[ it feels just as shitty to cut their lunch short, but honestly, he doesn't trust himself not to make a scene. just guilt all around, ping-ponging back and forth between them, and yeah, they really need to get somewhere and talk. reki makes a motion for his wallet, but kojiro's already disappeared himself by then, so he heads over to the bike to cool down his head with a few more puffs of that pen and some fresh air.
it's easier when they're riding to the hotel, when reki can wrap his arms around kojiro and sink against his back. no matter what transpired, this is still his favorite thing in the world, even though he's burying his face instead of gawking at the blurring streets, his arms squeezing in a way that's probably telling. probably has always been telling.
he needs this and he's gotten way too attached to this and he's starting to hate anyone who he perceives as powerful enough to come between this and himself. but that was his problem to drown in cheap tequila and asahi super dry. he was never prepared for it to be something he'd have to share with anyone.
by the time they hit the hotel, those vape hits have almost mellowed him out enough to make him amenable to the idea of throwing a fit over the price of the room. this was his idea, he should pay, but it feels wrong to break the silence with more admonishments. the root of that problem isn't the money or who's paying—it's that he wants kojiro to feel taken care of for once, same as he makes everyone else feel. that's a thing they can talk about, he thinks—until they get inside and kojiro's on his knees, still almost just as tall as reki like this, infuriatingly.
with a sigh, reki leans back against the door and starts stroking through kojiro's hair, slow and soothing, same way he puts the girls to sleep. he lets the quiet reign for a moment while his fingers work, and then: ]
You really want this to be your life, man? Nothing but teenage mood swings and my dumb fucking mouth?
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it's easier when they're riding to the hotel, when reki can wrap his arms around kojiro and sink against his back. no matter what transpired, this is still his favorite thing in the world, even though he's burying his face instead of gawking at the blurring streets, his arms squeezing in a way that's probably telling. probably has always been telling.
he needs this and he's gotten way too attached to this and he's starting to hate anyone who he perceives as powerful enough to come between this and himself. but that was his problem to drown in cheap tequila and asahi super dry. he was never prepared for it to be something he'd have to share with anyone.
by the time they hit the hotel, those vape hits have almost mellowed him out enough to make him amenable to the idea of throwing a fit over the price of the room. this was his idea, he should pay, but it feels wrong to break the silence with more admonishments. the root of that problem isn't the money or who's paying—it's that he wants kojiro to feel taken care of for once, same as he makes everyone else feel. that's a thing they can talk about, he thinks—until they get inside and kojiro's on his knees, still almost just as tall as reki like this, infuriatingly.
with a sigh, reki leans back against the door and starts stroking through kojiro's hair, slow and soothing, same way he puts the girls to sleep. he lets the quiet reign for a moment while his fingers work, and then: ]
You really want this to be your life, man? Nothing but teenage mood swings and my dumb fucking mouth?