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After a journey of six thousand miles, two more flights of stairs should have been the easiest part. Akira’s feet disagreed. They throbbed in protest for every step, weighed down by his barely-zipped duffel bag, betrayed that he had let an elderly couple cut him in the airport taxi line, and so exhausted by the long day of travel that they barely shuffled when he tried to step. If his feet had their way, he’d sit down on the first step and never budge again.
Akira’s head tried to overrule them: Just a little further. Keep it up and we’ll see Sumire and Goro again.
His feet shot back, If we love them so much, why don’t we call them and have them carry us the rest of the way?
And that got his heart weighing in, Hell no, I still have my pride. We are going to see this through.
Thankfully, pride mattered to his feet just enough that he found the will to drag himself up the last flight of stairs and down the apartment hall to the apartment 305. The building was plain but clean, perfect for small families. Akira hoped none of them minded the third student moving in down the hall. Maybe Akira could introduce himself…
Later. In the daytime. And when he had enough energy to do more than raise his fist to pound on 305’s door.
It swung open, and with a glare on his face to match the most furious of predators, Goro Akechi grabbed a fistful of Akira’s shirt. “Get in here.”
“Wha—”
He didn’t have time to finish the word before Goro pulled him across the threshold, overburdened duffel and all. His aching feet cried, but Goro’s force proved irresistible as ever. He slammed the apartment door shut behind him and then pushed Akira after it. His backpack struck metal as Akira faced the onslaught of Goro’s… something. The glare felt familiar, thrilling, lovely, but running on four hours of sleep from twenty hours ago, Akira couldn’t comprehend it.
Lips rushed forward to meet his, and Akira finally had some clue about what was going on. He welcomed Goro’s passion on instinct, but Goro wasn’t satisfied. He yanked the bag straps off Akira’s shoulders and dropped them like anchors so he could press in closer, trapping Akira against the front door for long-overdue kisses. Goro didn’t even seem bothered by Akira’s sluggish responses. He kissed like a storm, and Akira drank in his furious love like a desert.
When Goro had his fill of Akira’s mouth—or maybe he hadn’t, his glare looked just as strong as the moment the door had opened—he pulled back and hissed, “Never again.”
“Never what again?”
“Six months, you piece of shit. You're going to make up for what you've done.”
Akira laughed, half-delirious and half-loved. “So you missed me?”
“Fuck you. You’re not leaving again, do you hear me?”
“I missed you too.” Akira slipped his arms under Goro’s to hug him, breathing in the scent of his skin and soap, leather and rain. “Did you get stronger? Your lats feel good…”
“Unlike you, Sumire-san can keep up with me on the bouldering course.”
“Ah…” Akira felt that comment try to worm its way under his skin, competitiveness and jealousy losing out to exhaustion and a hindbrain fantasy about falling behind the two of them, just to enjoy the view. He wouldn't mind that at all. “Tell me about it tomorrow? I’m dead on my feet.”
Goro pulled back to narrow his eyes at Akira, like he seriously had to debate whether Akira deserved release, when Sumire chimed in. “Let him go, Goro-san. Jet lag is a serious affliction.”
His angel with a ribbon baton. Akira finally looked over Goro’s shoulder to see Sumire further down the hall. She smiled for him, and if Goro hadn’t still been holding him up, Akira’s weakened knees might have folded. He wanted to say something charming to her, but what came out was, “You two are still on a ‘san’ basis?”
“I don’t think that’s changing anytime soon,” Sumire replied fondly. “Have you eaten dinner?”
“I had a protein shake in Seoul…”
Clearly that wasn’t good enough, as she gave him a disappointed head shake. “Come on in. I have plenty of leftovers from dinner.”
Goro stepped back, a glare in his eye making it clear he intended to continue their ‘discussion’ later. He’d be looking forward to that, after a bit of food and rest. So Akira leaned down to pick up his bags—
—But Goro grabbed his hand first. Like a judo pull, Goro swept Akira’s momentum ‘down’ and sent him ‘forward’ instead, down the hall toward Sumire. She reached out for Akira and grabbed hold of his hand instead. Akira had never been able to empathize with a perfectly passed baton before. “My stuff—”
“Isn’t going anywhere. You can eat first. Which would you prefer, miso or yakitori?” She guided Akira further down the hallway, deeper into the apartment.
I’d prefer to unpack… He glanced back at Goro in the doorway, arms folded with his usual adorable arrogance, and realized his bags had vanished. The hell? They couldn’t be lost, Akira remembered carrying his duffel and backpack up all those goddamn stairs, so how—
“I can whip up something new if you have a particular craving,” Sumire continued. “We have the ingredients for curry, but I had assumed you’d want to make that yourself after you recovered.”
“Yeah,” Akira agreed vaguely. Maybe this wasn’t worth worrying about? His luggage had to be somewhere in the apartment. That was how physical space and a door sealed by makeout session worked. “Can I have both?”
Sumire smiled again. “Coming right up.”
The kitchen and living room looked clean and organized. Either Akira’s loves had worked out a great chore rotation or they deep-cleaned the place in anticipation of his arrival. She sat Akira down at the kitchen table as he felt a wave of drowsiness sweep through him. He’d tried to sleep from Rome to Seoul, but he just couldn’t settle in or turn his thoughts off. To stave off fainting on the table, Akira watched Sumire flit between the cabinets and stove, finding a plate and bowl. Strangely, it looked like Sumire found everything she needed right where Akira would have kept them.
“Do you want coffee, too? You’ve traveled a long way, so I doubt the caffeine will affect you too badly.”
“Sure.” His eyes darted to the far-right cabinet, a heartbeat before Sumire opened it to retrieve the coffee beans. Coincidence… probably…
“This won’t be as good as how the Italians make it, but I hope you like it anyway.” Sumire’s grin turned teasing as she scooped beans for the grind.
“Their coffee was pretty great, but none of it paired well with curry.”
“Did you really go on a culinary sabbatical in Rome to eat curry every night?”
“Just every other night.”
Sumire laughed, and they settled into small talk and little jokes as Sumire served miso off the back-burner, got the chicken skewers roasting again, and let a pour-over coffee drip into a warm, familiar mug of excellence. Akira had told most of his stories in emails and short video calls, and he knew most of the highlights of Sumire and Goro starting college—by fate’s twist, both as freshmen. Competing internationally in gymnastics and acting as a key witness in a thorny political investigation had delayed higher education by a few years. But Akira had missed this, just being together in the same room, chatting about all the things that had fallen down the priority list when time zones and spotty wi-fi forced him to make his calls with his loves ‘count.’ He could finally unwind now. Enjoy himself. Enjoy them.
Speaking of ‘them’… “Where’d Goro go?”
“He’s finishing up a little project,” Sumire said. “I hope you don’t mind that we picked your room for you?”
Akira shook his head and chewed some more yakitori. He kind of doubted that ‘which room belonged to who’ would matter too much in the long term. Or, maybe he hoped that it wouldn't.
“We thought you’d be accommodating. After you’re done eating, would you like the grand tour?”
He snorted. “Grand tour of a 3KLD?”
“It’ll be a very brief grand tour.”
“I’d love to, I’m just…” Akira trailed off. He took a comforting sip of coffee to fortify himself. “Goro’s not mad that I’m too tired to be ravished tonight, right?”
“Don’t worry, there are no expectations of you tonight. He’s just excited you’re back, that’s all.”
“Tomorrow’s another story, though?”
Sumire laughed and leaned her elbows on the table. “You did leave us alone for an awfully long time.”
“You had each other.”
“It’s not the same.”
Akira nodded and polished off the last of his dinner. They had known this would be hard going in, just not how hard. He had understood, cerebrally, that things wouldn’t be the same when he came home. Not just with Sumire and Goro becoming students again, but when they made the choice to live together and had asked Akira if they could leave space for him in a third bedroom. It had made sense, all arguments logical. They’d score a nicer kitchen if they pooled rent. Goro had fewer nightmares whenever Akira or Sumire slept over. Sumire had never lived alone and wanted people around to rely on. So Akira had agreed, but he still worried. He had returned to a completely different world than the one he left.
Better not dwell on it while he only had half a brain. “Is it time for that grand tour?”
“Hold it right there.” Goro announced his return with a snide tone and a slide of his fingers through Akira’s hair. The scratch of nails on his scalp sent sparks dancing across his nerves, and his eyes slid shut involuntarily. Too long, it had been too long, six months too long…
Goro clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You’re disgustingly greasy. The stench of the airport is clinging to you.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Take a shower before you spend any more time in our presence.”
“Have mercy. It’s my birthday.”
“It’s not, and also, I don’t care. Clean yourself before you spread your filth all over the apartment.”
Sumire giggled and clapped her hands together. “Goro-san has spoken! And I think you’ll feel better after you wash the grime off. This building has strong water pressure.”
“You had me at ‘Goro-san has spoken.’”
“Glad to hear you already know how things work around here.” Goro ruffled Akira’s gross hair one more time—that tease—before directing Akira to the bathroom.
It was a bathroom. Normal, plain, useful. Akira saw two toothbrushes in a cup in between the various cleaners and moisturizers that Goro and Sumire used regularly. Oh, I knew I forgot to pack something.
“Can I borrow your shampoo?” Akira asked.
“No, you cannot.” Goro shut the door.
He couldn’t help a fond chuckle. Guess he had no choice but to smell like Sumire for one night. He stripped off his clothes, opened the door to the shower stall, turned on the spray…
A very familiar bottle of two-in-one sat on the shelf, humbly sharing space with the fancy anti-frizz and ‘strength for long hair’ concoctions his loves used. So not only had Goro remembered scolding Akira for using two-in-one in the first place (though he had sounded jealous about it), he even remembered Akira’s brand and picked some up. If Akira wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t survive feeling this loved.
He stepped inside the shower and let the stream drench him. Sumire had been totally right about the water pressure. Steam and soap melted away the agony of travel and left him feeling like an overcooked noodle. Pasta scotta. Akira should try and pepper some Italian into his conversation tomorrow. Then maybe try out the pickup lines he had learned. He hoped the innuendos translated to Japanese.
Time got away from him as he worked the suds into, then slowly out of his hair. Feeling clean made the drowsiness all the more pressing: not a challenge anymore, just an invitation to let it all go and finally rest. He wasn’t sure if this meant he’d done the math on his sleep schedule reset correctly or if he was just worn out.
The bathroom door opened. “Akira? May I come in?”
He stopped mid-rinse. In? Why? “Sure, what’s up?”
Then the shower door opened. A rush of cold air stirred clouds of steam around his body, and he jumped to see Sumire step into the private space—gentle, graceful, completely naked. His memories hadn’t measured up to her real body.
“Is this okay?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Akira choked as Sumire swept her hair behind her shoulders. “Just… kinda surprising?”
“Goro-san’s not the only one excited that you’re back.”
“Excited, huh?”
Sumire’s kiss did not come as a plundering assault like Goro’s, but Akira found it equally irresistible. She tilted Akira’s chin and held him steady for her lips to brush his, gently at first, and then deeper, soft and plush and tasting like the platonic ideal of ‘pink.’ His hands came to a rest on her hips, then gripped possessively while her hands caressed his jaw. Everything melted, bit by bit, around the heat of the shower and their reunion. Akira closed his eyes, let Sumire coax his mouth open further, sighed—
—Tipped.
“Senp—Akira?!”
“Sorry,” Akira blinked hard and clenched his hands around her hips, for balance. Mostly for balance. “I’m—really glad to be back. I missed you—I want you, promise, I’m just…”
Sumire nodded and pulled Akira into an embrace under the spray. “I understand. Can we stay like this, then?”
He had been a minute away from getting out of the shower, fully clean, but… sure. Even when he had all of his energy and willpower, it was hard to deny Sumire anything.
Following her lead, Akira lingered. Maybe he should try and give Goro and Sumire what they clearly wanted. They were both pent-up with desire to ‘reunite,’ and Akira accepted the blame for that. No matter how much he adored his partners, or how fervently he believed in rebellion, or how many times they tried, Akira hadn’t been capable of following through on phone sex. It turned out the only authority Akira respected was the master of a house who had claimed Akira as his ward. Horny calls had been canceled indefinitely, creating a six-month drought.
So, he should do his best to meet them halfway, right? He could just lay back, surrender responsibility, and enjoy the physical reminder of how much they loved him. He had more than earned the right to pillow princess-hood after his long journey, hadn’t he? But the longer he stood in the steam and hugged Sumire, the reality remained that Akira felt too wrung out to enjoy even that bare-minimum effort scenario. He just wanted to sleep in the same time zone as the ones who had stolen his heart.
“Sumi?”
“Yes?”
“I think I’m clean.”
“Ah, you’re right… One final check.”
She reached for his hair and scritched his scalp, dragging a groan out of him. Okay, maybe he would allow hair-playing before bed, but before he could suggest it, Sumire kissed his cheek and departed the shower like a thief in the night.
I swear, these two… He’d barely been home half an hour and he could feel them playing tag. One at a time, interrupting each other, appearing and vanishing. Usually, he’d love to join a game like that, but he couldn’t figure out the rules, couldn't keep up. What were they even doing?
He turned off the water, toweled his hair, and looked at the sink.
Three toothbrushes rested in the cup.
He squinted at them and tried to do the math. One was Goro’s. One was Sumire’s. And one was his—but not just his usual style or a favorite brand, it was the toothbrush he had bought in Rome when the one he'd packed in his suitcase had worn out.
For a second, he considered that his toothbrush had learned to teleport. Then he remembered teleportation didn’t exist. And also, toothbrushes weren't sentient. He eventually landed on a more likely answer: blaming his roommates. Tugging his clothes back on, Akira left his hair damp and stuck his head out of the bathroom. No sign of anyone in the common area.
“Guys?” he called, and from of one of the adjacent doors, Goro leaned out.
“What is it?” He asked, false innocence as beautiful as his face.
“Did you open my backpack?”
“You’ve underestimated us.”
In spite of it all, Akira’s heart thudded harder at the words. It happened so rarely since he thought so highly of them both, but he loved the results of underestimating Goro and Sumire.
Goro stepped aside and let Sumire out of the same bedroom. If not for the clumps of wet hair, she looked as perfect as when Akira had arrived. She offered her hand to Akira. “It’s time for the tour.”
“Grand tour,” he corrected.
“Just ‘tour’ for now. There’s just one place we’re really excited to show you.”
With faith, he took her hand. She pulled, guiding, toward the one room. “Goro-san’s room is the first one in the hall. Mine is the second. Your room…”
Goro pushed the door open wider. Finally, Akira could see in.
“…It’s here.”
Akira faced his room. Not the empty space he would move into once he unpacked, he faced his room, with everything as he wanted it, already unpacked. Duvet and pillow on the bed. Books he’d taken to Italy stacked on his nightstand. Wardrobe doors left ajar, showing neatly hung button-downs next to his favorite blazer. They’d even hung up the chef’s jacket he’d earned at the end of his sabbatical training, toque placed reverently on the bottom shelf. Sentimental trinkets filled the shelf above his desk, with his souvenirs for friends lined up in neat rows on the desktop. Laptop plugged in to charge. Phantom Thieves banner pinned to the wall. No duffel or backpack in sight.
“Goro-san distracted you at the door as soon as you arrived, so I could take your bags,” Sumire answered Akira’s next four questions. “Then he started unpacking while I fed you. We worked together while you showered.”
“She flung herself at you when we realized we needed more time to finish the job.”
“I mean, I was happy to do the flinging!”
“And he was surely happy to catch you. What matter is, the extra diversion worked perfectly.”
Sumire gave Akira’s hand a gentle squeeze. “We know how much it meant to you, for you to travel and gain new experiences. We mostly coped by pretending you were already here. We kept things as you would want them… until you finally came back to us.”
Goro smirked. “Welcome home, honey.”
The longer Akira looked at it all—his boyfriend, his girlfriend, his room, so familiar and lived-in already—the harder it got to breathe. Tears choked his throat until he could only hug them, pull them close to him and weep with happiness, tears staining the both of them. Thankfully, crying in joy took absolutely no energy at all.
Honey, darling… I’m home.