#*dabs away*

The house Ichirou had gotten for him was a few hours’ ride from the major airport in the state. The suburbs were quiet, boring almost, but just as Ichirou had wished – no media, no possible fans, still close enough for a great medical centre that the Moriyamas now funded.

I hate it here Riko wanted to say. Instead he thanked the real estate agent for the keys and let them give him a tour of the house; a nice sized kitchen, a dining room, a living room and a bathroom downstairs; two bedrooms and a small office along with a bigger bathroom upstairs. I hate it here and I want to die Riko wanted to say, but instead he smiled and assured the real estate agent that everything looked absolutely perfect.

The first housekeeper that Ichirou assigned him reminded Riko of a middle-aged mother of three who cannot keep a man because of her verbose ways. It took Riko an hour to tell her to fuck off when she asked him what he would like for dinner. It took him another hour to threaten her with a knife, call her a whore, and ten minutes after that she was calling him the devil’s spawn and quitting the job.

The second housekeeper was a girl Riko’s age. If the older woman had treated Riko like a delinquent son, the younger woman treated him like a brother. She teased him when he would not eat, and chastised him when he would lock himself into the bathroom, trying to figure out which way to slit his wrists.

Ichirou fired the woman a week later after she had called ambulance, having found Riko in the bathtub with his wrists looking like a kitten with razors for claws had scratched him. Riko spent another month in the hospital, but this time did not receive any visitors. Had he, he would not have known what to say.

The third housekeeper was already in his house when Riko took the cab home, making food in the kitchen. Unlike the first housekeeper, who had greeted Riko and had waited for a hello from him, and unlike the second housekeeper who always met Riko at the door, this housekeeper did not even stop moving around in the kitchen, the pots and pans clanging around. They did not ask him how he was, they did not ask him what he would like to eat, they did not try to see if Riko needed help.

Riko spent hours in his room, and when he finally got out to venture into the kitchen, he found a bowl of cold soup on the table. It tasted surprisingly well, albeit it was cold. Eating soup at midnight while sitting on a countertop was a novelty he had not experienced enough, and so he took a few minutes to look around the kitchen for real, for the first time.

He was focusing on wondering where the knives were when he heard steps behind him. Instead of being told off for eating this late, or eating cold soup, his housekeeper went to the fridge and poured himself some soup too. The two of them eyed each other as they ate – the housekeeper eyeing Riko’s long-sleeved shirt and the supporting bandage around his knee; Riko eyeing the glasses perched on brown hair and the shirt of some obscure band T-shirt he wore.

“Ainsley,” the man said, slurping some soup. “PUP,” he said, pointing to his T-shirt for a second.

Riko finished his soup and got up without saying a word.

 Ainsley was an oddity, Riko soon decided. He would not bother Riko about anything, would not ask him what he ate and what allergies he had, would not force him to get out of his room every day, and only actually approached Riko when it was time for his weekly therapy sessions. He cooked daily, did laundry once a week and went to the store to buy necessities when they were out. Sometimes they would have takeout, and Riko could eat in his own room when he wanted to have a snack.

Yet there was something… wrong with him as well. Riko did not see him use a computer or a laptop, and his phone rang every few days, to which he always answered after exiting the house. If his second housekeeper had talked about having a boyfriend, Ainsley seemed to be as detached from society and relationships as Riko was.

Then there was the incident.

Ainsley had gone to the store and Riko had scouted the kitchen for knives, had gone through each and every shelf, cabinet and storage space, but he had found none. He had checked Ainsley’s room (the door was locked), had checked the kitchen again (one of the cabinet doors was locked and he had no idea where a key could be) and had even pulled open the freezer door. There were no knives in sight.

“What are you doing?” Ainsley asked when he found Riko sitting on the ground in front of the locked cabinet door.

“Where are the knives?” Riko asked, his back to Ainsley, knocking on the door of the cabinet. “Are they there?”

Ainsley hummed, putting the food onto the counter, then starting to put the groceries away. “Yeah. You’re not allowed to go near them, so just drop it.”

Riko grabbed onto his ankle, glaring up at Ainsley. “I need them. Now.”

“You do not.” Ainsley pulled his foot away from Riko and ignored how Riko cursed and swore at him, and promised to stab him as soon as he got the knives.

“Which is exactly why you’re not getting the knives. Go do something in the living room, watch TV or read or whatever. I need to make food, or we’ll starve.”

Riko threw a book at the TV a minute later but it was alright – they did not watch much TV anyway. He had wanted to scare Ainsley into giving him what he wanted, but Ainsley had behaved in a way that suggested that he was not scared of Riko or whatever he stood for. Somehow that made Riko like him.

 Riko’s birthday just so happened to be the day of his therapy. Instead of getting up like he usually would, he burrowed himself deeper into the blankets and ignored his alarm clock. He also ignored Ainsley who knocked onto his door an hour before his therapy session was due.

“Therapy in an hour,” Ainsley said, not opening the door yet. “I’ll drive you.”

But Riko did not get up. He did not want to shower and to get dressed so that a woman in an ill-fitting pencil skirt could ask him how many times he had thought of killing himself the week earlier. He did not want to drive to the hospital only to be driven back later, and then to lie around doing nothing.

Thirty minutes later, Ainsley opened the door and peeked in. “Oh. Still alive. Get up.”

No. NO! Riko’s mind screamed, but his body turned so that he was looking at Ainsley. Ainsley looked just like he had looked on the first night they had met – an obscure band T-shirt on, and glasses on top of his hair.

“I’m not going,” Riko said when Ainsley did not leave. “I haven’t even showered. I look like a mess. My hair’s greasy.”

It was the most words he had spoken to any of his housekeepers. It did not impress Ainsley, who left for a couple of minutes, only to come back into the room and toss a can at Riko.

“Dry shampoo. We’re leaving in ten.”

 “How have you been, Riko?” the therapist asked him right after he sat down. Riko sighed, shrugging, and tried to tune her out as much as possible.

“Still having bad thoughts?”

He nodded.

“Are you taking your meds?”

Another nod.

“Do you have anyone else to talk to?”

Riko shrugged. Who would he talk to? His brother? He would rather die.

“Did someone drive you here?” She asked, writing down things that Riko had said, or rather things he had not.

He wondered if he could train the muscles in his neck by just nodding.

“Do you think you could talk to them? It’s very hard to be alone in this world, Riko.”

I know this, stupid bitch Riko thought, but gave a small shrug again. Him and Ainsley had nothing to talk about, anyway. What would they talk about? The food Ainsley was going to make? When he was going to do laundry? Who he called and was so secretive about?

 Ainsley waited for Riko in the waiting room, glasses on, reading a book. Riko tried to read the title – Slaughterhouse Five – before Ainsley put the book aside and got up. He did not say anything, and at first, Riko did not. He spoke up once they were in the car.

“It’s my birthday today,” he said quietly as Ainsley turned the engine on. “I’m 23 now.”

Ainsley hummed, taking a right instead of a left. “I don’t have a gift, but I’ll buy you a slice of cake.”

For the first time in over a year, Riko genuinely smiled. “I like red velvet cake.”

 Slowly Riko started talking again. There was not much he wanted to talk to Ainsley about, but he would ask what they would have for dinner, what books Ainsley was reading and why he wore such ugly T-shirts. Ainsley was not very talkative either, giving words and sometimes short sentences as answers, but together they learned how to arrange letters into words and words into sentences without it sounding forced. For a few happy, fleeting, moments, Riko wondered if that was what it felt to have a friend. But then again, Riko had a very hazy idea what ‘friends’ even meant. The Ravens had always been violent and cold and either overly distant or overly physical, so Riko expected Ainsley to be similar – fully withdrawn or draping himself over Riko when they talked; when Ainsley did not touch him unless it was to give Riko some food or to pat his shoulder for when Riko came out of his room and did not mope.

Ainsley mentioned how he wanted to see a movie in the cinema; Riko made the effort to shower and asked Ainsley to go see the movie with him. Riko mentioned how he wanted to walk longer distances now that his knee felt healed; Ainsley drove him to a park after his therapy session and let Riko use him as a crutch for a wonderful hour. Ainsley talked about how one of his favourite authors would be promoting his newest book in the neighbouring town – Riko booked them seats to the reading of the first chapter and spent over an hour listening to a story he did not much care about, only to see Ainsley smile and laugh. Riko said he missed sports – Ainsley took him to see the local high school football team play against someone from their state.

 “Are we friends?” Riko asked one winter morning over a bowl of cereal, wearing his warmest sweater.

“I’m your housekeeper,” Ainsley simply said, shrugging, pulling one of the straps of his tank top up. “It’s a bit different than being friends.”

Riko was upset about the answer for a couple of days until Ainsley demanded they decorated the house together to prepare for Christmas.

“It must be festive,” Ainsley said, another band T-shirt on, trying to wrap the tinsel around the fake Christmas tree, “It’s fucking Christmas!”

The snort that came out of Riko’s mouth was almost a laugh. He was almost content with the tree, the Christmas sweater Ainsley had told him to wear (it was soft and had a snowflake pattern) and the cookies they were to make. In his 23 years, he had not baked anything, but Ainsley promised it would be fine. I’ve made them before, it’ll be fine Ainsley had said as he tossed premade dough into their shopping cart, want to pick what colour icing we’ll use?

Riko had chosen black and red, his two favourite colours. Ainsley had at first laughed, but then had helped Riko to decorate the dozens of gingerbread cookies, shaped like ravens and hearts and snowflakes. Riko wrote a ‘#1’ onto a raven; Ainsley wrote Riko’s name onto a heart shaped cookie. Neither of them spoke of how when Riko saw the cookie, his cheeks turned pink, or how Ainsley gave him a little wink and a smile.

 Riko had not expected to receive any gifts for Christmas. He had not talked to the friends he had had for over a year; his brother would surely not give him anything, and his therapist’s only gift to him had been to tell him he had improved considerably in the time he had been to therapy. He had not expected to give any presents either, yet when him and Ainsley went shopping, and Ainsley spent ten minutes making eyes at a black cashmere sweater without buying it, Riko placed an order online to get the sweater delivered to their door, wrapped in the silliest wrapping paper and the biggest bow the store had. A few more shopping trips, and Riko grew more used to putting in his credit card details and not telling delivery guys to fuck off.

It was not easy to tell who was more surprised to find presents with their name written on them – Ainsley when he found not only one but four gifts under the tree, or Riko when he counted three more presents under the tree than he had put there.

“You got me a present?” both of them said at the same time, and Ainsley smiled widely, wagging a finger at Riko.

“Riko, you know you did not have to get me anything, yes?”

“I wanted to.” Riko said, automatically, picking up a soft rectangular gift. “You didn’t have to get me anything…”

Ainsley shrugged, picking up a nicely wrapped present, shaking it to figure out what it was. “Wanted to. We’re kind of friends, are we not?”

Riko’s blush was hidden by him opening the present and covered by the sound of Ainsley ripping the wrapping paper apart, revealing a black cashmere sweater inside.

“Oh, Riko… Thank you,” Ainsley pulled the sweater on right away, wrapping his arms around his body to feel the soft fabric. “It’s lovely!”

Instead of answering, Riko pulled the gift wrap off the present, trying to figure out why Ainsley had gotten him a pair of mittens, a scarf and a beanie. He did not go out much, and even if he did, they usually took the car.

“So that we can go outside and build a snowman,” Ainsley pointed out, already opening the other presents – books and some fancy cleaning liquid for glasses. “You barely go outside and you’re really missing out on winter. It’d be good for you, too.”

Riko mumbled how he did not like cold and snow anyway, and went towards the kitchen to get himself some gingerbread cookies. Apparently, he was not the only one with such idea, so him and Ainsley tried to step through the doorway at the same moment.

“You go first,” Riko said, gesturing for Ainsley to go.

And then suddenly Ainsley was pressing a quick kiss onto his lips, much warmer than Riko had expected or dared to hope. For what it was worth, Riko kissed back more, more, please, don’t leave me hanging, please until Ainsley pulled away a second later, cheeks flushed, a grin on his face. He pointed at something above them, winking.

“Mistletoe.”

Riko wondered if Ainsley had put it up to have an excuse to kiss him or if Ainsley truly believed mistletoe was an important part of Christmas.

 I want to take you out on a date.

Riko looked at himself in the mirror. He had showered, had shaved, had used deodorant, had put on a clean shirt. A white button up shirt. So what if his face looked sunken in, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look older than he wanted to look. He was a good-looking guy… right?

“I want to take you out on a date.”

Clear, straight to the point. Honest. He could do this.

Ainsley was in the kitchen, making lunch, as he usually would. Riko helped, sometimes, but today he had more important things on his mind than vegetables. He coughed, trying to get Ainsley’s attention.

“Oh,” Ainsley turned, giving Riko a one-over. “You’re looking fancy. Going somewhere? Need me to drive you?”

Riko shook his head, looking at Ainsley. He took a deep breath.

“You. Out.” Fuck.

Ainsley arched a brow, stirring the vegetables on the wok pan. “Excuse me?”

“Go out with me.”

That got him a smile, and Ainsley beckoned for him to take a few steps closer. “Are you asking or telling me?”

“…Asking?” A few steps, still not close enough to reach if either of them held their arm out.

“Ask me nicely,” Ainsley teased, motioning for him to take a couple of more steps, giving Riko the spatula so that he could help with making the food. Riko patted the vegetables, narrowing his eyes as he tried to figure out what exactly Ainsley wanted. A blowjob? Would that be it? Money? Presents?

Ainsley’s hand on Riko’s was gentle. Riko looked at it, and for the first time noticed the scar tissue over the knuckles.

“Repeat what I’m saying. Ready? Do you want to go out with me?”

Riko nodded, cheeks warm. “Yes.”

Ainsley’s laugh was hearty, but warm, and he squeezed Riko’s hand. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” He leaned even closer, kissing one of Riko’s red cheeks. “After lunch, you can take me out.”

He hummed as he continued cooking the lunch, and Riko had to excuse himself so that he could rush to the bathroom before he made a mess out of himself by blushing or whimpering of joy.

 While Riko was elated to see that Ainsley looked ever so handsome while dressed in a warm sweater and a beanie, he was surprised that Ainsley still wore glasses, even if they would not need to read small letters.

“Are they not reading glasses?” Riko asked, eyeing his companion, fully taking advantage of getting to hold Ainsley’s hand and being so close to him.

Ainsley shook his head, turning to give Riko a little smile. “No. Need them to see most of the time. Not everyone has a perfect vision.”

Riko could understand that. He knew that if a person had stress, their sight could get blurry, had experienced it a lot back in the Nest. There had never been enough time to rest his body and his mind, so Riko had worn a pair of glasses in his glasses and while studying. Now, it seemed, his eyes had adjusted to their surroundings and he only needed glasses if he stayed up too late, watching TV.

“Besides, I wouldn’t get to see your beautiful face without them.” Ainsley winked, and Riko felt his cheeks turn bright red.

They walked to a small café a few blocks away from Riko’s house, and got hot chocolate that they could drink inside. Ainsley offered they could buy cookies or cake, but Riko just wanted something to drink. They sat by the window, watching the snow fall, Riko’s hand resting on Ainsley’s over the table.

“Something on your mind?” Ainsley asked, lifting his glasses up into his hair so that the warm drink would not fog up the glasses. “The hot chocolate not sweet enough?”

Riko shook his head, curling his fingers around Ainsley’s hand. He put his drink down, and took Ainsley’s hand between his, turning it over to map out all the skin he could put his fingertips on. Again, Riko saw the scars and he traced some of them, frowning. Ainsley did not look like he was into sports – how could he have gotten the scars then.

“Accident,” Ainsley answered before Riko could ask. “Glass pieces were everywhere. Had to get stiches.”

Gently, Riko stroked his thumbs over Ainsley’s knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

Ainsley shrugged it off, “Happened a long time ago. It’s fine.”

When Riko brought Ainsley’s hand to his face and kissed the scars on his knuckles, Ainsley’s cheeks turned a shade darker, and he pushed his glasses in front of his eyes.

Good, Riko thought, finally doing something right.

They finished their drinks and left, holding hands the entire way home.

 A few weeks later, it was Ainsley who asked Riko out. He sat down next to Riko while Riko was watching the news in the living room, and grinned, putting his arms behind his head.

“Hear me out, yes? I was thinking. You like sports, yes?”

Riko nodded, not looking away from the TV.

“There’s a basketball game in the city over. Wanna go?”

Riko slowly shook his head. Basketball was not really his thing.

“Oh. What sports do you like then?”

“Exy.”

Ainsley hummed, sitting a bit up. “Alright. I’ll look into it.”

He gave Riko’s shoulder a little nudge before getting up, going upstairs. Later, Ainsley skipped downstairs again, giving Riko a thumbs-up. “Next weekend there’s a little league game. The drive will be three hours one way, but we could g-“

“Yes.” If he could have exy again, even as a spectator, even if Ichirou killed him for that, the rest of his life would be wonderful.

 Behave.

Ichirou’s text message was prompt and Riko had nearly thrown his phone out of the window. Of course he was going to behave. He still limped, could not walk for a longer period of time without having pains in his knee – what did Ichirou think he was going to do? Storm the court and demand to play?

I will.

 “You look like you’re really enjoying yourself,” Ainsley whispered next to his ear, taking Riko’s hand and entwining their fingers. “But you’re frowning a lot.”

“They’re shit,” Riko mumbled, pointing at the backliner. “He’s missing most of his opportunities,” he pointed at the striker next, “She would miss the goal if she stood three feet from it and the goalkeeper had gone for a break.”

Ainsley laughed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Cute and smart. How did I ever find you, hm?”

Had Ainsley complimented him years ago when he was the most known exy player in the world, Riko would not have given him a second glance off of court. But now, sitting in the stands and watching a game he would never play again…

Now Ainsley holding his hand and being so close to him made Riko’s heart beat faster than the adrenaline before an exy game ever could.

“Riko… Where are the goals, in like soccer?” Ainsley asked, pointing to where the goals were. Riko sighed, closing his eyes. Perhaps he would manage to teach Ainsley about exy later when they got home.

 When they got home, Riko did not have a chance to educate Ainsley about exy. They stepped into the living room, and Ainsley turned to Riko with a soft, inviting smile. “Would you like to see my room? Nothing too serious, of course. Perhaps… cuddling? More kisses?”

Riko nodded, as if in trance, following Ainsley up the stairs. For that one evening, Riko forgot about everything shitty in his past life, and enjoyed his life. Maybe there was more to life than exy, and perhaps everything would work out fine.