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Hira doesn’t mind doing grocery runs alone—after all, he lives to serve Kiyoi. He’s aware it would likely sound strange to someone else, but he gets a special pleasure out of choosing things for Kiyoi, bringing them home to Kiyoi, occasionally getting a nod of acknowledgement or even gratitude when he gets it right—and he always does, because Hira knows all of Kiyoi’s tastes better than his own. He pays attention to every word that ever comes out of Kiyoi’s mouth and files away which products please him and which ones don’t. Sometimes Hira will even pause in the middle of an aisle, glance down at his full basket, and marvel at all the Kiyoi-themed items. It’s like being back in school, when all the popular kids would make Hira fetch their snacks, except everything’s for Kiyoi and that makes the chore meaningful.
He likes it even more when Kiyoi deigns to come along, because Kiyoi’s company is all he could ever ask for. Kiyoi must know that there’s absolutely no need—Hira’s happy to do it all, especially because Kiyoi’s so busy with other, actually important things, auditions and rehearsals and shoots. Hira can’t think of any real reason for Kiyoi to come other than to be with him, which can’t be Kiyoi’s motive, but Hira’s heart flutters just thinking about it. His heart’s so full lately. Ever since that classroom kiss. Since their confessions. Since Kiyoi moved into his house and life. Hira revels in waking up to him each morning.
Hira doesn’t dare hold his hand but thinks about it constantly while they meander through produce. Kiyoi’s on his phone—he doesn’t have to pick anything out, because Hira does it automatically according to all of Kiyoi’s tastes. His own don’t matter, because pleasing Kiyoi is more satisfying than his own taste buds could ever be. He tosses a tangerine for Kiyoi’s morning smoothies into the basket slung over his arm, and Kiyoi mutters, “I’m going to the washroom.”
Hira can only nod—Kiyoi’s already walking off. He strolls around Hira and weaves towards the back of the store, disappearing behind shelves, as beautiful going as he was coming. He’s wearing tight black pants and a bedazzled black jacket he just got off the internet, and Hira got to see him try it on for the first time before they went out—he got to lounge on the bed and watch Kiyoi pose before the mirror, deciding whether it looked good or not, and Hira tripped over himself in the rush to gush that it looked perfect. Because Kiyoi’s perfect. And he’s stunning in everything. The silver studs along the shoulders match Kiyoi’s hoop earring and accentuate the glossy sheen of his brown hair. Even after he’s gone from sight, Hira’s whimsically picturing him.
Then Hira remembers he’s on a mission—buy things he can slip between Kiyoi’s plush pink lips—and he makes himself get moving. He walks to the next isle and grabs a large bottle of ginger ale, then moves down to chocolates. Kiyoi’s gaze lingered on an image of chocolate-dipped strawberries in a magazine last week, and even though he didn’t say anything, Hira knows he wants them. So Hira wants to make them. He wants to melt chocolate in their kitchen and drag the spatula over Kiyoi’s perfectly shaped mouth. Then push the spatula inside it while Kiyoi opens wide—
“Hi-kun?”
Hira freezes. Footsteps are trailing over, and he looks up at Yoshida, someone he hasn’t once thought of since school and never planned on seeing again. Yoshida dons a sloppy grin like they’re old friends instead of barely even acquaintances. Hira’s probably never even said his name aloud, and Yoshida probably doesn’t remember Hira’s real name at all. The mocking nickname sticks. Hira can’t help but wonder why Yoshida’s bothering to acknowledge him—they should’ve just walked right past each other—and Yoshida makes it even more confusing by patting Hira’s shoulder and slimily asking, “How’ve you been?” His hand lingers afterwards, burning Hira, not at all like how Kiyoi’s does.
Hira doesn’t answer. He tries—he opens his mouth and starts stuttering syllables, not even sure of what he’s trying to say, and Yoshida doesn’t wait for him to finish. “Say, you’ve got money, right? You were always treating us to lunches—what a generous guy! Think you could lend me a few yen? My paycheck’s spent already, but you can help a guy out, right?”
Absolutely not. Never in a million years. Hira needs every last yen he has to spend on Kiyoi, and he honestly doesn’t care if Yoshida starves and dies. But he doesn’t seem to have the ability to say that and just stutters, “K-Kiyoi—”
Yoshida blinks and turns to look over his shoulder, still holding Hira’s, following Hira’s gaze. Kiyoi’s appeared at the end of the aisle, phone still clutched in his hand but eyes up, clearly having spotted them. And he immediately starts walking over. Yoshida smarmily chimes, “Hey, Kiyoi! Long time no see! I just bumped into Hi-kun, and he was going to—”
The second Kiyoi reaches them, he bats Yoshida’s hand off Hira’s shoulder. It puts Hira into a state of shock. He was braced to deal with Yoshida more, because even though Kiyoi probably never cared for him at all, Kiyoi used to withstand his lackey’s company far longer than he should’ve. Hira even thought there was a chance they might have to invite Yoshida out for lunch or something. The frosty edge to Kiyoi’s gorgeous eyes says otherwise, and the fact that he actually pushed Yoshida off of Hira is telling—Kiyoi never troubles himself with touching others.
As soon as Yoshida’s hand is off of Hira, Kiyoi’s is on him. Trim fingers weave between his own, intertwining them, locking them together. Hira can feel heat blossoming in his cheeks and hear ringing in his ears. Kiyoi coldly tells Yoshida, “That’s not his name.”
Yoshida looks as stunned as Hira. Without another word, Kiyoi turns to go. Hira’s brain’s short-circuited and can’t put together the order to follow. Arm pulled taut, Kiyoi glances back at him and snaps, “Kazu, come.” He tugs Hira’s hand.
Hira’s brain explodes. His heart supernovas. Kiyoi rarely addresses him, never calls him by his given name in public, and suddenly there’s a shortened, familiar version of it. His tone is curt, but the implication’s thick with affection and intimacy and Hira can’t handle it. He’s sure he must be red to his ears.
But he’s so sickeningly in love that his auto-pilot obeys. Kiyoi pulls him, and he lets himself be pulled. He’s aware Kiyoi barked it out like ordering a dog, but the petname has him soaring, and he’s so happy to be Kiyoi’s loyal hound. He follows Kiyoi into the next aisle, invisible tail wagging behind him.
He’s already completely forgotten Yoshida and can’t put anything new in the basket, because he’s got one hand holding it and the other in Kiyoi’s.
Kiyoi pockets his phone and uses that one to get what they need, so they stay inexplicably, gloriously connected.