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Ranpo is 13 when he meets Fukuzawa.
He tells him he’s special, and that it’s everyone else who is wrong, not him. It’s nice to hear, but hard to believe. Sure, he’s right about detective stuff, but he can’t seem to get anything right in terms of actually talking with people. No one except Fukuzawa understands what he means.
And that’s why, when Fukuzawa touches him, a ginger but decisive touch, on his thigh when they are settling down for the day in their shared flat, Ranpo lets him. Ranpo lets him. He doesn’t say anything or do anything, he stays as still as a deer caught in the headlights. Fukuzawa keeps chattering, and slowly Ranpo relaxes. If Fukuzawa is acting like it’s normal for him to touch his leg like that, so softly and close to his private region, then who is Ranpo to object?
Slowly, he starts touching him more confidently, and it feels like love. He brushes Ranpo’s bangs out of his face, and their eyes meet. There’s an intensity, and Ranpo looks over to their hands instead. He’s touching him. He says something, a complement, and Ranpo stays still, pliant.
Ranpo lets him, and it feels like love.
Hands bring Ranpo face towards Fukuzawa. Lips meet his, and he closes his eyes. It’s wet. It feels gross. He can feel his chapped lips against Fukuzawa’s own and it’s gross. He opens his eyes. Fukuzawa is looking at him. He’s still being kissed. The eye contact is too much and he tries to look away, pull away, but the gentle grasp on his hair deters him. He closes his eyes again. It’s wet. It’s moist and there’s a tongue trying to invade his mouth.
He can’t open his eyes because if he opens his eyes Fukuzawa will be looking at him with that intensity that breaks him. But he can’t keep his eyes closed. He feels too much. It’s fucking gross.
He opens his eyes again, slower, and just a flicker. Fukuzawa is still looking at him. Is he supposed to be? He always thought couples closed their eyes when they kissed. And they are kissing, aren’t they? He thinks they are but he isn’t sure. Fukuzawa never shows him his emotions. He tells Ranpo what he’s feeling, sometimes. Ranpo can’t remember if they talked about this, about kissing. It’s probably not kissing. It’s probably not kissing, because that’s supposed to be a thing for couples. Maybe he’s wrong. That sounds like the kind of thing he’d be wrong about.
Fukuzawa pulls away, and it's not sudden. It feels sudden, but he does it gently, softly, and he lingers. He says something, but Ranpo isn’t listening. There’s buzzing, and he doesn’t quite feel real.
Ranpo’s hands have been still throughout the exchange. Fukuzawa touches them, brings them to his own face, then neck. Ranpo lets him, his hands staying wrapped around the elder in an embrace. Fukuzawa brings him close, and hands slither to his waist. Ranpo’s like a doll, weightless. His hands should feel cold, but they aren’t. They’re warm, and it’s gentle skin-on-skin. Ranpo’s not facing Fukuzawa anymore, his head resting on his shoulder. He closes his eyes briefly as a hand descends, but it’s too intense. He keeps his eyes open, vacant, trying desperately to focus on the visual.
Fukuzawa smells like comfort. They’ve hugged like this a few times now, on the couch, Ranpo reaching Fukuzawa’s shoulder. His clothes smell the same as they did then. Nothing is different. Their apartment is as dark and sparse as the last time they hugged here on the couch after he had a nightmare. Nothing is different, Fukuzawa smells like comfort, and the apartment looks the same.
He lets out a small whine, eyes closing, his hands clenching involuntarily. Fukuzawa has one hand on his ass and the other up his shirt. This is different, and it’s scary.
Ranpo can feel the vibration of laughter in Fukuzawa’s chest. He says something again, a shushing sound. Ranpo tries to still himself, tries to be good and quiet and. He doesn’t feel real. Fukuzawa is touching him and it’s not real. It’s not real.
When it’s over and he’s almost real again, in a hushed voice he asks Fukuzawa if his eyes were supposed to be open or not. His head laying on Fukuzawa’s chest, he feels the vibration of laughter again, and it feels like love.