Work Text:
One
The truth is, Fukamachi has never really been to any parties. Not just university parties, or high school parties, but any party period. The first one he went to and the only one has been to so far was the surprise birthday party for Takatsuki-sensei, and even then it was more of a small gathering than anything else. At the time it felt big, and a lot, and overwhelming but good. To be surrounded by people who care about each other. To laugh and have fun, to celebrate someone’s life. Especially when one is so grateful for it. But that doesn’t mean that it at all prepared him for this.
“Are you- Are you sure I should be here Namba?” He asks cautiously when they enter the loudness of the place. There’s people everywhere, it’s a big house, but it’s still crowded somehow. The music is loud and there are clearly already intoxicated people everywhere. It’s kind of unnerving, if not a little intriguing.
“Come on, Fukamachi, it will be fun, and you’ve never been to party before right? This is like a rite of passage for youth these days.” Namba’s arm goes around him, excited grin as Fukamachi nods and tries to get out of his grip. He’s been trying to get better with touch lately, but it’s still difficult for him. “Ooh, I see Aimi!”
With that Namba let’s get, running away from him to his girlfriend, even though Fukamachi tries to reach out, to call him back, but his voice falls flat in the noise, and he’s too shy to try to reach it any louder. Suddenly he’s left with strangers in a strange place, at a strange event he’s never been privy too before. It seems like everything has already headed for disaster.
…
Twenty minutes later, he’s found the kitchen, and where all the alcohol is. At first nervous and questioning, he stands there unsure until a kind classmate comes in and says, “You’re from my Folklore Studies class, aren’t you? I’m Vi.”
Fukamachi bows a little in greeting, something she just laughs at but not harshly, just friendly. “I knew it was you.” She continues. “Are you… getting a drink?”
He stares, stammering a little with eyes uncertain, hand rubbing at the back of his head, “Um, I’m not- I…”
“First time to one of Noki’s parties, huh? That’s okay, he goes a little wild but it’s really free. Serve yourself. I could make you one if you want? Or perhaps you’d prefer just a beer?”
He’s honestly not sure if he wants to drink at all, but it’s not like he’s underage he’s just never done it like this before. Never had occasion or company to do so. “A beer sounds nice.” He lands on, if anything maybe it will help the rapidly forming headache as voices overflow his senses ease. Surprisingly though, it’s not as loud or painful as he thought it would be. Maybe there really is something to drinking making a person more honest.
“Here.” She smiles handing it over.
Her own mixed drink reaching out as they clink them together. “Thank you for the drink.”
The taste is a little funny. But most alcohol is. The only time he really remembers having any was back home at special occasions. At wakes and things like that, but that was always just one small sip.
“Let me guess, you came with Namba, right? I can take you back to him if you want. I think him and Tanimura were going to set up a hashiken game.” Her smile is kind as she leads him back into the noise of the party.
She doesn’t touch him, but he knows that he’s expected to follow, and what else is he going to do here? He came here to have fun didn’t he?
Still, it kind of hurts that Namba left him alone, but it helps when he meets up with him and his girlfriend, Tanimura scolds Namba for doing so. Him begging her forgiveness before apologising to himself.
Fukamachi hides a small laugh, and quietly forgives.
“Oh, we’ve got to explain the rules for Fukamachi, you don’t know how to play right? Don’t worry its super easy.”
Fukamachi sips his beer and wonders if that much is certain.
“But you need something stronger to drink.”
Huh?
…
When Takatsuki last saw Fukamachi, it was in his office earlier that night being dragged away by Namba-kun, an apology on his lips as he dragged the other away. Something about a party being whispered between the two. It made himself smile at the thought of his favourite student, his friend finally getting out and being around other young people his age, but he couldn’t help but feel a little worried. Fukamachi hasn’t been out much, or around people normally, but this is good for him.
That is until after midnight, closer to one when he’s still going over his student’s thesis’s that he gets a strange phone call from Fukamachi. The tiredness he was beginning to feel as his last cup of hot cocoa fades from his system, disappearing in quick succession as he picks up the call, replaced by worry. “Hello?”
“Sensei? Are you there!?” It’s not Fukamachi’s voice, but it is a familiar one’s. Namba-kun. Takatsuki feels a little cold and a little faint at the thought of why he’s calling using Fukamachi’s phone. Not to mention how inebriated he sounds.
“Yes, I’m here Namba-kun. Is everything alright?” He tries to calm his racing heart as he waits for an answer.
“Uh… Yeah, don’t get mad. But the students- us- well, them- I wouldn’t-”
“I’m not angry, Namba-kun, just worried. Are you and Fukamachi-kun alright?”
“I’m perfect! Super! But uh… Fukamchi maybe drank too much? And now he’s asking for you? And he refuses to move.” Namba’s voice is unsure, and a little perplexed. Takatsuki can’t help but admit that he feels the same way, perplexed that is, but his heart is already squeezing tightly at the thought of Fukamachi having drunk that much. How vulnerable he must be, in a strange place, with lies all around- although if they all drank that much they’re probably all a little too honest right now. But still, his heart quickens and he’s already standing reaching for his jacket.
“Where are you? I’m on my way.”
“Ah, thanks, Sensei. But uh, don’t tell the dean, okay?”
“Our little secret.” He promises, already down the stairs. “Just tell me where you both are?” His heart hammers. Fukamachi-kun was asking for him? The only thing he can think of is bad memories. Being inebriated sometimes brings things one doesn’t want to think about to the surface. How much exactly did he drink? Probably not much, but if he’s never…
“It’s Noki’s annual party.”
The one they- the staff, banned half a year ago after the police were called. Takatsuki sighs, eyes shut in a wave of concern and some small anger, but he puts that away for now, and focuses on how grateful he is that this is a place he’s actually been to before. He can’t afford to get lost, not now, not tonight. Not when Fukamachi drank too much and is asking for him.
…
“You’re a life saver, sensei.” Is the first thing Namba says when he meets him at the front door.
Takatsuki is on a mission though as he asks, “Where is he? Where’s Fukamachi-kun?”
Namba smiles, tinged in worry as he leads him through the house. Other inebriated students turn to look, whispers as to why a professor is here, but Takatsuki pays them no mind. He’s led to a bathroom, the door opening to find a curled up figure by the bathtub. His heart stops.
“Fukamachi-kun?” He asks gently, walking in slowly as to not scare him, or disturb him.
When he gets closer he finds the younger sniffling. Crying. His heart squeezes.
“It’s me, Fukamachi-kun? Takatsuki-sensei. You were asking for me, do you remember?” He keeps his voice as soft and level as he can, getting closer and closer until he’s kneeling beside him, but not touching. Knowing how much Fukamachi struggles with it, he doesn’t want to push him right now. But he’s asking himself, ‘what happened?’ quite severely.
“S- Sensei?” Hesitant, unsure as eyes look up to his through rimmed glasses, eyes red.
“It’s me.” He says, smile as kind and unthreatening as he can make it.
Fukamachi seems to find this upsetting somehow, at least that’s Takatsuki’s first impression as his lip wobbles, but then suddenly he’s being thrown at. Fukamachi is in his arms, arms wrapping around him tightly, a face suddenly burrowing in his neck, rubbing in there, arms so tight it almost hurts. His own heart aching at the way Fukamachi clings to him, whimpers into his embrace.
It takes him a moment to respond, but it’s a moment too soon as Fukamachi seems to take this as rejection, letting go a little, but Takatsuki doesn’t let him, quickly hugging him back. Holding on just tightly if not more so, arms warm and big wrapping around his back as Fukamachi does the same to him. A hand reaching up to cup the back of his head, to his neck, to his back again, holding him impossibly close as tears run down his neck.
“It’s okay.” He finds himself promising, and meaning it to. “It’s okay.” He rubs his back, trying to put meaning and feeling in ever touch- every tight but firm squeeze of his arms as he himself feels tears threatening. Fukamachi’s warm cheek presses against his own, impossibly gentle and soft.
They stay like that for a while, Takatsuki isn’t sure how long, but all he knows is that he really just wants to take Fukamachi home. To his home. Wrap him up in as many warm blankets with as much warmth, love, and kindness as he can. Feed him something warm, maybe some tea, wash his face. Take care of him. His heart aches with the need, with the need to do something. To make, whatever this is, ease. Stop.
“What’s wrong?” He asks softly. “Are you okay, Fukamachi-kun?”
But Fukamachi doesn’t respond to any questions, just holding tightly as if he’s afraid Takatsuki would let go. That he’d ever do such a foolish thing.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Fukamachi-kun. I’m not going anywhere.”
Fukamachi just holds him tighter, as if he can’t quite believe that. And really who blames him? Takatsuki knows all too well what it’s like to be abandoned.
…
Somehow he gets him up, still clinging to him as they head out of the party, most of the party goers having disappeared at the whispers of a professor here, but the ones who stay are too intoxicated to really notice. Takatsuki is glad, he’s not sure that Fukamachi would want everyone staring or remembering him clinging to him. Arms wrapped around him, face burrowed in, body warm and pressed against his own.
If Takatsuki could, he’d pick him up and carry him home.
Such a strange thought, is his next one though at that. But he’s never really been one to adhere to social norms. Knowing all too well how those change and differ as the centuries go.
He calls for taxi a though, grateful when the person doesn’t make any comment to the way Fukamachi crawls into his lap, curling into him with nose pressed into where his shoulder and neck meet, arms wrapped around him, holding him so close it almost hurts to breathe. But not for the physical restrictions the hold causes, but the emotional ones.
Takatsuki just finds himself smiling back, softly, arms holding on back too, one hand finding its way in Fukamachi’s hair, fingers threading through the locks, slightly sweaty but that doesn’t deter him.
When they get inside, Fukamachi is half asleep, but still so strong in his grip that even when Takastuki tries to leave him on his bed, Fukamachi holds on too tightly to let him really go. He could though, if he wanted to, but the way Fukamachi’s lip quivers, his eyes blurred over in silent tears has him disappearing any such thoughts. Heart in his throat, chest tight, he reaches out and helps to rearrange them in a comfortable sleeping position for them both.
It turns out that this entails Fukamachi laying half on top him, if not fully, arms still clinging to him, face still pressed into his neck. Glasses carefully placed on the nightstand, as Fukamachi takes full advantage of this obstacle being gone, and pressing more firmly into the other. Takatsuki just holds on back, arms around his middle, tight against his back, warm and firm. He rubs a little, leaning up to cup his head, fingers through his hair that Fukamachi seems to like as he exhales into the embrace. Fingers tight in his shirt, clutching, so afraid.
It breaks Takatsuki’s heart, makes him want to hold him forever.
“I- I’m sorry.” Fukamachi mumbles into the silence of soft breath, when Takatsuki thought that he has fallen asleep, himself close to that too.
Takatsuki, pulls the blanket over him- them more snuggly, heart hammering. “Why’s that?”
Hesitant, unsure, but Takatsuki is ever so patient as he waits, fingers threaded through his hair gently, a palm pressed against his soft cheek for a long moment before continuing back through his hair, then rubbing along his back. Fukamachi’s fingers simply tighten more firmly into his clothing before finally being able to say, “I- I just needed…”
Slight embarrassment, slight shame, it permeates the air, but it seems Fukamachi is done speaking about it. It’s only then, when Takatsuki is certain of that fact that he says, pushing his nose a little gently against Fukamachi’s heated cheek, “You don’t have to be sorry for this, Fukamachi-kun. It’s normal. You know this is how I show my affection too.” He doesn’t mention how he’s never let anyone hold him like this, never held anyone back until Fukamachi-kun. And never planned to. Hugs, yes, with Ken-chan, loads, but never… ‘He’s so warm.’ Is what he thinks, and, ‘My heart feels warm.’
Fukamachi-kun is different, but then again, Takatsuki has always known that.
In the morning, he’ll wash Fukamchi’s face- wash the tears away. He’ll cook him breakfast and make the coffee he likes. He’ll ruffle his hair, and touch his shoulder, and give him all the affection he deserves. Has lost.
And he’ll never leave.
Never.
It’s a silent promise, he knows that he’ll uphold. No matter how hard it may get.
It’s his turn now, to hold Fukamachi more tightly, to comfort the soft and gentle tears that have nothing to do with ill feelings, not really, not in the way that one might think. Because he understands. He really does.
The words, for the first time, he finds are hard to come by. So instead, he says the most true and honest ones he knows, heart aching. “You’re a precious friend of mine. I’m not going anywhere.” So precious.
…
Fukamachi wakes up with an aching head, stomach a little nauseous, and far too warm. The whole world is bright, and he winces, as something under him begins to move. “Ah…” He says, eyes attempting to open, as a blurry vision overtakes.
“Sorry, Fukamachi-kun, but I didn’t want to move you, so I wasn’t able to close the curtains.” Takatsuki tells him gently.
Its then that he realizes that there are arms around him, that he’s in a bed of softness, that his sensei is looking at him fondly. He sits up quickly, wincing at the pounding in his head that causes, but very relieved when he finds that they’re both wearing clothes, and then blushes at such an absurd thought.
Takatsuki’s smile just grows more endeared as he starts to reach out.
Fukamachi flinches away, a small bit of hurt crossing Takatsuki’s features, but it quickly disappears as he sits up too. “I just took you home last night, because Namba called me. Do you remember?” He says it like he’s hopeful but also unsure.
Fukamachi feels his face flush a deeper crimson as he remembers how he clung to him- together, but also how warm it made him feel- his heart- how good it was. How he aches for it even now. How he just wants-
“I should take a shower.” He says instead, and then realizing too late how he’s not in his own home, eyes looking over the knickknacks that seem to litter across sensei’s bedroom. Folklore stuff. Everywhere. History, archeology, everything. It screams, ‘Takatsuki-sensei.’
Takatsuki only smiles. “I have some clothes you can borrow. But allow me to relieve myself first.” He then gets up and disappears to do just that, but hesitates a little with a hand half held out as if he were going to touch him or something. When he doesn’t, Fukamachi isn’t sure if he’s grateful or hurt by the way he doesn’t- the way he hesitates.
…
The shower is hot, and wonderful, and the clothes are only slightly too big. A white dress shirt and sweatpants. It makes Fukamachi wonder if Takatsuki has anything other than dress shirts, but he must because when he gets to the kitchen, he finds his professor- and friend in a sweatshirt. It’s almost unnerving to see but it’s tampered by how professional it still looks.
The smile almost equally so as Fukamachi takes in the sudden large breakfast in front of him, most of it greasier food. “Ah, you didn’t have to do all this.” He tries. Takatsuki just smiles and comes over, setting a cup of coffee in front of him.
Fukamachi blinks down at the dark substance and tries not to look too eager as he sits down and sips it gratefully. Takatsuki still staring at him when he’s done, still standing there too when it clearly smells like the last dish he’s cooking is done. “Uh… Sensei…?”
Takatsuki smiles, and reaches out with no hesitancy this time, to ruffle his hair, but it’s surprisingly gentle, and soft. Leaving him with a blush down his cheeks at how much it warms him from head to toe.
“Don’t forget to drink that glass of water in front of you. That’s the real cure to a hangover.” Takatsuki tells him as he turns back to his stove.
Fukamachi’s cheeks redden even more at the implication. “Ah, last night… It wasn’t… Namba dragged me there.”
Takatsuki’s smile is kind and affectionate as he places the last plate on the table and sits down across from him. “I’m sure it was all Namba-kun’s fault.” He says mildly.
Fukamachi tries to not look up at this, instead, looking down and saying far too honestly at a time like this, “I’m sorry, and- Thank you… Sensei.” Quiet, like a whisper, but not unheard like one. He expects Takatsuki to say, ‘no problem,’ or something simple along those lines and move on, but what he doesn’t expect is a sudden warm hand on his wrist that makes him jump, fighting not to pull away, Takatsuki’s eyes peer into his almost knowingly- saying to him, in a way that makes Fukamachi know that he’s not just talking about the drinking, “I was happy that you wanted me to come and get you. And… Anytime, Fukamachi-kun. I mean it.”
Fukamachi freezes, even as Takastsuki takes his hand away and goes back to his food. It takes him a few minutes to rework his brain back into coffee and food mode, skin still so heated- but at Takatsuki’s stern looks to the water, he reaches for that too. His heart skipping a beat a little when he sees the pills for headaches next to the glass.
He takes them.
…
When rumours start circulating about a certain Folklore Studies professor showing up at a certain university off-campus party that the school already shut down with stern warnings of suspensions, well, let’s just say a certain good friend makes sure that they don’t evolve into anything more.
IE, you mention the professor and said student, said professor may mention the party to the dean.
The rumours soon disappear after that.
(But Fukamachi and Takatsuki’s memories, do not.)
Two
“You really don’t have to do this, sensei.” Fukamachi feels the need to say for the tenth time tonight, but he can’t help it. It’s a little excessive and a lot out of his professor’s way to go. Besides, it makes him nervous for Takatsuki-sensei to go out of his way for himself like this. It feels… odd. Not bad, just odd, and like maybe he should be waiting for the other shoe to drop, but under the campus’s soft glow of streetlights, Takatsuki-sensei stops walking and turns to smile at him gently. Nothing but kindness in those eyes.
“You need this book for your essay, I really don’t mind lending it to you, Fukamachi-kun. I’m just sorry that we have to go all the way to my home to get it.” He laughs a little with his next words of, “I’ve been meaning to bring it back to my office but I fell asleep reading it the other night, actually. So if anything, I should be apologizing to you for this inconvenience.”
“Ah, no, that’s not it.” Fukamachi tries but Takatsuki is steadfast in his own words, and Fukamachi can’t help but smile a little at the thought of his professor falling asleep like that. Honestly, it’s very plausible. He’s found his sensei, and friend fallen asleep on a number of objects of research before. He can just imagine him in the comfort of his own home. The fact that he’d probably be worse than at his office. (Now actually having seen his bed and home before, that picture gets clearer).
“Then what is it?” He asks kindly and patiently, so much so that it makes Fukamachi glance up a little at a loss for words. He’s so used to people dismissing him, not wanting to hear what he has to say, the truth for one, that it always startles him when Takatsuki gives him room to breathe. To speak. To say whatever is on his mind, without judgement, without reproach.
“It’s nothing.” He looks down and away, a little ashamed at how he felt like maybe Takatsuki wasn’t being sincere, waiting for something bad to happen.
Takatsuki only smiles though and says, “I’ve said it before haven’t I? You’re my friend, Fukamachi-kun, and I am your sensei too. I want to help you. I don’t mind lending you the book but it will take some time out of your studying time tonight I’m afraid, with the commute.” He starts walking forward again, Fukamachi quickly falling in step with him down the darkening path. “Why don’t you stay over tonight again? That way… Fukamachi-kun?”
He’s stopped walking, a little frozen as he remembers the last time he was at his sensei’s place, cheeks heated up at the memory. When he finally notices Takatsuki’s stare, he blinks rapidly. “Sorry.”
Takatsuki only smiles. “It’s okay. You don’t have to. But if you want to I do have a guest room, but I don’t mind either way. As long as you’re comfortable and are able to finish your school work. I know it can be a large burden around this time of the year.”
“I’m fine, thank you sensei.” But he doesn’t give him an answer as to the staying over, because his brain is still tripping over those thoughts quite rapidly. Warmth. Arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Too wrapped up in his own thoughts and memories, Fukamachi doesn’t hear the ‘caw’ of the bird until it’s too late. He looks up just as Takatsuki does, just as the large black bird flies above, but oh so close, as if he knew Takatsuki. Was drawn to him in some strange way, and wanted to greet him. As if this happens all the time.
Fukamachi’s terrified eyes with his heart hammering, turn to his sensei whose eyes flash blue, brilliant and bright. Even if the last time this happened, nothing bad did, Fukamachi still remembers the cave, the ladder, and the resounding, ‘crack,’ that echoed. He was so terrified, so scared, and having to carry his sensei on his back, lips pale- face so… It’s something he’ll never forget. Pushes him to run forward without more thought now. Arms out, and in turn, willing to catch.
They fall together, slumped into the safety and softness of the grass rather than the pavement, only that doesn’t seem to matter to Takatsuki’s eyes, rolling into the back of his head. Limp in his arms, Fukamachi tries not to freak out. But his heart hammers, and his breath becomes uneven as he shakes the older man. “Sensei? SenseI!?”
‘In and out,’ He reminds himself. He can’t help him if he’s not calm himself, okay.
Ken-chan talked him through it last time, explained about stress and other factors. That after having to face things, his past, that Takatsuki’s body- his self has just been trying to catch up. That it’s okay. That he just needs rest, and a lot of care. That he will be okay. And Fukamachi remembers the way he nodded, the way he agreed himself without question. Because he knows a little something about being abandoned too. Because they’re not going anywhere.
“It’s okay, sensei. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” He promises gently, helping with all the care and strength he muster to get the other on his back, reaching for his phone as he does so. He dials for a cab after Ken-chan’s phone goes to voicemail. Probably busy working.
He walks to the road, helping to put Takatsuki into the back of the taxi when it arrives, leaning his head against his shoulder, counting every soft even puff of breath like every one is a miracle. A gratefulness slipping through as his hand comes up to cup his forehead, a bright burning slips through. And he prays.
Fingers tentatively touch from forehead to the side of his head, threading through his hair once before he realizes what he’s doing. He pulls away, and sits more firmly in his seat. Only turning back when Takatsuki mumbles softly, “T- Tengu…”
Fukamachi feels his body freeze at those words, but only for a moment before he leans in closer, lips soft against his hair as he promises, “No, sensei. It’s me. It’s Fukamachi.... You’re okay. We’re almost home.”
He purposely does not look the taxi driver in the eyes, cheeks suddenly flushed as Takatsuki unconsciously grips his shirt tighter.
What he wouldn’t give to slip his hand against his, to press their fingertips together in gentle warmth.
But like usual, his cowardness gets the better of him. He does none of these things, and regrets it immensely. Promising to make it up to the other, somehow, someway.
…
He gets to make up for it when the taxi pulls up and Ken-chan stands there waiting for them with a worried frown and open arms. “What are you doing here?” Fukamachi asks, but his eyes still linger back to Takatsuki’s unconscious features just as quickly, worry for him outshining all else.
Ken-chan responds quickly, “I got your message.” He left a message? He must have. “Come on, let’s get him inside.”
Fukamachi is glad of the help as they both carry him in. Not that he couldn’t have himself if he really had to, but it’s good not to be alone like this, when something like this is going on. When he’s worried, and- and scared. Seeing Takatsuki-sensei like this, is hard for him. Not smiling, not talking, or full of his usual energy. Just… quiet. He looks so, exhausted when they finally get him into bed.
Fukamachi reaches out, pulling the blanket up to his chin firmly but with a gentle touch, unsure of any of this. He flatness out the fabric a little around him, like his mom used to do when he was very small. The only time she ever did, and fails to notice the way Ken-chan watches him like a hawk, like something curious. Fukamachi’s full attention is on Takatsuki, even as Ken-chan leaves and returns with a cool cloth pressed to Takatsuki’s forehead.
“He’ll be fine.” Ken-chan promises. “He’s just tired.”
Fukamachi nods, but his heart still twists tightly, and his eyes can’t leave the other. He looks so pale. So sick. But he’s not… He’s just… finally letting himself accept what has happened to him. Consciously or not, no one can keep going like he has forever.
“He’ll be okay, Fukamachi-kun.” A warm hand on his shoulder has Fukamachi looking up, worried eyes on him now as he realizes with a start that he’s crying. He quickly wipes the warm tears away, wondering where they came from at all, but is stopped shortly when Takatsuki begins mumbling again.
“T- Tengu…”
It breaks Fukamachi, his heart hurts, aches, and he’s helpless against the pull when Takatsuki reaches out blindly and unconsciously, to take his hand, he does. To wrap his own up around the sudden and startling cold flesh, to warm each other. Fingers tightly interlocked, he does not want to ever let go.
Takatsuki quietness, his movement’s still, and his breath almost easy.
“It’s okay, sensei. I’m here. So is Ken-chan. But that’s all.”
He’s sitting down beside him before he knows it, hand in his, the uneasiness of the past, falls through them into an ocean wave, one they can move -bound- together, through it.
It’s only when Ken-chan coughs, that Fukamachi looks up and startles a little, cheeks reddening and the urge to pull away, but Ken-chan reaches out his hands and shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He says. “Don’t move. You’ll disturb him.”
And then without prompting, Ken-chan disappears out of Takatsuki’s room, coming back with a soft arm chair, pushing it up against where he stands. “Sit.” He says, and albeit a little unsure and reluctant at first, Fukamachi does. Hand still tightly held in Takatsuki’s. But his cheeks still are like tomatoes, and as if sensing this fact, Ken-chan grabs another blanket and places it over Takatsuki. And over their joined hands.
It’s almost sweet really.
“There’s no need to be ashamed.” Ken-chan says anyway. “Akira likes affection from those he trusts. There’s not many of those around, I think you know that. But if it makes you more comfortable…” He indicates to the blanket and Fukamachi feels the need to bow his head a little, in gratitude or something else he’s not sure, but his heart settles a little, it settles a lot when Takatsuki does. When he begins to look more like he’s sleeping, peaceful, then drifting into some unknown lands alone and haunted.
He squeezes Takatsuki’s hand once, and swears that he feels him grip back on too.
“Why don’t I make us some tea?”
“Neither of us drinks it.” Fukamachi tells him bluntly.
Ken-chan smiles, and then laughs a little shaking his head. “You are always like that.” He says as he begins to walk away to the kitchen. “No wonder Akira is so fond of you.”
Somehow that statement makes his cheeks burn brighter than any other happening tonight that has. But it also leaves him warm and appreciative that someone has of him. That some people do want the truth.
He looks to Takatsuki’s closed eyes and peaceful expression and promises with a happy sort of smile, “I’m not going anywhere, sensei.”
And maybe he can finally admit it to himself, what he’s always known. That Takatsuki Akira is a precious friend to him too.
…
Takatsuki wakes up warm, unbelievably so, but not uncomfortable. The perfect amount of warmth, and comfort, and familiarity that comes not only with scent but something deeper. He blinks awake and sucks in a short breath when he remembers the bird. The, ‘caw’ still so close to his ear even though it’s long since been gone, eyes shutting tightly against the onslaught, but something weighted carries him down, his fingers pressed into another’s, palm to palm, it eases the attack. Allows him to breathe again as the whispered memories of a dream so lovely begin to filter in.
He rarely remembers them. His dreams. Even the good ones. The doctors when he was younger that his father used to still take him to said it was a child’s defense against the painful memories. His mother simply smiled and said that it was, “…Tengu.” He almost shivers at that, and must to some extent as Ken-chan’s rich voice filters in.
“Are you cold? It’s okay, Akira, you’re in your home. Fukamachi-kun brought you back.”
Takatsuki blinks, looking up to his long-time friend who sits nearby, a book in hand as if he’s been here a while. “I’m warm.” He promises, voice a little scratchy, but he realizes his hand is ablaze.
He turns finding Fukamachi sitting next to him, slumped over in slumber with small snores filtering through. It’s a little adorable, the way his glasses are half on. His hand, through the blanket, tightly held in his own. It sends a blaze to his heart. Warms him. Calms him. His heart twists in gentle appreciation.
“He wouldn’t leave your side. It seems you were dreaming again, about what happened. Lately that’s been the case.” Ken-chan continues, not asking, but stating facts, giving Takatsuki the chance to speak or not, if he’s ready or not, no expectation, just a soft offering.
Takatsuki smiles at his friend, familiar love bubbling up for the familiarity they share in the family sense. Ken-chan’s always been a bit protective, and Takatsuki can’t blame him. But he never treats him like he’s breakable, and he was the first person to do as such.
“I did dream… I was a child, again.” He’s not sure where the words come from, but he keeps his voice a whisper, eyes lost somewhere but ever conscious of Fukamachi’s soft snores, of the warm hold against his own palm. “I was in that forest again.” Sadness settles, he can’t help it, but he smiles through because the dream wasn’t a sad one, not really- not in the way that counts. In fact, it was happy.
His silent tears that fall are happy ones.
“Akira…” Ken-chan says worriedly.
“It’s okay, Ken-chan. I wasn’t alone this time.” And then he finds his gaze turning softly to Fukamachi’s sleeping and content expression, eyes lost to a dream- his own heart squeezing tightly. “There was another boy there. A boy who could tell lies.”
“If you get separated, you’ll get lost.”
Well, he feels pretty found.
…
Fukamachi dreams of a boy with wings imprinted into his skin, who smiles the brightest, and offers the most. He dreams, and he smiles too. A heavy set lifted form his shoulders, the both of them lost in a forest, but together, free.
Three
Fukamachi knew that he couldn’t put it off forever, but it still gives him quite the unsettling feeling when his successful attempts at dodging not only his mother’s phone calls, but her invites home finally goes array. ‘I’ll see you Friday, Naoya.’ The text reads, in big and bold letters without any way of getting out of it. And he knows, he could send her another excuse, but this isn’t her asking anymore. This is her telling him, and that makes a world of difference to him as he gulps and almost trips over his feet. Firm hands catch him before he can fall though, steadying him.
“Oh, uh, thank you. Sorry.” He says, bowing a little without looking up, turning to leave but he doesn’t get far as Ruiko’s exasperated voice filters through behind him.
“Fukamachi-kun.” She sounds almost amused. “You really should watch where you’re going.”
She shakes her head and catches up to him as he looks up, another apology on his lips, a twinge in his chest. “Sorry. I didn’t-”
“See me, I suppose?”
He walks beside her and nods.
“That’s okay, I won’t take it personally. Are you helping out Takatsuki-sensei with his research tonight?”
He goes to say that he is, but then he remembers his mother’s text and how he’ll have to catch the late train tonight to make it home in time for Friday tomorrow. “Uh, no.”
“’No?’” Ruiko echoes back as they slip into the building, walking up the stairs.
“I- I can’t.” He’s not sure how to explain it, for anyone else it would be easy or even happy. For him, it’s like a stone in his chest, making it ever more impossible to breathe. He’s not sure why his mother bothers, why she still wants him around. Her lies hurt. The truth as plain as day in the pain the ringing in his ears leaves. She blames him. Hates the ability he was granted. Thinks it- and himself have ruined her life.
It’s hard to piece together a reason for her insistence that he come back to her, over and over. To pretend like everything is okay, when it clearly isn’t. She doesn’t even try to hide her lies, and somehow that makes it even worse.
“Sensei, Fukamachi-kun isn’t staying tonight. You’ll have to tell Ken-chan to ignore his order.” Ruiko calls into the office as they enter. Usually on late night research binges for cases, they all cram together in Takatsuki’s office, ordering a large meal for all of them. Tonight it’s Ken-chan’s turn to pay, although Takatsuki rarely lets his students do such a thing. He’s a good sensei like that, and it never fails to warm his own heart.
“Oh? Why not?” Takatsuki comes out of a stack of his books, dust bits all over his hair with a genuinely disappointed expression on his face, rather sad actually. It makes Fukamachi’s heart lurch as he tries to picture a whole week away from him, from everyone, and from this place that makes him warm. Whole. Finally… okay.
“I have to go home, sensei.” He says carefully as he reaches over and begins to carefully pull the small mounds of dust out of his sensei’s hair. Takatsuki’s big eyes follow him, but they don’t follow his movements, they stay on his features, something flickering there before a soft smile settles on his lips, a comforting one.
“How long will you be gone?” He asks, but it sounds, almost strangled, uncertain- concerned.
Fukamachi gulps and pulls away when the last of the dust has fallen to the floor. “A- A week. During the break.”
Even Ruiko looks up at this declaration.
“’A week?’” Takatsuki repeats.
Fukamachi purposely does not look up into his expression, at what may remain there. He’s always afraid of that. Afraid of the squinted eyes of falsity, but he knows that he’d never see that from Takatsuki, and yet, he still doesn’t want to look. Afraid of a parting image, maybe. “I’m sorry, sensei. I’ll see you next week.” He bows a little and then turns to go, but Takatsuki’s voice stops him dead cold.
“We’ll miss you, Fukamachi-kun.” He says simply, but with earnest meaning.
Fukamachi gulps, feeling his heart tighten and sadness creep up into his throat. It’s only a week, why does he feel such… anxiety? Such trepidation?
He bows a little without looking back and leaves, but not before Takatsuki tells him, “You can call us any time.” Sounding like he’s struggling with something too.
…
“Ruiko told me.” Ken-chan says simply as he walks up to the desk where Takatsuki sits, book on his lap but not reading it. Instead his eyes linger out into the dark campus gardens, the soft glow of their lights making it difficult to see most of the shadows beyond the glass, but still, he sees. “A whole week, huh?”
Takatsuki nods a little, almost absent-mindly, but he’s already looking up to his friend with a small smile. “I’m fine, Ken-chan.”
“Of course, but you are worried about him.” Kenji sits on the desk a little, beside the other, staring into those shadows somewhat to, looking to his friend from time to time in their conversation.
Takatsuki’s lips upturn briefly before falling flat. “I- You know that I don’t go home. Just… Just when I had to.”
Kenji seems to think about this for a moment before replying with, “You went back to show Fukamachi, to explain what happened to you there. I never thought that you… I didn’t think…” Kenji struggles for the words, sighing a little.
Thankfully, Takatsuki puts him out of his misery with his own small smile and words. “I know. Neither did I. But then again, I was never certain that I’d find him.”
“Your ‘mysterious happening’? Or someone who could understand you?”
“You understand me, Ken-chan, don’t you?”
Kenji sighs a little, reaching out to touch Takatsuki’s shoulder. “Of course I do, but the two of you, it’s different. You know what it feels like to go to a home that’s supposed to be one, but isn’t. You know that feeling. You understand him and he understands you. You have a connection. It’s different from me or the others, and that’s okay. I’m… I am glad that you do.”
The two friends stare at each other for a few moments, letting Kenji’s words soak in, the meaning of them, and the truth of them before Takatsuki says with honesty, “I saw his hesitancy to go back, and I can’t blame him. But I can’t stop him or force him to stay, I just wish…” Kenji is silent, letting him find his words, what he really means and needs to say. He’s patient. He lets Takatsuki just, feel, as he’s always done. “I only want him to know that he doesn’t owe her everything. That at some point, he has to live his life for himself. That if she can be selfish…” Takatsuki smiles a little, almost bitterly. “I guess I shouldn’t say that. She’s his mom.”
“And your mom was your mom, but that doesn’t make them any less wrong from time to time.” ‘All the time,’ Takatsuki can hear Kenji wanting to scream, but his friend restrains himself for him. It warms him a little.
“It’s okay to hate her, you know? It’s okay to feel whatever you feel about her, and what she did to you. I don’t know about Fukamachi’s mom but I’m sure you do. I’m sure you’ll find the right words to comfort him with when he comes back.”
Softly, Takatsuki can’t help but whisper, even as the silence between them lasts for quite a long time- eyes on the darkening shadows, “comes back home.”
But Kenji hears it, if his small knowing smile is anything to go by.
…
Fukamachi forgot about how lonely it is here. How alone he really feels. After that festival, after declaring vehemently that, “I’ll never be alone.” He began to see and realize just how loneliness creeps in. How it has nothing to do with how many people surround him. That it’s something else entirely. Something, that he as a child never could hope to understand. He was a blessed child, he had parents that loved him. A family. A village.
At least his grandmother tried to help him.
But then they moved, with shame and indignation in his parent’s hearts. He never understood why until he went back there. To that place, to the festival, but he wasn’t alone then, and now he is. With his mother’s forced smiles, and rattling cups of tea in nervous disposition.
She’s not doing well, and she is.
“I’ve met a few friends from around the block. We walk sometimes, have a poetry club.” She announces, and she seems happy when she says it. She does not lie. “It’s very good for me.”
And that helps, it makes the blow of her next words easier to take.
“I’m so glad that you’re here.”
It burns through him, wincing, he tries to hide it behind his cup of tea.
“You’re room is the same. Mostly.” She continues.
He tries his best, but he has to excuse himself, claiming a project for one of his classes, tumbling into the awaiting enclave, filled with knickknacks of his mother’s. Of some painting she’s done, all filled with gentle sadness that exudes into broken dreams. Into pain. And he can’t help but feel that he is the very cause for all of it. He knows that she blames him, can hear it in every word of her lies. Does she not see? Does she not care? But worst of all, ‘what if she does?’
He’s exhausted, his head bangs. The pills he takes are never quite enough to stem the flow or tide. Because the pain echoes like drums to his chest, to his very heart that beats.
He used to always wonder after his father, he doesn’t anymore, and yet he does.
But mostly, he thinks of the laughter in his professor’s room. In Ruiko’s excitement over new ice cream flavours. In Ken-chan’s always so serious expression turning into smiles over the delicious tastes. Namba and Tanimura laughing over a joke that they seem only to understand, but let them all in on anyway. To Takatsuki’s soft eyes, and lips that never lie. (Mostly). Never again, even after the small slip up of a couple hours instead of several when he was sick. He came all the way there. Fukamachi remembers that well, it was astounding. Unexpected. He was so warm.
But now, in the coldness of this room, alone with a throbbing throughout his whole body, an ache as old as time- it feels so far away.
…
“I’m worried for him is all.” Takatsuki tells Kenji as they sit in front of a set table of Kenji’s mother’s cooking. She’s finishing up on the last dish, she’ll be down shortly, but since the break, Takatsuki has been invited over more and more. He knows it’s Kenji’s way of saying that he has a place to come to. A, ‘home.’ But he can’t help but feel like home here isn’t because of the place. Or how at his office, it’s not because of the place either that it sometimes feels that way. It’s hard to describe, or explain. His own memories of what a, ‘home,’ is supposed to feel like are wrapped up in recent events that fall from understanding, and yet don’t.
“I know, Akira, but you need to eat.” Kenji chides. “I’m sure he’ll call. Or you know, you always could.”
Takastuki stares at his phone before shaking his head and putting it back in his pocket. He doesn’t really like his cell phone and he only got it recently to stop Kenji’s nagging about the danger he puts himself in. Even so, it’s a simple thing, only for incoming and outgoing calls. Long-distance too, but that’s about it. He barely looks at it and often forgets about it, but not now. Not when Fukamachi is so far away. At a place that made him feel like he shouldn’t depend on others. A place that made him feel lonely. Alone.
Takatsuki knows all too well of that feeling, of a place such as that.
“Alright.” He breathes, and hits the call button.
But when no one answers, he’s not sure if he should feel relieved- that maybe Fukamachi is okay, or worried beyond measure, because maybe he’s not. Not at all.
“Eat.” Kenji insists. “He’s probably just busy.”
“Maybe.” Takatsuki concedes softly as Kenji’s mother comes bustling in with the final dish. But Takatsuki finds himself not at all that hungry. ‘Does Fukamachi-kun’s mother, cook for him?’ He wonders, but he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer to that.
…
He can’t answer sensei’s calls, he doesn’t know how to. He’s… Fukamachi sits in the darkness of another night, only the small glow of a lamp as the chasm in his chest grows, as the pounding becomes intolerable.
It’s worse somehow, than it was before.
It’s only been a couple of days, but he already feels so… so exhausted. Like he’s fighting some kind of battle. It was never this bad before, but then again he never knew… He never knew the laughter of friends. Walls feeling freeing in burgundy browns, instead of suffocating. He never knew Kenji’s firm but kind teasing, or Namba’s energy that filled the room with bouncing ideas and inclusion. Tanimura’s kindness and sound pieces of advice. He never knew Ruiko’s excitement, her drive for success that extends to helping himself study into the long hours, her sisterly appeals to change his style from time to time. He never knew Takatsuki’s honest words, and kindness, and patience, and the warmth of shared space. Nothing enclosing, nothing pounding in an ache throughout his bones. Just… light and a welling up of what can only be described as happiness, and some sort of, contentment.
Before he knows it, his finger hover over the call button, and he finds himself waiting with bated breath as the ringtone screams in his ear. Everything within him doing the same to hang up. To forget it. That Takatsuki doesn’t want to hear from him. That it must have been an accidental call the other day. That he doesn’t really care.
Fukamachi closes his eyes and wills those thoughts away, wills his own cowardness as he grips the phone tightly, struggling not to hang it up and never look at it again.
But he has not need for fear, because no sooner has it started ringing that an urgent and breathless, familiar voice picks up. “Fukamachi-kun.” So familiar, so warm, and breathless as if he has been waiting for this call his whole life. Fukamachi’s chest seizes, his throat suddenly a little dry at how happy he becomes. How relieved, how speechless. It’s so silly, it’s just a phone call, but…
“Sensei.” He breathes back, and just for a long moment, they bask in the presence of the other. As if they were hugging for too long. But soon it’s too much, the emotions well up too big and unknown to him most of his life, shut off. He has to cough and say, “Uh, sensei? You called?”
Unabashed and honest, Takatsuki tells him, “I miss you, Fukamachi-kun. It’s not the same without you.”
His cheeks burns, words bitten back of, ‘it’s not the same without you either.’
“Ah, well…” He says instead, unsure how to continue, his chest tightening, a lump in his throat. He has missed him, so much. And the loneliness here, it suddenly overwhelms him with how much pain it is to live through, when the balm for it tells him so casually how he missed him. Unabashed honesty, truly. It’s unreal. It can’t be right.
He hates the way the tears come, the way he breaks so easily when it comes to Takatsuki.
“How are you, Fukamachi-kun?”
He chokes, wetly, and tries to take the phone away so the other can’t hear, but it’s hard, it’s impossible.
“Fukamachi-kun?” Worried, on the verge, of something.
“Ah, it’s nothing.” He swallows it down. “I was just… can you tell me the story about Yamamba again? I’m doing some research on a, a- a report.” It’s not exactly a lie, he has one coming, but it’s not due for a long time, and he has no materials, no notes. He just wants to hear Takatsuki’s voice. He just wants… to come home.
A little bit of a pause, before gently, Takatsuki says, “Of course, I can.”
…
When Fukamachi gets back to the campus, to where the others surely wait within Takatsuki-sensei’s office, relief doesn’t even begin to cover his feelings. But gratefulness is there, very strongly. Not just for Takatsuki who called him every night with a new Japanese tale, to ease his loneliness, his sleep- sometimes falling asleep listening to the sound of his voice- but for all of them. For the way they make and feel, finally like…
“Fukamachi!” Ruiko yells, arms held up in excitement. “You’re back!”
Kenji smiles, nodding with a firm, “Welcome back.”
“Hi, Fukamachi.” Tanimura says with a soft nod as Namba smiles wildly and begins to tell him about the hottest new campus gossip, but it’s Takatsuki that Fukamachi finds his eyes straying to as his chest- his heart expands exponentially.
Familiar warmth in those eyes with a smile that knows no bounds, and Fukamachi already knows what’s coming next, and he finds that he doesn’t want run away, or flinch away as arms encircle around him. In fact, he’s reaching his own back out, albeit nervously- afraid- but oh so warm. So content, as he can finally hug back, with surety.
Strong arms wrap around him, one hand cupping up to his head ever so gently, breath in his neck of relief. His own doing much the same as his nose presses into the expensive fabric, forehead against warm skin, against the familiarity. He ignores the loud pounding of his heart that has nothing to do with the echo of lies anymore, and sighs in contentment as his eyes slip shut into the scent that overwhelms him, that encapsulates all that they are.
Takatsuki smells like…
Home.
…
And maybe that’s not a place, but the people we choose.
(And who choose us.)