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∆∆∆
They settle into a queerly comfortable routine. Gaku might even call it 'domestic', what with the way they already are as individuals.
Mostly, it’s still just Haru and Gaku against the world, as it has been for a long time, but Kirika comes down from her ivory tower when she feels like it. When she doesn’t, she sends envoys in the form of her favourite chauffeur (read: ex-F1 racer) when they find themselves stuck in sticky situations, which is more or less every other week or so.
But when she does, she extends invites to them to private rooms in five-star restaurants, opulent, empty spaces with ceilings and walls gilded in gold and bigger than their entire apartment - kitchen, bath, and bedroom combined. Every time, each of these halls contain just a single massive table and three chairs. One for each of them.
It’s a boast in itself; in Tokyo, space is a luxury only the rich can afford in abundance, and it seems Kirika always has grandeur to spare.
Space, however, unsettles Gaku.
He never knows what to do with himself. Never having had money or a regular selection of interests that allowed him to navigate social pressures in school, space is never appreciated. Especially when there’s this much of it and so little of them, of him.
His partners never seem to face those same conundrums as him.
A bigger space?
Sure, they just expand to fit it.
The chameleon that he is, Haru has never - not for a single second - looked out of place in any of these spaces, his polished leather shoes on the lush carpet. Haru just stands taller, broad chest made even broader with his shoulders pushed back. Like this, he towers over Kirika in a way that makes the air around them crackle when she crosses her legs and tilts her eyes up to meet his like a challenge.
Meanwhile, Gaku is all at once too small and not small enough. Where should he put his hands? How should he arrange his legs? Is his face making a socially acceptable expression? His clothes suddenly feel too tight and too loose at the same time. He is terrifyingly sure that the kinks in his defenses are on full display.
At the best of times, other people’s body language is hard to read, their expressions a puzzle more difficult to decipher than the FBI’s firewalls, but far across the expanse of a wide table, it’s a nigh impossible task, and even with the two people in the world he feels the most comfortable (read: just mildly twitchy and ill at ease), Gaku would feel like he’s drowning if it wasn’t for Haru and his distaste for any and all convention.
Thank god for Haru.
The first time they gathered like this, Haru sat still and good in his chair for all of 90 seconds (the height of his self-control, in Gaku’s experience) before shooting to his feet (prompting Kirika to tut, her perfect brows twisting on a perfect face).
Ignoring any and all etiquette in the form of their 3 lonely chairs spread out distantly across the generous space, Gaku watched him stride around the table and single-mindedly drag Gaku’s and his own chairs across the lush carpet to join Kirika’s, then plonked himself unceremoniously into the one on his right, ignoring the glare that she shot his way. Although, for all her prickliness, Gaku caught the small smile she had let slip, then proceeded to immediately squash when a waiter entered to get their orders.
Up close, Haru’s wry amusement and Kirika’s hardly veiled affection was plain as day to see, in the way Haru reached one long limb out for the teapot and pour fill the cups in front of himself and Kirika, in the way she reached over and took a sip of tea from Haru’s teacup and left a dark red lipstick stain on the white porcelain rim.
In response, Haru shot her a sidelong gaze full of mock disapproval before he stood up to fill up Gaku’s teacup, then stole a sip himself. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, like he thought himself so smart, so suave, so handsome, too handsome for anyone to tell off for his little jokes.
He made a face.
“Good?” Kirika asked, hiding a laugh behind a dainty hand.
“Hot,” Haru replied, giving the cup back. “Be careful, Gaku.”
“I could have told you that,” Gaku commented wryly and Kirika let out a giggle, like the light ringing of bells at his local shrine during the New Year.
“But, see, you couldn’t have. Not if you’d been aaall the way across the room over there,” Haru had leaned back in his chair, one elbow balanced on the back of it in a half-sprawl, looking so pleased with himself. He’s always in half a sprawl or a full sprawl, like his limbs require active concentration to call to attention.
Gaku felt his heart fill up in his chest. Both of them are so incredibly perceptive, but Haru knows Gaku even better than he knows himself and unlike Gaku, he has no qualms about being the one who stands out in a crowd if it means Gaku can breathe a little easier.
“I’m glad I’m not all the way across the room then.” He had said, meaningfully.
Kirika studied the both of them for a moment before she slowly and single-mindedly unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap.
“Yes, I’ll tell the staff to make sure the chairs are placed together next time. If only some people would use their brains once in a while, the world would be a much better place,” and for them, it’s so much more than a I see you and a thank you for seeing me too.
∆∆
Haru and Gaku still don't share a bed in their tiny apartment, even though that would be the most cost-effective. It suits them better like this; Haru sprawled out and sleep-talking on the bed while Gaku has the futon to himself. This way, he's always 2 steps to his desk when inspiration strikes in the middle of the night.
After all, Haru doesn't give in to sleep very much. When he does, he's a violent sleeper, haphazard limbs and wild hair that seems to take a life of its own in slumber.
Once or twice, Haru has rolled off the edge of his mattress and right smack onto the floor and into Gaku. He never wakes up. It's always Gaku trying to wrestle with this sudden tangle of limbs, and his boyfriend and his machine of a brain, still whirring and cooking up more trouble in his sleep.
Most of the time, Gaku is the one trying to sleep while Haru paces the length of their tiny apartment, wearing a restless trail in the wood while his brain refuses to sit still even for a minute. Those nights, he often ends up throwing on a hat and leaving in a flurry of low mutters and distracted touches trailing across Gaku’s shoulders in place of an explanation.
It has never bothered Gaku. He has his eccentricities too, and Haru has taken every single one of them in his stride since the first time they met.
He always gets back a few hours later, subdued and calmed, with long scratches down the expanse of his back, the shape of Kirika's teeth on his chest, and the lingering scent of her perfume in his hair, on his clothes. Peaches and roses and some unidentifiable luxurious scent that Gaku is sure they don't have the money to even enjoy.
Those early mornings, with the sun too bright and too orange on the horizon, it’s as if Kirika is in the apartment with them (she never comes in person). Her scent, lingering fingerprints of her single-minded touches on Haru’s skin, the only thing that can take him out of his mind like this.
She’s the only person who can take him out of the maze of his mind, just like how Haru is the only one who can take Gaku out of his, and Gaku is the only one who anchors them both. He’s the hand clutching at the ends of their balloon strings, the one who helps them stay in the sky because they know that he’ll be there, steady and patiently waiting.
In those moments, Haru curls up on the floor next to Gaku. Gently, uncharacteristically gently, he peels Gaku’s arm from where it’s wrapped tight around himself and unravels it so it rests on himself.
“What’s wrong?” Gaku asks sometimes, when he can get his tongue to work, thick and addled with sleep. Haru’s unruly hair tickles at his nose.
But Haru just tucks his head against his shoulder like a child hiding from the world.
“Nothing,” He responds sometimes. Then, “everything.” Then, “but it’s all better now, so go back to sleep.”
Then he lets out a long breath that Gaku feels deep in his bones, fingers threading through fingers as Gaku just pulls him closer and slips back into his dreams.
When he wakes up at noon, Haru’s already in the kitchen, humming a dirty little ditty under his breath, the scent of coffee and butter in the air and the lines of his face scrubbed clean of worry.
∆ ∆
The first time she did it, Haru was away for one of his inexplicable reasons and Kirika must have known (because she knows everything).
Gaku was on his own that night, and it had been sweltering. Unbearable heat, concrete, asphalt and glass emanating heat from the day. Even throwing open the balcony doors had done nothing but send a gross heavy movement of air swirling half-heartedly around the apartment.
This is what hell must feel like, Gaku remembers thinking, his shirt stuck to his back and beads of sweat sliding down the edges of his eyebrows and straight into his eyes or onto the lenses of his glasses. I hope I don’t need glasses in actual hell because they’ll melt right off my face, he also remembers thinking, as he made his meandering way to their nearest convenience store, coins jiggling in the pocket of his cargo shorts.
There, he lingered too long in front of the freezers, eventually deciding on 3 packets of banana-flavoured Coolish and a pack of dried sweet potato strips. As he walked out of the store with a mouthful of ice cold sweet relief, the door of the (in)conspicuous Mercedes parked by the curb swung open noiselessly. By then, Gaku had gotten used to his partners' penchants for melodrama to know that it was for him.
He bent to peek in and there she had been, full of poise as always, right leg crossed primly over her left and her manicured hands resting daintily on her knees. But for once, she had left her skin-tight dresses at home. Instead she was in a pair of sweats (printed with a garish cherry print) and white platform sneakers.
She looked so soft and so uncomfortable, an expression so foreign on her face that Gaku's jaw dropped. The only thing that came out was, "d-do you want one? I-I got 3, but they’re all banana flavored.”
She had offered him a smile. Not her dangerous one, nor the delighted one she seemed to reserve for the rare times they managed to surprise her. Instead, it had been more careful, a little less scripted, a little more like she had tried something new out and was surprised and pleased to see it paying off.
“That would be nice. Thank you, Gaku.” She told him, her firm voice carrying onto the street, and Gaku in his flip-flops and hair wet with sweat wondered if she meant for him to get in, for his sweaty worn shirt to dirty her pristine leather seats.
They held each other’s eyes for a long moment. Then she raised a single eyebrow minutely, Gaku found himself bent double as he shuffled into the car, plastic bag rustling against the seat.
The door swung noiselessly shut, and without so much as a rumble, the car slid seamlessly into traffic.
Gaku picked another packet of Coolish out from his bag and twisted the seal open before handing it to her, and the smile she gave him made his heart and stomach expand and contract at the same time. It was weird how different Kirika was when it was just the two of them. She had taken the time and effort to see him with what seemed like her guard down, but Gaku knew how brilliant and terrifying she was. He knew her guard was never down, could never be down, but he appreciated her trying anyway.
He appreciated how much they both tried for him.
“Where are we going?” He asked, as the car zipped from the west of Tokyo with its residential streets and Showa-era mum-and-pop shops, through Ueno and into Asakusa with their museums and temples, all quiet and still in the dark. He watched the city go by, underscored by the quiet hum of the air-conditioning and wondered if this was what it felt like to be high above the clouds. Perhaps this was what it felt like when one had all the space money could buy and had to make all the decisions that could break it. Comfort and discomfort a tangled web.
Then he realised with a small start that this was the first time they were meeting in such a small private space, the first time it had been just the two of them without a bodyguard or Haru or an audience.
It's the first time Gaku had felt like he could breathe with her.
Kirika was looking at him when he turned to face her. She had such big, bright eyes, doll-like if not for the sharp way she looked at everything and cut straight to the heart of it all.
"Better?" She asked instead of answering him, but Gaku was used to it. Both the people he was dating were like this, occupying several thought processes at the same time, picking through the vague connections for patterns and epiphanies.
Put him in front of a screen and Gaku himself was like that. It was just that outside the clean, easy lines of code, everything else was messier, harder, blending into each other without rhyme or reason.
He smiled at her. "Better. So much better." Then gesturing at her condensing packet of Coolish, he asked, "how are you finding it?"
The smile she let slip was coy, shy almost. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheek as she leaned across the seat to press her lips to the corner of Gaku’s mouth.
"Good, thank you. I've never had one of these before so I'm pleased that my first one is with you." She scooted across the seats to get closer to him, and without her having to give him any sign, he closed the distance until they were just a hair's breadth apart.
Neither of them were the cuddly type, and Gaku didn’t really mind either way.
Outside the car windows, the city grew into the tall skyscrapers of Marunouchi, the palace glittered across the most on their right.
"I don't know where we're going. I just wanted to spend time with you," Kirika said suddenly into the silence, threads of thought going back to his first question.
She turned from the window slightly, and Gaku watched the city lights flash across her unblemished skin and looked down to see her left hand curled loosely on her lap, so close to his own that was still clutched around the plastic bag. It was always like this; Kirika was a master player in her games of detective. It was her love language, almost, the way she sectioned off her vulnerabilities, segmented and categorised them in levels for them to find.
It was almost like Gaku's beloved programming languages, and he liked to think that he was getting better at reading hers.
"Is there anywhere you want to go to?" She asked, eyes back on the city outside. Gaku swallowed hard, letting out a small breath.
"No. Not really," he said. His index finger lifted from his lap and reached over the gap between their thighs. He could tell that Kirika was holding her breath, just slightly, just enough that you'd have to be listening to tell.
And Gaku was listening.
He was listening very intently indeed, so he heard the hitch in her breath when he hooked his index finger around hers, saw the silhouette of her cheek lift when she smiled.
He squeezed her finger. She squeezed back, and slipped her small palm against his, her fingers slipping in between his.
Her skin was so soft, so smooth, and so different without any of Haru's calluses or his knobby knuckles.
Gaku found his cheeks aching with a smile. He looked up to see her smiling back, and this time it was another smile he hadn't ever seen before.
It had a hint of teeth, and her eyes were crinkly in the corners.
"We can stay here," she offered, and Gaku found that he could hear the hope in her voice now. Maybe he really was getting better at reading her.
He nodded, not knowing how to express just how much he wanted that.
"Yeah, it's quiet here. And I like small spaces." Gaku settled back in his seat, and to his surprise, Kirika settled against his side. First, their arms made contact, then their hips, then their thighs.
The expanse of the backseat stretched out on both sides, but Gaku didn't need to think about where he needed to put his limbs or the expression he was making because Kirika wasn’t even looking at him. She was toeing off her shiny white sneakers and curling her legs daintily up on the leather. She tucked her feet under herself as she leaned against his shoulder, their hands still joined. Gingerly at first, then a little surer.
“This is okay, right?” She asked, turning to meet his eyes, and for the first time since he got into the car, the fire was back in her eyes, daring him to say no even when there was no way he was going to.
She must have known that. If she didn’t, then Gaku really needed to work on being more expressive.
He nodded, and she mirrored him, looked approving before leaning back again. Gaku simply lifted his right arm and tucked her snug against himself, just like he did to Haru.
By the time he took another sip of his Coolish, it had become more of a beverage than a slushie. It had been the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted in his life.
∆∆∆
“Kiichan?” Haru asked when Gaku got back later that night.
He was in the kitchen, fully absorbed in whatever new Wikipedia page he was reading on his phone. Their French press was fully dismantled on the kitchen counter for some reason, and he didn’t wait for Gaku to answer to lean in and plant a distracted kiss on his lips.
Gaku wasn’t sure he had even processed the action.
“Kiichan?” He asked, taking the cup of iced barley tea from Haru gratefully.
“Hm?” Haru looked up, his mind half-occupied with whatever he was reading and half-occupied with the French press and half-occupied with what Gaku supposes must be Kirika. Unless they both know another person whose name started with ‘Ki’. “Oh, uh, Kiri-hime, Kirika, don’t tell her I called her that. She’ll kill me.”
Gaku tried to frown, but it betrayed him and slipped into a smile.
“Seriously, she’s – Why are you looking at me like that?” Haru narrowed his eyes. He crouched until his face was eye level to the mirror they had hanging on the back of their front door for last-minute checks. “Is there something on my face?”
“No,” said Gaku, curling his arm around Haru’s waist to give him an uncharacteristic kiss on his cheek. “And yes, I was with her.”
Haru stared at him for a moment, fingers pressed lightly to the spot that Gaku’s lips had been, and it was perhaps one of the few times Gaku had ever seen him speechless.
Understandably so. Gaku was rarely the one to initiate any physical touch, ever.
Then Gaku watched Haru’s lips spread into a smile so blinding that he had to immediately look away, his cheeks already burning hot.
“Good,” Haru says, putting his phone, the French press, everything else aside for a moment to sling his arm around Gaku’s shoulders, leaning so much of his weight on Gaku that he almost tipped to the side and onto Haru’s bed. “Good,” he said again. “I’m so glad that worked out. She was worried.”
“Worried about?” Gaku asked.
Haru had spotted the plastic bag in his hand and he was making interested noises, trying to look inside when the question registered.
“You, of course.” He said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You and her. She was worried you didn’t like her back.”
“What? That’s impossible.” Gaku frowned, letting Haru take the bag and the last Coolish. He had split the sweet potato strips in the car with Kirika.
“Yeah,” Haru agreed, taking a sip of the long-melted Coolish and grinning wide. “That’s what I said, too.”
∆∆∆
Where Gaku flies straight as an arrow, Haru and Kirika leap from patterns to dimensions and then circle back on everything in between. It is as if they are carving a path through untamed woods for him, like they are taking him by the hand and telling him this means you shouldn’t step there because there’ll be quicksand or here, look how the trees arch overhead, you can rest here.
You’ll be safe here.
With them, the world makes more sense (even if it is because they’re so good at bending it to their will).
WIth them, the world is so much simpler because they see Gaku for who he is, for all his genius and ineptitude, and carve out a little respite on an uncharted map for him.
With them, he is safe.