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1.
“I love you,” he said, and the words tasted of lies, cut him open in front of himself like the blue sword that Hiiro wielded. Taiga groaned at the thought, pushed himself off the chair and grabbed his Gashats, ready against his own wills to fight the doctors for Taddle Quest.
2.
“I love you,” he whispered, and it felt like he could hear Nico laughing into his ears even when she wasn’t there, taunting him of a hopeless adoration towards this man who hated him, towards this man whose love he killed. Taiga splashed cold water on his face, and remembered I never hated you, remembered Hiiro awkwardly calling him Hanaya-sensei, remembered the scars scattering over his chest.
3.
I love you, he thought, and this time the words felt gentle. Hiiro was standing in front of his office and fiddling with himself, hands carefully putting a cake onto his table, mumbling something about a thank-you gift and a rushed Can I kiss you? He couldn’t remember Hiiro leaning in, couldn’t remember himself bowing down to meet him, couldn’t remember the soft pulls when Hiiro’s back met the wall of his office, couldn’t remember the breaths being knocked out of him by the sheer impossibility of it all.
What Taiga remembered was Hiiro, arms wrapping around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming, in the dim lights of his office in the newly-renovated clinic, and he felt like going insane. There were Hiiro’s fingers digging into his back, and there were Hiiro’s lips pressing onto his own, and the softness of it all burnt him like they never did before.
He kissed him back with desperation, with a hand on his waist and another on his neck, pressing and pressing and pressing, keeping him in place, begging with his eyes for Hiiro not to walk away. Hiiro was so beautiful, and Taiga held him even when the kiss stopped, even when the emptiness in his heart had become too full (of Hiiro, always of Hiiro). “Little prince,” he breathed, and then tried again, “Hiiro.” Hiiro, Hiiro, my little prince. His little prince. His.
“Hanaya-san,” he replied, and Taiga shook his head. He tried again. “Taiga.”
Taiga kissed him again, because he was allowed to do that now. He kissed him like unsaid I love yous, he kissed him like the last thing he ever did, he kissed him like broken pieces glued together. And Hiiro let him; let his broken pieces pierce his skin, let the chants burn through him like little deaths.
“Why?” He asked. (Why did you kiss me? Why did you let me kiss you?)
“Why wouldn’t I?” Hiiro replied, and held him in his arms.
Taiga didn’t know how to answer. He could say, because you hated me. But Hiiro never hated him, never had enough hatred in him to hate Taiga. He could say, because I am not deserving of you. But Hiiro was far too loving to let that be a reason, far too caring, far too good. He could say, because I love you. But Hiiro smiled, kissed his cheek tenderly as if he deserved it, and he swallowed the three words that had been stuck in his throat even before everything with Zero Day happened, drowning it in the scent of Hiiro’s embrace.
Taiga loved him. Like a moth throwing itself into the flame, he loved him. He burnt himself in his light, in every glance Hiiro gave him; he burnt himself on the hatred Hiiro had for him. It felt wrong, that he could ever press his skin to Hiiro’s like this, that he could ever kiss him the way he had dreamt to. It felt wrong to touch Hiiro with his gentleness, to let Hiiro feel the depth of his adoration, to open his heart for Hiiro to see. What had he done to deserve Hiiro’s smile, soft and bright like moonlight dancing on his shoulders? What had he done to deserve Hiiro’s love, tender and delicate, burning his skin like soothing ice on swelling bruises? What had he done to deserve Hiiro’s kisses, gentle and careful, marking his heart like scars scattering over his chest?
He didn’t expect Hiiro’s kisses. He didn’t expect Hiiro’s smiles. He didn’t even know why Hiiro kissed him, hoping against himself that they would go back to before, that the little flames that burnt his skin would come back in Hiiro’s eyes, that he could return to the comfort of being hated by Hiiro instead. He didn’t know how they got here, but Hiiro was gazing at him, eyes bright and smiling the way they never did, cheeks flushed red and hot under his fingers, and Taiga loved him. Like a moth throwing itself into the fire. Like little deaths crawling under the light. His touches burnt of past wounds and I never hated you, of failures and pouring rain and eyes red with grief, and Hiiro kissed him again, whispering his name as if a secret for only him to hear. “Taiga.” Sultry and sweet and almost shy, like he couldn’t believe himself, like Taiga hadn’t been in love with him since the day they met. The past melted away under his gaze, like it wasn’t Taiga who ruined everything, like it wasn’t him who needed to atone.
Hiiro climbed into Taiga’s lap and flinched when a hand came up to wrap around his waist, yet never pushed it away. “Too much?”
“No.” He said; voice dangerously desperate. “No, it’s not.”
Hiiro ran his hands along his whitened strands, uncharacteristically, and Taiga wondered if he was in a fever dream. He wondered if he was dying, if this illusion of a gentle Hiiro was the last thing he would ever see, if life slipping away from him would be the only time he got to see Hiiro like this. (Maybe it wasn’t a bad way to go, after all.)
“I’m sorry,” he said, surprising himself. The words tasted of the rain and losses he could never return, of hands on his collar and Don’t think I’ve forgiven yous, of five years running an unlicensed clinic and Hiiro in bandages, hurt and fragile and a frown on his sleeping face. They rolled off his tongue and never went away, stubbornly waited for another chance to slip out. Hiiro looked at him, kiss-swollen lips and ruffled hair, beautiful and messy and unreachable. “I’m sorry it had to turn out like this.” (I’m sorry you had to choose me.)
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Hiiro said, his voice shaky. “I’m glad it turned out this way.” (I’m glad I could choose you.)
“You will regret this, though.” Taiga snapped, catching his wrist in his hand. He was so small, so princely, and Taiga hated the idea that this man had to become a Kamen Rider because of his mistake. He hated the idea that he would ruin his life again even more. “Won’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” came the reply, Hiiro sounding like himself for a brief moment. “I won’t regret you.”
He kissed him, and Taiga didn’t stop him this time.
4.
I love you, his throat groaned, the words trying and trying and trying to climb out. Taiga stood at the front door of his clinic, long after Hiiro had gone. The shadows of his kisses still lingered in the scars on his chest, spreading all over his body, leaving his marks all over his heart the way a surgeon should never do. He tasted Hiiro on his tongue, tasted the little deaths still remained in the small smiles between their kisses, Hiiro’s flush stuck under his fingers, his gasps between Taiga’s teeth, and fragments of his own I love yous grazed his throat, sharp glasses bleeding his scars. He could say it to him, now. Could tell him, I have always wanted you to be happy. Could tell him, isn’t it unfair that I have you, now, like this? Could tell him, you know, I have fallen for a you that was cold and careless, the you that you despised, the you that you had never been able to forgive.
Could tell him, I have always loved you, even before everything.
And this time maybe the flame wouldn’t burn him, wouldn’t tear his scars apart, wouldn’t cut him open like it used to.
(Maybe this time he would do it right.)