm, scaldingly so, and surprisingly soft. When Haru didn't get an immediate response, he pressed a little harder, knuckles paling from the force of his grip, lower lip aching sweetly from the supple pressure of a mouth against his own.
A pause, and then, slowly, fingers traced a line beneath Haru's jaw, following its curve up behind his ear to sift through his hair. The hesitation of the touch almost served to startle him more than the fact they had ended up tangled together on the couch of what was likely to be one of the most expensive hotel rooms in Hong Kong. Haru's grip began to loosen, shaking hands stilling somewhat, allowing his hold to grow more natural. His head was hazy with sweet wine and the heat of another body against his own.
They stayed together like that a few moments, the initial ferocity dying down into something slower, bordering dazed. The unhurried kneading of their lips didn't match the frantic pace of Haru's heartbeat, throbbing away in his throat and ears until it was the only thing he could hear.
Daisuke's hand didn't move much. Neither did Haru's. And when Haru pulled back, Daisuke didn't stop him.
"...Like that," Haru huffed, glancing away. As he sat up, he rubbed at the back of his neck, almost sheepish. "It's like you've never kissed anyone before."
When Daisuke simply looked away in turn, Haru panicked.
"Don't tell me--?!"
"I have," Daisuke interrupted, almost curt, almost indignant. With the faint color in his face, his hair slightly disheveled, and his tie off he looked...kinda cute.
Haru panicked again.
"Well, whatever," he brushed the topic off hastily, not feeling particularly keen on getting to the specifics of who Daisuke had kissed, or allowing himself to linger on that brief, concerning realization that Daisuke could look cute. "I don't really care."
His heart hadn't calmed down yet, and his thoughts were still a jumbled mess. Certainly this was the most ideal time to jump to his feet and scurry off to his room, citing their busy day ahead as his excuse for abruptly making himself scarce. And, to some extent he very much wanted to resume his plan to crawl under the covers and never emerge again. So why was he hesitating?
Daisuke didn't say anything, but he was staring at Haru again. Haru could feel it, the weight nearly familiar by this point, though he still found it almost entirely unreadable. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he rubbed impatiently along his nape, willing the feeling (and the memory of Daisuke's fingers) away.
"...What?" Haru prompted after several agonizing moments of this.
Instead of replying, Daisuke slowly reclined back against the arm of the couch and draped one wrist across his eyes. His brow furrowed, and his lips tightened in a grimace.
Haru blinked once. Twice.
With a soft groan, Daisuke raised his other hand to loosely cover his mouth.
"...water, if you would..."
It was the most pitiful he'd heard Daisuke yet. Realization crashed down on Haru like a bucket of ice water, courtesy of a high school bully's immature prank.
"Shit-- seriously?? Just how much of a lightweight can you be?!"
And that was how, reluctantly, Haru was roped into nursing Daisuke through one of the earliest onset hangovers he'd ever had the misfortune to witness.
Needless to say, he hardly got any sleep that night. In fact, he couldn't even remember when he'd finally gotten the opportunity to nod off -- he was only made aware that he had been asleep in the first place when he was woken up by the frantic, persistent buzzing of his phone in his pocket.
The dull ache in his head hit him first, followed by his neck, his back, his hips...most of his body, really. Haru's eyes cracked open, staring up at the ceiling as it went from an unfocused blur to something vaguely more recognizable. He came to the realization that he was curled up on one side of the couch, nestled in the crook of the arm with his head bent at an odd angle against the back cushion. As he slowly tried to stretch out his limbs, that dull ache exploded into a cacophony of loud, insistent complaints, every joint screaming out its stiff agony. He hissed softly, but endured until he was at least able to maneuver himself into a slightly less awkward position.
That's when he became aware of the other half of the couch, mysteriously empty as it was. Sleep-deprived and suffering the aftereffects of a little too much indulgence, Haru could hardly recall the events of the previous night in detail, but he had the impression that Daisuke had been there when he'd eventually passed out.
Faintly, he noticed the sound of a shower down the hall, and he gave a snort.
"Figures..." he muttered sulkily. Of course Daisuke would be the type to emerge from a long night of alcohol-induced illness relatively unscathed.
Haru, meanwhile, felt like someone had poured the entire Sahara desert down his throat while he'd been asleep.
His phone, the source of his rude awakening, continued to buzz in his pocket. Haru stared blankly up at the ceiling a while longer, wanting very much to fetch himself some water, but finding a disconnect between the desire and his physical ability to move. As he shifted to, at the very least, retrieve his phone and shut it up, he noticed a glass on the coffee table in front of him. It was full, and the condensation on the glass suggested that it had been filled with cold water relatively recently.
Unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth in his current desperate state, Haru reached forward to retrieve it, his back screaming at him all the while. He was too young to have the range of movement of a ninety year old...
As he drank, he unlocked his phone, then nearly spit his mouthful of water back out.
46 notifications.
Panic settled in. His mind jumped to the worst possible explanations, shuffling through various scenarios where one (or all) of his family, friends, and acquaintances were now in the hospital, or dying, or dying in the hospital. His hands trembled as he scrambled to open them, sweat beginning to bead on his brow, his thumb miss-tapping around the icon several times before he successfully selected it.
Slowly, he set down the mostly untouched glass of water. His phone slipped out of his hand, sliding off the curve of his thigh and landing with a thump on the thick rug beneath the couch. Haru leaned forward, head in his hands, shoulders beginning to shake.
On the screen of his phone, face up, was one of the ridiculous pictures he'd taken with Daisuke last night, brazenly posted to twitter, courtesy of Kamei. Haru had only gotten the briefest glance of the comments left on it, but that was more than enough.
Now, in the light of day, without the tunnel vision induced by alcohol, Haru was painfully aware of just how closely Daisuke was looking at him in the picture. He was painfully aware how close they were sitting, and what the exchange in ties seemed to imply.
Worst of all, it brought back the memory of tingling heat against his lips, which Haru certainly was in no condition to process right now.
Kamei, Haru thought, a tremor even in his mental voice, the only souvenir I'm bringing you back is a knuckle sandwich, you asshole...