Archive of Our Own

In April of his junior year, Satomi’s lease runs out. It had been a two-year long thing, and since he originally signed it when he first enrolled in university, that means its end coincides with his freshly-started job hunt. It should be no big deal, he can just renew; except Satomi decides to go and throw a curveball.

“You really wanna move?” Kyouji had asked over their dinner of takeout one night. The TV was on with the volume turned low, something he’d noticed Satomi often did— in service of the apartment feeling less lonely, he always figured. “I mean, I like the idea,” he assured, “I just didn’t really see it coming.” 

As response, Satomi had gestured to their current situation, sat on the tatami, food carefully arranged on the tiny floor desk so as not to disturb any of the assignments laying across it. Even though it got a lot of light and was in a good location, four-and-a-half mats started to feel pretty small with two grown men in it. Particularly when those men were apt to end up on top of each other against any flat surface. 

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know if I’d actually be able to afford it, but I’ve been saving for the past while,” Satomi had told him. 

“Oh yeah? Good on you.” He was doing much better for himself than Kyouji had at his age. “It helps that I pay for half your food though, huh?” 

“If you’re going to keep staying over then it makes sense to get something with a bigger bathtub, at least.” 

This caused Kyouji to smile, cheeks full of lo mein. “And thicker walls.”  

“Don’t be gross.” 

“Wha— You literally started it?” 

So, their texts recently have been dominated by links back and forth to various apartment listings. The bad ones get thumbs downed; the not-bad ones get no reply. Satomi wants to stay in Kamata, so that’s where Kyouji has mainly been looking.  

He has of course offered—not fully cover it, he knows the answer to that—but to help out with Satomi’s rent so that he at least cast a wider net, but that got shot down just as quick. Kyouji gets it, he does, wanting to be independent. It’s respectable; Satomi’s grown into a real fine adult. Their one bed one bath with a view in central Osaka can come later. 

As it is, the deadline is approaching and they still haven’t started on contacting a moving company—another search he mentally adds to the growing list. Satomi has offhandedly commented that Kyouji shouldn’t be wasting his free time on this, but it’s not like he’s forcing himself. And it’s helping him look busy, which deters his coworkers from bothering him with useless questions.

That’s what he’s doing now, cycling through the same three apartment listing apps in addition to his and Satomi’s messages. He manages to glance up in time to see the ball Masanori’s just bowled skew lamely into the gutter before it strikes any of the pins. The boss looks more dismayed with every inning.  

“Ask for them to put the railing up,” says Yoshikawa for what has to be the fifth time. Masanori isn’t dejected enough not to flip him off as he slumps back down onto the seat. 

“I haven’t done this since I was like, twelve, okay? So gimme a break,” he says into his beer glass. Masanori and the boss have been ‘reconnecting’ (their words, not his) for like the past two years, and for reasons Kyouji doesn’t want to try and analyze, that means he’s usually invited too. So is Yoshikawa, probably for reasons related to being Masanori’s assistant. No wonder that Junko lady choose working for a yakuza bar over manga. Shit seems like it sucks.  

A new message pops up at the top of his screen.  

[nishikamata6chome4503.img]  

i got a showing of this place set up for tomorrow at noon  

if you’re still in town, feel free to come.   

I'll be there 🤩 

You feeling lunch afterwards? My train 🚄 isn’t until 4  

okay  

then lets do indian  

[You sent a stamp.]  

He locks his phone and places it face down on his thigh.  

A house viewing together, huh? 

Satomi’s never asked him to do something so... normal like that before. Kyouji picks up his phone again and stares at the message.  

Going to a house viewing together. The two of them. In a normal way.  

He shoves his phone into his pocket and watches Masanori sag backward in exasperation at another gutter ball. 

“Quit bouncing your leg like that,” the boss smacks Kyouji on the shoulder and nods to the lane. “You’re up.”

Kyouji arrives at the apartment to find Satomi and a short lady he assumes is the realtor waiting out of the sun by the entrance. From the plastic convenience store bag he produces a lemonade for Satomi, a iced coffee for himself and a green tea for the agent, out of courtesy.  

“You really didn’t have to do that,” she reassures, but she’s visibly pleased.  

“Thanks for coming,” nods Satomi. 

“No biggie,” Kyouji replies. “Pretty nice place.” 

“Wait until you see the inside, it’s newly renovated.” The realtor smiles over her shoulder as she goes to swipe them into the building. Kyouji already likes how much more security this place offers over the current digs.  

It’s on the third floor of a four-story complex. It’s clean white modern, comes semi-furnished, and when Kyouji asks about the walls, you know, for the sake of Satomi’s electric bills, he’s happy to receive an enthusiastic confirmation that ‘the full insulation keeps energy costs low!’ Satomi pretends not to hear this exchange and instead scrutinizes the inside of the empty fridge. 

There’s no tatami, so it’ll probably be better to switch from a futon to a bed frame if he ends up taking the place. Luckily, the bedroom seems wide enough that a full-size mattress would work if they can’t spring for a queen. 

“Oh yes,” chirps the realtor. “The last tenant had a double bed in here, so it shouldn’t be a problem. You could also do two singles, that way dad doesn’t have to take the couch when he comes to visit, right?”  

Kyouji smiles in response, because sure, he guesses that’s true, but is confused as to why she clearly looks at him while she says this. 

After a few seconds of silence, Satomi asks, “If it’s okay, could you show me how the garbage room works?” And the two of them set off back into the hall.  

Kyouji takes the time to wander the place one more time, thinking idly about where to put what. Maybe it's too early, but he didn’t miss the way Satomi’s expression brightened when they walked in. He was trailing the agent like a duckling, as if he showed sufficient interest she would be more willing to hand him the keys pro bono. His customer service voice was definitely more than a little bit on. 

Kyouji’s confirming to Oyama (and thus, the rest of the family) that he’s bringing those Tokyo Banana cakes back home from the station (two of the biggest size box, as they’re always sure to remind him), when the realtor trails back in with Satomi in tow. They’re having some conversation about the water heater. 

Satomi sounds so mature talking about things like key money and utilities. Maybe there’s a little bit of pride in it, though it isn’t like Kyouji himself did anything to nudge him in the right direction. It’s more of a testament that Satomi turned out so normal when the only guy he has ever dated is... well, Kyouji can’t say he’d want his hypothetical son keeping the company Satomi does.  

“Oka-san, sorry, do you think you could help me reach the fuse box switch?” comes the realtor’s voice.

The website informs him that the Tokyo Station store currently isn't accepting online reservations, to Kyouji's chagrin. He'd rather just put an order in and go grab it before his train. He wonders if Satomi has ever had anything from here, if maybe he'd want some next time Kyouji comes up.

Finding it strange that the room had gone so quiet, Kyouji looks up from his phone, only to discover both the realtor and Satomi staring fixedly at him.  

“...Dad.” Says Satomi, very, very obviously to Kyouji. And he gestures up to where the fuse box is at. 

And... wait, back up.  

Is ‘Oka-san’ Kyouji ?  

Because of some intervention from whatever is responsible for functioning under duress, maybe the same force that allows obvious drunks to walk a straight line in front of cops, he just smiles and does what’s asked without comment. Clean recovery.  

They’re mostly done after that. Back at the entrance, Kyouji bows, letting a hand rest on Satomi’s shoulder. Tells the realtor he likes the place. Not a bad location. Would be good for Satomi. Yeah. They’ll be in touch. Thanks again. 

A bit later, Satomi’s got one hand typing a message to the leasing agency and another dipping naan into curry. Kyouji watches this feat of dexterity with his chin resting on his palm. The restaurant is comfortably loud around them. 

His mind keeps coming back to the conjured-up image of that lady riding the train back with the bottle of tea Kyouji’s given her, believing fully that Satomi was his flesh and blood kid. It’s not a big deal, and it’s not like there’s no precedent for them pretending to be related.

“Don’t use your phone so much when you’re eating.” Kyouji remarks, expecting to be ignored. Instead, Satomi finishes whatever he’d been typing and sets it on the table next to him, picking his spoon back up. 

“I think I can finish the application by tonight if my boss gets back to me about being a reference.” 

“What about that other place you wanted to check, the one closer to the station?” 

Satomi just shakes his head. “It went off the market yesterday. Anyway, what did you think about the key money for the place? Isn’t it sort of higher than usual?” 

Kyouji gulps a too-big sip of coffee and waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll pay it. Satomi, when did you tell that realtor lady I was your dad?” 

He gives Kyouji a look, cheek full of bread. “When I found out you’d be coming. I had to let her know who we were waiting around for,” he pokes at his curry. “It’s what we always say.” 

“Not always.” Kyouji laughs. 

“You get what I mean. To... people who don’t matter.” 

He isn’t wrong; it’s convenient, and no one they’ve told it to has ever thought twice or doubted it. It’s believable, apparently, to most. When Kyouji catches sight of the two of them next to each other in a passing shop window or something, he can’t say he doesn’t see it. 

“Are you upset about it?” asks Satomi. 

“No, nothing like that,” Kyouji sits back. “It’s cute.” 

“Cute?” repeats Satomi. 

“No reason for people to know more than they need to.” He swirls his coffee, the ice clinking pleasantly against the glass. “Feels kinda like we’re getting away with something.”

Satomi goes back to his food, shrugging.  

“So you’re pretty set on this place, huh?” 

“I mean, yeah. I can see myself there. And,” he swallows a bite, “Kyouji-san, too.” 

“Satomi-kuuuun,” Kyouji’s heart clenches.  “Don’t say stuff like that without warning me.” 

“What stuff?” Satomi retreats a bit. He taps his phone absentmindedly to check for a text. 

Kyouji sighs and sits back, poking at his half-eaten rice. He’s not huge on Indian, but Satomi likes it, so he just tries for the safest sounding thing on the menu. It wasn't bad this time, but he can recognize when to throw in the towel.

“Here, give me your plate,” Kyouji motions for it and spoons the rest of his rice onto Satomi’s.  

“Thanks.” 

“You going to be full like that?”  

Satomi nods, but Kyouji catches the waitress passing by and flags her down, leaning back in the chair. “Hey, think we could we get another serving of naan? My kid's too shy to ask for it.”  

Satomi’s head whips up. “Hello?”  

She laughs, endeared. “No problem, I’ll be back in a minute.” 

Satomi kicks him under the table. 

“What, only you’re allowed to do it?” He kicks him again. Kyouji kicks him back, not half as hard. 

“I’m not too shy. Whatever,” he puts his spoon down and sits back. “I’ll finish the application after I drop you off at the station.” 

“Oh, shit,” says Kyouji suddenly. “The station. The banana.” 

“Huh?”  

“The banana cat... cakes.” He shuts his eyes and waggles his fingers.  

“I... Are you having a stroke?” 

“Tokyo Banana!” Kyouji claps. “Sorry, I gotta head out, I can never find the stupid store down there.” He takes out a few bills and places them on the table. “See you soon. Text me about the apartment, okay?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Satomi says as Kyouji swings his jacket back on. He’s pushing the chair in when, “Kyouji-san?” 

“Hm?” 

“Get back safe.” 

Kyouji nods a smile, and shimmies past the waitress carrying a plate of hot naan.

“No, I’m not busy.”  

Kyouji makes eye contact with the rest of the guys around the table. Like they’re in any position to mind him taking a call; the only thing they’ve done for the past hour is rock-paper-scissors to decide who’s calling Jon-neesan about the delay on her money this month. “What’s up kiddo?” 

“Will you be my guarantor?” 

“Huh?” 

He hears the sound of typing on the other hand. “Will you be my guarantor for the apartment?” 

Okay, pump the breaks. Back up. 

“Didn’t you already submit the application?” 

“I’m trying to, but they’re asking for a guarantor.” 

Kyouji blinks. “What about your parents?” 

“I’ll ask them if I have to, but I wanted to ask you first.” Satomi replies. Leaving no time for Kyouji to process this, he follows with, “Do you think you could do it?” 

Satomi’s asking him to be his guarantor. The guarantor on his lease for the apartment he’s trying to get. With the bigger bathtub and the bigger bed and the garbage room. That apartment. Kyouji’s name on the lease for that apartment. 

“Uh,” he says smartly. He feels for his glasses behind his laptop. “I don’t actually know,” A few of the guys look over at him as he finds the listing in him and Satomi’s messages and opens it.  

“Oh. That’s fine. It’s not a big deal—”  

“No, I meant,” Kyouji says quick, “I want to do it— I just gotta double check that I even can.” He scrolls to the bottom of the page. “Yeah, guarantors have to be family.” 

“Where’s it say that?” 

“On the company’s site, here,” Kyouji pastes the link into their messages. “Damn, they don’t even allow out-of-prefecture guarantors.” 

Meaning not even Satomi’s actual parents could do it. It would have been nice for him to have it squared away so he can focus on the job search.  

“I see,” Satomi says slowly. “Sorry. I should have checked it properly before asking you.” 

“No, it’s good you called.” Kyouji says, aware of the acute silence on the other end. “Maybe we could find you a company to do the guarantor stuff.” 

“It’ll be too expensive. This place is already pushing my budget,” Satomi replies readily. Kyouji, for once, keeps his mouth shut about offering to pay.  

“Let’s start fresh next week. I’ll take some time off and come up there again. Make a few appointments and we’ll knock a bunch out at once.” Kyouji swivels his chair away from the other guys. “Will Satomi-kun let me stay over again if I bring two of the new Uncle Rikuro cheesecakes?” 

“Who’s eating two entire cakes?” but his voice has lifted just slightly. “You can stay whenever you want... I’m just sorry it’s always on the same tiny futon.” 

“Is it? I guess all I notice is how sweet you look when you’re asleep.” 

From behind him, someone grunts, “Can you take this shit outside, or?” 

Satomi’s tone swings leery. “Are you at work right now?” 

“Nnnnnnnno.” Kyouji squints at the portraits on the wall.  

“What the hell. Please kill yourself.” Satomi bristles, and hangs up. 

Kyouji’s just gotten back to his apartment with takeout when his phone vibrates in his jacket chest pocket once more.  

Instead of 'hello', or 'good work today', or ‘Kyouji-san, I’m lonely, can’t your train be tonight instead of next week?’, Satomi says, “How hard would it be for you to get a fake I.D. made?”  

“Fake I.D.?” Kyouji slips his shoe off and it lands sideways. “You wanna get into a club or something?” 

“What? No,” he sounds incredulous for some reason. “For the guarantor thing. For you.” 

“For me?” 

“For you.” 

“...So that I can be your guarantor.” 

“Correct.” 

Kyouji takes a second to consider this. Forgetting the food for now, he steps out onto the balcony and lights up. “And what about the part where it has to be a family member?” 

“I figured since you’re pretending to be someone else anyway,” Satomi says, “Just make it so that you’re my dad or uncle or something. The last name doesn’t have to be Oka as long as you make it look convincing.” 

There was a chance he’d taken the comment about getting away with it too literally. But also: Kyouji’s long known that Satomi wasn’t actually as innocent as when he first found him, two years was more than enough time to realize that, but still.  

“Where’d you go getting this idea?” 

There’s a pause on the other end. Then: “My coworker was talking to me about how he used to get into bars using one. When he was underage.” 

“Uh-huh,” he taps the ash from his cigarette, trying to keep the smile from making itself known in his voice. Satomi goes on.  

“So I just thought... maybe you’d have experience with that sort of thing. I don’t know. Now that I’m saying it aloud, maybe it’s stupid.” 

“Not stupid. You really want this place, huh?” 

“...I wanted to at least try. Do you think they’ll look that closely into the guarantor stuff?” 

“Nah, in my experience they don’t really care. It’s more about checking the income to rent ratio.” On which front Kyouji is fine. “But... Satomi-kun?” 

“Yes?” 

“If I do this for you, you gotta promise me you won’t make a habit of this kind of stuff. This is pretty lowkey, and if anything happens, I’ll take the fall, but.” 

Calling him up and asking for a fake I.D.— Kyouji’s always kept him far from that messy sort of stuff, but it’s naive of him to expect it to stay that way forever. He’s always been into playing with fire. Going where he shouldn’t.  

“I promise.” 

“Good boy. I’ll hold you to that, then.” Kyouji says. “Alright, sure. Why not.” 

“You’ll do it?” 

“Mhm. I’ll call about getting it made right now.”  

“Okay, send me a copy of both the front and back when it’s done.” Satomi says, “And Kyouji-san, thank you.” 

“You got it. If they ring me about the reference, I’ll make sure to tell them what a good kid you are. How you always ate your veg—” 

“I’ll talk to you later.” 

The line goes dead. 

Kyouji scrolls happily through his contacts until he finds the name Ayumi. She was the wife of his aniki a few years back, but they’ve since divorced. Even so, he always got along with her. Honestly, Kyouji persuaded her to go through with the divorce; A woman with her talents shouldn’t be tied down to a guy like that. 

She picks up on the third ring.  

“Hey,” an exhale of smoke. He’s definitely going to make the last name Oka. And they’re going to get away with it. “Long time no see.”

Kyouji sort of hates the Ikea app. 

He lifts his phone up with both hands to scan the family restaurant floor again, pressing on the screen firmly to place a side table in the janky AR view thing.  

“Can you seriously stop that? Those girls over there are going to report you for filming them,” Masanori says after another sip of wine. His own phone is resting on his sketchbook, open on what looks like those games Kyouji sees exclusively on ads. 

“I’m not filming them. I’m trying to get an idea of how big this furniture actually is,” Kyouji explains, getting back to the task at hand. He bites his tongue and maneuvers the virtual table to rest against the back wall. Some kids walking over to the drink bar pass through it. “How does anyone buy anything online?” 

“You’re making me embarrassed to have been born in Showa.” 

“It looks even worse from over here,” Satomi slides into the seat next to Kyouji casually. He’s changed out of his provocative little work apron (unfortunate) and into a sweatshirt (wide neckline, cute). “Do you really have to do that now?” 

“I’m using my time waiting for you effectively,” Kyouji asserts. Why is everyone on his case today? Masanori, Satomi, those girls, Ikea. 

“I’m done now, so let’s go.” 

“Well hang on a second, I wanna finish my drink real quick. Since Satomi-kun hand-delivered it to me.” Kyouji puts an arm around him. Satomi doesn't reply, pulling out his phone and beginning to go through his missed texts.  

Masanori stares for a bit at this scene before turning back to this phone.  

“Ah shit. The app timer I set went off,” he grouses.  

“Guess you actually have to do work now,” Kyouji asserts over the rim of his espresso cup. But Masanori’s already reaching for the menu again and flipping to the dessert section. 

“After a melon soda. Can’t focus unless I’ve got something to motivate me.” 

Kyouji presents his phone to Satomi, still open on a listing for the side table. “I was thinking about this for next to the bed.” 

“Yeah, maybe. If it doesn’t fit then we could use it in front of the genkan.” Satomi begins swiping through color options. Kyouji aimlessly brings his free hand to leaf through his hair. It always smells kind of like the restaurant after a shift.  

“I still don’t know what color I want the bed frame,” Satomi murmurs. 

“Well, we can look when we’re over there today.” He hasn’t officially moved in yet; they're still going to stay at his old place tonight, but he had the keys for the new place and was in full planning mode. Today was mostly for measurements and window shopping. Kyouji'd offered to stay until the day of the actual move, but been assured that he'd have ample time to get everything into boxes before the movers arrived.

Kyouji’s hand wanders to the back of Satomi’s neck. So warm. Kyouji presses his thumb into the muscle and Satomi twists, rolls his shoulder back with it.  

“Feel good?” says Kyouji under his breath.  

“My neck’s always sore after a shift.” 

“Mm... Is the day shift weird?” 

Satomi shakes his head. “I cover people on weekends sometimes, so I’m used to it.”  

Fingers at the side of Satomi’s jawline, Kyouji catches Masanori’s eye one more time and decides maybe it’s best to reel it in.  

The waitress arrives carrying a melon soda float just as Kyouji finishes off the rest of his coffee. 

“Okay, I’m heading out,” Kyouji stands. “I’ll look out for the next chapter—” 

“Oh!” says Masanori suddenly, pointing with his spoon. “Your nephew, right?” he looks pleased as all hell to have remembered this and spoken it aloud. Kyouji freezes where he’s got a hand on either side of Satomi’s waist, as he was guiding him out.  

“Hahaha.” He manages after a beat. “Took you long enough, didn’t it?” 

Masanori knocks his fist against his forehead. “Steel trap.” 

“For sure,” Kyouji’s smile is like taut rubber. “Well. Catch ya later.” 

They don’t say anything until they’re riding the escalator in Donki. Then Satomi, over the very loud canned announcement, turns and goes, “Kyouji-san.” In a way that very much demands an explanation.  

“I know, I know.” A raises two palms placatingly. “Okay, I think what happened was I said that like one time. Like usual! And then two years passed. And I forgot about it. Until just now.” 

“You forgot.” 

The two of them step off the escalator and into the supermarket part. It’s just before lunchtime, meaning they get fist pick of the ready-made food section before the office workers descend on it. Kyouji follows behind Satomi, who knows this place better than him. 

“Wish I’d remembered I told him that before I started touching on you.” 

“I also wish that you had.” 

“God, he probably thinks I’m molesting my sister’s kid!” 

“Could you not say that so loud?” Satomi shushes him, but Kyouji can tell from his face that he isn’t actually angry. Instead of trying to put distance between them he grabs the sleeve of Kyouji’s jacket and hurries him along. 

He stops in front of the sushi, searching. In true housewarming fashion, they’re planning on eating a meal while sat on the middle of the floor. Basking in the glow of a totally empty apartment, full of possibility. It was hard-won, after all. 

“Oh, no not that one. I don’t mess with inari.” Kyouji points past the platter Satomi has in hand. “Get the one with extra maguro instead.”

The rule is Kyouji isn’t allowed to help with rent. He is allowed, generally, to help with everything else. 

Using the power of persuasion, the art of reasoning, and a bit of looking like a dejected dog who “just wants to help, Satomi-kun 🥺”, he has managed to get Satomi to let him buy most of the furniture in the new place. Even if they’re not formally living together, Satomi couldn’t exactly deny the fact that Kyouji would be getting use out of it as well. 

It’s been about two weeks since Kyouji was last in town. Since then, most of the stuff they ordered has been delivered and set up, the latter courtesy of some of Satomi’s little university friends. He’s been getting regular pictures of the progress. 

Right now, he’s leaning against the mailbox outside of the family restaurant, doing damage control over something stupid in the family group chat in one hand and holding his backpack in the other. Inside are the last few things that he wanted to bring over to leave at Satomi’s new place; mostly pajamas and a few undershirts. In the past he’d barely been able to stuff his clothes into the closets over the girls he was staying with. But maybe because even two guys combined have a lot less than one woman, or maybe because Satomi circulates the same few outfits so regularly that Kyouji can tell if it’s laundry day from what he’s got on, there hasn’t been much of a problem yet. 

“Sorry to make you wait.” 

Satomi walks up to him him wearing the windbreaker Kyouji’d bought him last summer. It’s turning into a pretty mild evening despite the lingering signs of this afternoon’s rain.  

“No biggie,” Kyouji swipes his phone to do not disturb before pocketing it. “You wanna get going?” The new place is not that much longer of a walk than his old one despite being a neighborhood over. Part of the reason it’d been so affordable is because it’s farther than most people would be willing to be from the station, but as Satomi’s still a student, he insists he doesn’t mind the walk. Kyouji thinks he would’ve excused the place having asbestos or something with how bad he liked it. 

He’s about to set off towards home when Satomi’s eye catches on something behind him, and he gives a little wave in that direction. Kyouji turns in time to see a guy a little older than Satomi’s age, making the walk signal at the last possible second. 

“I’m not late,” he announces. 

“You’re fine. Konno-san hasn’t clocked out yet.” Satomi replies. His older coworker, Kyouji recognizes.

“I stopped by the store in the station to grab the new issue,” he lifts the plastic bag he’s got hanging from his right. “I was scared they wouldn’t have it because I didn’t have time to grab it on the day it released. I know I can get it digital but I’m kind of old-fashioned and I like the physical copies. Feels more like I actually bought something, y’know. Anyway,” he continues. “The store had a weirdly long line because the girl in front of me kept trying the Strawberry Samurai lottery like a million times. But I made it in time.” 

“That’s good,” says Satomi.  

“I was dodging NekoPani spoilers online like crazy these past few days.” 

“NekoPani?” interjects Kyouji. “You read it too?” 

The guy turns to him, as if registering him for the first time. He nods. “Since the first chapter.”  

“It’s been really ramping up recently, huh...” Kyouji hums. “I have no idea what direction this current arc is going in.” Which is a lie, Masanori talked his ear off about it the other month. 

“Based on the lore they dropped in chapter 56 I think one of the main cast is definitely going to die. And take the thing he meant to say in the last chapter with him.” 

“You think so? That’d be kinda dark...” 

“NekoPani’s good with balancing tone like that though. I trust the mangaka with my life basically. She’s never failed to keep the tension going even if the updates are staggered.”  

“Uh, Morita-san,” peeps Satomi. “You’re cutting it kind of close to your clock-in time.” 

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” says the guy named Morita. “Sorry, what was your name again...?” he manages to ask Kyouji as he shoves his headphones into his bag.  

“Totally forgot to say, didn’t I?” Kyouji shakes his head.  “I’m Satomi’s dad.” 

Kyouji can hear the split second the word falls from his lips and strikes the wrong chord. The noise of it reverberates around them. 

Morita is making no effort to hide his surprise, eyes going back and forth between the two of them, his hand frozen in his tote bag. 

“Whoa,” he says. “Oka, your dad reads manga? I’m jealous.” 

“Morita-san. Your shift.” Satomi reminds. 

Morita shrugs his bag back on and ducks his head in goodbye. “Yeah. See you around!” He takes the stairs down to the restaurant two at a time. 

They stand there in silence for a bit. Then Satomi turns to him, expression unreadable. 

“What?” asks Kyouji. 

Kyouji is summarily dragged around the building the restaurant is in to the street behind, past the music store, the jazz bar, and through the automatic doors of a convenience store, through the aisles, past the ice cream, up the single step, and into the bathroom.  

He barely has time to hit the lock with his pinky finger, being pulled by the lapels. Satomi stops when his own hips hit the edge of the sink, but he doesn’t let Kyouji go, yanking him down so he’s bent over awkward.  

His eyes flick up to his own reflection in the mirror, then back to Satomi’s. “What’s up?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“That is my coworker.” 

“I know that,” Kyouji reassures. 

“You told him you were my dad.” 

“Yeah.” 

“He is going to think that forever now.” 

“Forever is kind of excessive. Does he seem that bright to you? Sorry,” Kyouji adds at Satomi’s expression. It’s... Kyouji has no idea what it is. He only knows he’s never seen him like this. Brows furrowed, white-knuckling Kyouji’s jacket. 

“What am I supposed to do now?” continues Satomi, voice full of adrenaline, not anger. Like he’s genuinely looking for an answer. Breathing hard. “Just keep that up?” 

“Satomi-kun.” 

“Or tell him the truth? That’s not really my dad—” 

“Satomi-kun.” 

“Just someone I pretend is because it gets me—” 

“Satomi-kun, you’re hard." 

They’re chest-to-chest now, Kyouji having moved in close. Satomi’s basically sitting on the edge of the sink, staring incredulously at where Kyouji’s hand rests between his legs. Embarrassed about the way his body’s reacted over something seemingly inconsequential. 

“Why are you...” Satomi starts, but snaps his jaw closed when Kyouji moves his hand a bit.  

“You like it, how much older I am than you,” Kyouji massages over the bulge in his jeans. “That’s okay.” 

 And really, it was— not even cracking the top fifty of weird things to get turned on by. He’s been in Satomi’s shoes; the draw to someone older, someone you can just let handle everything. And Kyouji would handle him a lot better than the way he himself had been handled. That counted for something. 

“So do you,” Satomi insists, not looking at him but at the faded flyer on the wall advertising part-time work. “The fact that you’re the first to ever get his hands on me. It makes you happy.” 

Kyouji’s slots a thigh between Satomi's. The fraction of distance that remained is closed, kissing him deep, telling himself he’s not hiding in it. 

He could pretend that he considered it more— he knew better than to even entertain eighteen— but when Satomi’d asked, polite and wanting, well, that bulldozed all else. His friend, Satomi-kun, from karaoke lessons that summer. Here, grown up, and even more handsome. Cut him some slack; he’s been through his share of moral dilemmas. 

“Does it?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Satomi-kun,” he sighs against his lips. “I don’t know if you have any idea how much I like you.” 

Set in stone from the start. He would’ve done anything to have Satomi; but he also knows he would’ve let him go if that’s what Satomi’s decision had been. Lucky it wasn’t. Kyouji still remembers the look of plain need in his eyes from across the table. Getting worse as the months went on. Is that what had done it? A way to keep Satomi from hurting like he was? And when all he’d had to do was give in. Some yakuza he is. He wonders, sometimes. 

He opens his mouth into the kiss, sucking Satomi’s lips. Kyouji can see himself in the mirror, the reflection of his hands snaking up the back of Satomi’s shirt.  

“Stop.” Satomi breaks off, tempting Kyouji with the skin of his neck. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. “Stop. I’m not... having sex with you in a FamilyMart restroom.” He says it like he has crossed oceans of his horniest thoughts to arrive at the shores of this logic. 

It’s sound logic, too. Kyouji may have a real lack of reservations or standards—this is not even cracking his top fifty list of weird places to fuck someone—but the copyright-free music over the speakers and the smell of expired air freshener is definitely second rate when Satomi’s bed is newly big enough for two. 

“Take off your jacket and give it to me.” Satomi orders, holding his hand out. “I’m going to tie it around my waist. I’ll go out first. Wait a bit before you follow in case anyone’s paying attention.”

He’s still getting used to the dimensions of the new place. So much so that when they step through his door after Satomi guides him up the stairs, into the elevator, nod of hello to his neighbor coming back with groceries, clumsier than usual down the hall, following him as close as he can, a shadow, a leashed thing with his nose on a scent, Kyouji catches his foot on the bottom of the door frame.  

It’s barely dark, sun just setting beneath the buildings on their walk here. With his lips on Satomi’s his right hand searches the wall for the light switch before remembering that it’s behind him by the door. 

Here they are. 

“You still...” Kyouji starts to say, but his hand gets there first. Confirmation in a single sound, a twitch of hips. 

The whole way home, he could only think about the look on Satomi’s face when he’d pulled him aside so fervently. Stealing glances as they walked, but Satomi masked his anticipation well. Kyouji on the other hand was sure every salaryman, granny, and dogwalker could tell just how badly he wanted Satomi. He’s not one to wear his heart on his sleeve; he just knows what he likes, alright? 

Satomi’s slotted just underneath Kyouji’s chin, the warmth of his cheek against his chest able to be felt even through the fabric of his shirt. “Take care of it,” he preens. “Take care of me.” 

“I’ve got you, tiger. C’mere.”  

Bending his knees, he hooks his arms beneath Satomi’s armpits and lifts him from a hand on either of his thighs. Satomi’s arms go to wrap around Kyouji, the rest of his body limp against him, ankles locked at the small of Kyouji’s back. He understands that Satomi’s a whole university student, twenty years old as of last month, and his weight now proves it. But Kyouji’s never going to shake that image of him as a petite middle schooler (he’s hardly taller now than he was then), and he has no problem hauling him all the way to the bedroom. The part of himself that always desired to pick up pocket-sized Satomi way back when is living vicariously through him. 

Kyouji deposits him on the edge of the bed. He sinks down to his knees as the kisses trail lower, ending at Satomi’s stomach, which tenses cutely. 

“Kyouji... san.” 

He’s noses at Satomi’s cock over his pants. “Do you want dad’s mouth, Satomi?” Kyouji darts back up to capture his lips once more, can't choose just one place, wants all of him at once. This dizzy lightness that’s taken root in him he needs to make sure Satomi feels twofold. Asking to be looked after— Kyouji wants to smother him, squeeze him till he squeaks, taste him in the back of his throat. “Hm?” he prods.  

“Yes,” Satomi colors. He’s leaning back, letting Kyouji take and take. His hands can barely keep up with the fervor that is Kyouji’s passion; going from licking the inside of Satomi’s mouth to mouthing at his neck. “Don’t make me wait...” 

“Youuu got it,” Kyouji places a kiss on Satomi’s cheek. He undoes Satomi’s jeans and slides them off, followed quickly by his underwear. He makes a show of dragging the waistband of down until it’s off and his cock springs free onto his stomach. It’s pink and small and cute, currently colored a deep red at the tip. 

“I’ll take care of this,” Kyouji promises, taking his cock in hand. “You let me know if it feels good, alright?” And swallows Satomi’s cock into his mouth.  

The new place has got better insulation (it wasn’t hard to beat the old apartment), and so Satomi isn’t as deadly averse to being heard anymore. He gasps as Kyouji naturally takes his whole length down, and then stays making these cute, high-pitched little sounds as he begins to bob his head. It’s salty and clean and so Satomi that Kyouji can hardly remember to stop, spoiled at those sounds and the taste. 

Not that he’s claiming to have experience sucking dick that isn’t Satomi’s, but he’d still say it’s generally easier than eating pussy. He could have been hooking up with a girl for almost a year, know pretty well how she liked it, and still that shit would be more a guessing game than anything. Between Satomi’s legs, it’s easy, it’s rewarding, it smells fucking good. He feels a fresh jut of pre onto the back of his tongue.  

Kyouji pulls up and off, as much to pace himself as to check on Satomi. Behind his glasses, his eyes have gone big and wanting. Cock resting in Kyouji’s loose palm, he fucks his hips forward, a wordless ask for any sort of friction. And Kyouji’s never been able to deny him—that’s the root of all of this anyway—closing his grip around that spit-wet length and beginning to pump it up and down. 

Satomi bites down a sound, Kyouji hears the thick swallow. He goes to kiss the tip of Satomi’s dick, but doesn’t get far before there’s a hand in his hair, pulling his head back.

“Kyouji-san,” Satomi’s voice comes low and shaky. “Do I taste good?” 

“Like the best I’ve ever had.” 

His head guided forward, Kyouji opens his mouth automatically for Satomi’s cock. It slides in smooth, hot and tasting of his own spit. He lets Satomi use his mouth, thrusting in and out, taking what he needs. Letting him feel in control. Receiving every needy twitch of his hips. 

Look at that face, eyes squeezed tight, focused on fucking Kyouji’s face. Put that up against the kid he used to know and Kyouji could get off on the juxtaposition of it alone.  

A particularly deep thrust, up into Kyouji’s soft palate, and then all at once Satomi pulls out, leaving Kyouji’s mouth hanging open and empty.  

“Just... hold on a second.” He pants, releases Kyouji’s hair. He gives it a run-through with his fingers, then collapses onto his back on the bed. 

Kyouji leans forward, sitting up onto his feet. “Somethin' wrong?” 

“I’m trying... to calm down. I’ll finish too soon.” 

“You don’t wanna?” A kiss pressed to the inside of his thigh. 

“Not yet.” 

“What do you want, then?” 

“For you to come up here,” Satomi says, a kid asking for sweets, “And hold me.” 

A parting kiss to that little cock and then Kyouji’s gathering him up in his arms. 

“Up you go. No fallin’ asleep on me.” 

He’s sitting flush behind him. Kissing Satomi’s waiting lips, he doesn’t stop when his hands run up Satomi’s front and find either of his nipples and he definitely doesn’t stop when Satomi starts making tiny sounds in his throat, like Kyouji’d known he would. Those he sucks from his mouth like it’s a physical thing he’s being gifted. 

Satomi’s spoiled him on it nearly immediately, gorged him on every whimper and whine. But Kyouji’s selfish, it’s not enough. All of a sudden the gentle scratches of his fingernails on pink, pebbled nipples transition to pinching them between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the tiny nubs back and forth until Satomi doesn’t have the mind to kiss anymore, his mouth slack, face the picture of pleasure. Kyouji licks the inside of his mouth. 

He squirms against Kyouji, voice high and wracked, panting, puppy-cute. Satomi can’t seem to find where to put his hands; eventually they settle on top of Kyouji’s own. Knowing better than to try and pry him off, he rests his fingertips against the back of Kyouji’s hands, privy to the way his tendons tense and flex. 

Kyouji acquiesces, a wet kiss to the side of Satomi’s mouth before he removes his hands from his chest as well. Fingers hover over where they just were, granting relief laced with apprehension.  

“Satomi-kun loves this, doesn’t he,” smile pressed to Satomi’s prickly-warm cheek. “When I touch him just like this.”  

Satomi purses his lips closed, breathing hard through his mouth. 

“Yeah,” Kyouji hums, beginning to drag the pads of his fingers lightly against his nipples once again. Satomi’s hands fly to grip Kyouji’s thighs. “These’re so sensitive, huh?” 

“Kyouji-san,” he grits, “Really, it’s enough...” 

Kyouji laughs, a barrage of warmth tearing through him. He plucks at them again. That pretty pink is coloring red. He takes one back between his fingers and tugs, Satomi jerking forward. Kyouji’s overdone it before, to the point where Satomi’d had to begrudgingly rub Vaseline on his chest every day for a week. 

Satomi makes a noise of protest, but his eyes don’t move from watching his own chest. “Stop playing around,” he says, as his cock twitches with a few more beads of pre onto his thigh. His hand finds Kyouji’s and guides him down by the wrist until it’s around his cock. 

The touch on Satomi’s chest careens towards soothing, little circles, a flick here and there to ignite his nerves, the overworked pleasure centers in his brain. With his right hand he spreads pre across Satomi’s dick, winding his pace down to something slow. He wants to draw his orgasm out of him gentle, because Satomi makes him soft. Milk it out of him. Sweet kid. Heart shaky as unset pudding. 

“So needy,” Kyouji says into his mouth. “’Except you don’t ever want anyone but your dad. Ain’t that lucky? Saves you the trouble.” 

In the interim, those years they didn’t see one another, Kyouji’s instincts were to get in contact as soon as he could, but he didn’t really know what he’d have started with. Couldn’t figure out if it was safe to be close again, even now Satomi’d grown up. And even then, he could only bring to mind him at the age they’d met, lithe body, small and actively shrinking from teenage awkwardness. Obviously his thoughts weren’t only limited to how much he missed Satomi. There was want. And there came the stomach-roiling guilt. 

If someone had told Kyouji that his clothes would be in Satomi’s closet, that the bed in Satomi’s apartment would feel more like home to him than Kyouji’s own—well, he’d have assumed that guy had been taking the piss. Picturing this scene in a bedroom effectively theirs back then would’ve killed him. But now... well, he can picture the next three bedrooms. 

Satomi lets out a gasp. Kyouji almost doesn’t catch it before he’s arching his back, forehead against Kyouji’s neck. 

“Satomi,” Kyouji sucks the bottom of his clenched jaw, drawn tight like the rest of him. “How many times have I told you to tell me before you come?” He still doesn’t listen, which is one thing that hasn’t changed. There’s a reason Kyouji still holds memories of his middle school scowl so close. He’d fill a book with it if he could. Family album. Hah.

Before too long Satomi goes limp against Kyouji’s chest, feeling as warm as if he’s got a fever. Kyouji lets go of his dick, lets the bottom of his T-shirt fall back down to just above his hips, wrinkled as it is from being bunched up. Satomi folds into him wordlessly, face pressed into Kyouji’s neck, arm around his waist, legs drawn up. 

Without trying to jostle him too much Kyouji goes for the tissues at the side table and begins to clean what he can. 

“How ya feelin’, tiger?” he tosses the wadded-up tissues to the floor, something Satomi’d yell at him over if he was more conscious. For now though, he picks up his head and starts to kiss him again.  

“You’re hard.” He enunciates this with a squeeze to Kyouji’s dick. Something about hearing that voice he first heard in a choirboy song saying things like that sends Kyouji’s libido through the roof. 

It tears a groan from him, one that he does his best to cover with a laugh. “Feel how much I like you? That’s all for you, Satomi-kun.” 

“You can use me to get off.” Satomi follows with, like he’s describing the special they’ve got on at the restaurant. You can get an extra side dish if you order two mains. You can use me to get off. It’s himself he’s offering up. 

Far be it from him to refuse what he’s being given. “You wanna ride me?” Kyouji kisses the side of his face.  

“Yes.” Satomi pulls him forward by the front of his shirt, which is long-sleeved and beginning to feel too warm for him. A direct result of shared Satomi’s body heat—for someone so thin he generates a fair bit of it. 

They move with one another until Kyouji’s laying on the bed, Satomi across him. The change is welcome, if he’s honest, his shoulders had been flaring up from sitting with nothing to lean back against. Surrounded by Satomi’s scent, sinking into the duvet with the perfect weight on top of him. 

“Take this off,” Satomi starts undoing the top buttons on Kyouji’s shirt like he’s got a personal grudge against them.  

“Alright, alright,” Kyouji’s hands cover his and handle the rest.  

Satomi’s already wet inside, because he always is when the two of them have a date. He’s perfect. Kyouji rubs two fingers over the heat of him, occasionally dipping inside, casual, like he doesn’t really mean it. 

A grunt pushes its way from his throat as Kyouji watches Satomi’s cock, gone soft, twitch at the anticipation. He could get hard again, he’s certainly got the stamina for it at his age, but there’s something even more heart-clenching about that fact; he’s really doing this entirely for Kyouji right now. 

“You really do take good care of your old man, huh?” Kyouji watches as Satomi’s hands undo the button of his pants and push them down. He means to smile, but as those same thin fingers go to squeeze at his dick through the boxers, he finds a shaky laugh escaping instead. It twists itself into a moan as Satomi plays with him a bit through the fabric. He’s trying to be sexy and draw it out, which is hot, but it's so kitten-with-a-toy that just makes him appear more inexperienced. Which is hot. 

“I'm so lucky," Kyouji hisses as Satomi lines himself up onto his cock.  

“Yeah,” and there’s that familiar heat, “you are.” 

It whites out anything else. Kyouji shouldn’t be this high-strung for his age—he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t —but Satomi blows everything else out of the water. This searing, tight warmth that’s squeezing around him right now— no one else has ever felt it. 

“Kyouji-san,” calls Satomi. Sometimes, when he says his name Kyouji hears an echo of a different voice in the aftermath; one that isn’t assured and familiar with the shape of the word, but timid and unsure. The name that has handed him no shortage of trouble sounds good and right in that voice. 

“Kyouji-san, open your eyes.” 

There’s a cute boy in his lap, on his cock, arms leaned back gripping Kyouji’s thighs. Even just watching the length of his dick disappear into Satomi is too much. Kyouji can feel sweat running down his temple. 

“Jesus.” He swears. “Satomi.” 

“Does it feel good? Me around your cock?” 

“Fuuuuck… say cock again.” 

Satomi exhales, a puff of air that may have been a laugh. “You can move, you know.”  

The fear that it’ll all be over too quick has stopped him thus far. Kyouji’s not a quickshot, he’s usually really good at holding off, but like with most things involving Satomi, the usual doesn’t apply. Plus there’s other things weighing on his mind this time; the smell of his bed and the way he’d looked in the convenience store bathroom, and how he looks now.  

He wants to give Satomi this, he wants to take care of him. He wants to watch him grow up. He wants to finish inside. Crazy stuff. 

Kyouji manhandles either of Satomi’s legs with such a suddenness that Satomi stops moving. That face of his that usually remains set in tired disinterest sparks into an expression of tight pleasure as Kyouji rocks up into him.

“Good?” Kyouji asks as he sets a pace, motioning Satomi down onto him in time with his own hips, guiding him through. He’s always been a quick study. 

“Kyouji-san,” Satomi gasps. “More,” he spreads his palm obscenely over his stomach, his bellybutton. “More, more, more…” 

And some part of Kyouji’s brain goes offline. Such a cute kid, begging for cock. Kyouji could try to give him a lot of things that Satomi won’t accept, but he will take this. Every time. And when he’s given the chance, Kyouji’s of the correct opinion that he sounds better than anything in AV. He’s made not just to get fucked, but to get fucked like this. Saying Kyouji’s name. His cock isn’t even all the way hard again, but he’s fucking himself like his life depends on it. 

“Satomi,” Kyouji tries. “If you keep going—” he can’t stop meeting his rhythm, it’s completely futile. “I’ll finish before you get—” 

Two hands encompass his. Satomi locks their fingers and brings them to bracket their bodies, squeezing him there almost as tight as the other place they’re connected. “I don’t care. Don’t care, feels good. Full.” A gasp, chin tucked to his chest. “Can I have more?” 

Kyouji huffs a laugh with the last of the air in his lungs. “Satomi.”  

“Please?” Satomi asks between the moans, little sounds Kyouji’s fucking out of him. “You always get me everything I ask for.” 

This is his fault. His vision’s going hot white. “You’re so spoiled.” 

He’s done a lot of pretty vile shit in his life, you don’t get where he is without, but he’s never done anything better than this.  

Shy middle schooler with a mean streak who cries at the drop of a hat. Chock full of hormones and no self-preservation. Sheltered. Into a straight-edge uni student, part time job, talking about guarantors and leases and whatever. How could Kyouji not be in this deep. 

Satomi got a scrunched-up kind of face on. Kyouji can’t stop staring, vision not quite focused, his cock jutting out the last bit of come into him. Filling him up. Good boy. Good fucking boy. 

Kyouji runs a hand through Satomi’s hair when he leans forward to kiss him. 

“Do you really think that?” 

“Mhm... what? That you’re spoiled?”” Kyouji asks, his lips pressed against Satomi’s profile. He’s watching his own hands knead into the flesh of Satomi’s thigh. “I’d never tell you anything I didn’t believe was true.” 

“Somehow I feel like that isn’t the case.” 

“I love you.” 

“Kyouji-san,” he frowns reproachingly. “That isn’t the point. I already know that.” 

Against his chest, Satomi is warm, his breathing beginning to steady, his little heart beginning to settle down. Kyouji pets his hair and cradles his head. “Aw, you do? Well.” 

He kisses at the shell of Satomi’s ear, nosing at his neck, as two arms come to encircle his thin form. What a perfect body, what a perfect boy, Kyouji couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else. Satomi retaliates by hugging back. Tight. Squeezing his thighs around Kyouji’s waist.  

They’re still connected, Kyouji indulging in that heat, memorizing it for the times they’ll have to be apart. He could live a life between those legs. 

“Can you,” Satomi begins, shifts, presses his face into Kyouji’s nape. Shrinking into himself. “In the side table drawer...” 

Shy little ask, tweeting soft, this little bird. Kyouji’d do anything. 

“Yeah,” he says against his temple. “Of course.” 

He slides Satomi up and off of him slowly, lowers him down on his back on the mattress. Begins to pull himself out; but he can't resist one more shallow thrust in, just to see Satomi’s cock plump a bit more with the feel.  

Placing a pillow under those hips, Kyouji retrieves the simple black plug like he was asked. He warms it in his hand a minute before the look of expectation on Satomi’s face becomes too much, and he has to hurry up.  

Kyouji presses it between Satomi’s legs, against where the wetness is threatening to spill out. Satomi’s propped up on his shoulders watching it slide inside, much shorter than where Kyouji's cock had sat. Still, when he gets it all the way in, Satomi leans his head back onto the pillows and lets out a whine. He’s so cute. Even that’s enough to make him call out. 

“Kyouji...”  

“What’s up?” 

Satomi makes another, even cuter drawn-out sound in response. 

Kyouji saddles up next to him, head resting against Satomi's collar, and starts to get back to full hard. After all he’d worked for, he deserves it. 

“Need more, huh? One round isn’t enough for you.” Kyouji watches as that cock once again stiffens under his hand, in his palm, because of him. “Trying to tell me you’re not spoiled, Satomi. Look at you.”  

“M’not...”  

“Uh-huh.” 

“Just... miss you...” 

Kyouji’s heart pangs. He bunches up the shirt and brings his mouth to Satomi’s chest again, to tongue at one of his sore nipples. He finds both pert and at-attention, asking, begging to be rubbed. Everything he does is so erotic. If Kyouji could get hard again he would. Then he’d fuck Satomi until he cried (if they’re lucky, he still could), until he couldn’t bear it anymore. Set aside a whole day just to sit around Kyouji’s apartment and roll around in bed with each other. Maybe you could call it making up for lost time. 

A fresh bead of pre. Kyouji presses into it with his thumb, a little rougher than usual. Satomi reacts, arches his back, a little ah, ah, ah...   

Teeth close softly around a nipple, just a pinch, but it makes Satomi’s hand go to his mouth in an attempt to hide how loud he’s getting.  

“C’mon, don’t be shy.” Kyouji pulls away from his chest to kiss his cheek. “It’s just us. You can tell me anything.” 

“It hurts,” Satomi whines when Kyouji’s hand pulls his away from his face. 

“Yeah?” Kyouji watches his hand slide down between Satomi’s legs. He finds the silicone of the plug and presses two fingers into the base. “But Satomi-kun can take it. He’s so grown-up now.” 

“Kyouji, stop...”  

“Don’t worry, I’m right here.” 

“I don’t know, I don’t know— I—” He’s gripping Kyouji’s forearm now, right where his ink starts, grinding his hips down onto the thing. Kyouji angles it just a little further up and— 

Satomi makes a garbled sound.  

“Found it,” Kyouji beams. “That feel good?” 

He turns his head to meet Kyouji’s, eyes shut tight, mouth slack, nodding quickly.  

“You’re such a sweet kid. You should feel this good all the time.” 

“Kyouji-san... Kyouji...” His eyes flutter open, his hand now pressing Kyouji’s face closer. 

“You want a kiss?” 

“Mhm,” Satomi nods, already licking at Kyouji’s lips. “Kiss me. Please kiss me.” And he does. And Satomi twists his hips off the bed, angling them towards Kyouji, his noises so unrestrained and desperate. 

He’s going to make a mess of himself, Kyouji knows before he does. He shifts his hand to Satomi’s cock in time to catch most of it in his fist. It’s clear and thin and some of it still gets onto his shirt. Makes his thighs and front all shiny. 

Kyouji laughs over Satomi’s close-mouthed moans. Long and drawn out in his throat. Thighs locked, clenching down on the plug, still wet on the inside.  

Satomi collapses into Kyouji’s arms, then. And the shirt’s already ruined, so Kyouji wipes his hand on the back of it and pulls him close into him. As if there was anything in the world that’d stop him from holding him. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Kyouji says after a while of Satomi hiding his face, pressed into Kyouji’s shoulder.  

“M’not embarrassed. You tired me out.” 

His hand ventures down to Satomi’s butt. Squeezes. Rubs at the base of the plug. “You want me to take it out?” 

A pause, no reaction. “Satomi-kun?” 

“Can you leave it a little longer?”  

He’s got to kiss him again. “I’d leave it there forever if I could. Making you feel so full,” mind’s run away with it, “At work, at class, taking the train... reminding Satomi-kun I just love him so much.” 

Quietly, without real feeling, “That’s gross.” 

Kyouji pulls back, smiles. Sweeping the bangs from Satomi’s forehead, he gives him a kiss there.

Somehow, they are at Ikea again.  

Kyouji knows how this happened, he can follow the chain of events—Satomi sleepily talking about wanting a bookshelf since his old one didn’t go with any of the new stuff they’d bought, Kyouji offering automatically to buy him said bookshelf, and then finding Satomi ready to go when he’d woken up this morning despite Kyouji’s plans of a day in doing nothing. 

But he still kind of can’t believe he’s back here. 

The lady at the dinky Swedish restaurant off the showroom calls his number, smiling as she passes him the tray. Satomi’s sitting at a high table by the window, staring out. 

“The parking lot that interesting?” Kyouji asks as he sits down. Satomi instantly sits up straighter at the sight of the food, meatballs with an extra plate of curry rice on the side. He’ll ask for soft serve before they leave, too, Kyouji knows.  

Satomi dips one of the meatballs in gravy and brings it to his mouth. “Thanks for coming with me today.”  

“No problem,” Kyouji takes the lid off of his coffee to let it cool. “Glad we found what you were lookin’ for.” 

He swallows. “I like doing this kind of thing with you.” 

“Yeah, Father-son bonding. Helpin’ you move in to your first real place for university.” 

“It’s my second. And I’m almost a senior.” 

“Don’t I know it. They grow up so fast.” 

“Ew.” 

“Your friends can help you setting it up right, after the delivery?” 

“I already texted Maruyama.”  

He sips his coffee. “Excited to see next time I’m in town.” 

One day, Kyouji won’t have to acquiesce to class schedules or days off or anything to get to Satomi. He’ll just come home and have him there. And they can keep most of the furniture they bought this time around, too, unless Satomi wants a change. Until then, this is how they’ll go. 

“Something’s been bothering me.” Satomi says after they’ve finished eating.

“What’s that?” 

“When you said Tokyo Banana, you said ‘cat cakes.’” 

“Yeah?” Kyouji looks up from his phone. “That’s what they are.” 

Satomi shakes his head. “They’re only cats sometimes. The standard design is just like, blank. Just a banana shape.”  

“That right?” 

“Yeah. See,” and he pulls up the website for it on his phone to show him.  

He’s right. “Huh.” Kyouji sits back, folding his arms. “They’re good though. Wanna stop and get some on the way?” 

Satomi makes a face. “I’m not going to Tokyo Station on a weekend.” 

“Maybe I’ll just grab them next time I’m there then.” 

“If you’re offering."

“Alright.” 

“Can you get the limited caramel ones?”