#bisexual joe

This was a bad idea.

It was one thing to let Kaoru stay in the restaurant despite sneaking out of the hospital with a broken leg (which, by the way, how the hell did he manage to get to Luce by himself?), but this was in another league of its own. He could already hear the slew of insults coming his way. You dopey gorilla, what if you dropped me? Why would you let me fall asleep without knowing if I have a concussion? I see your interior decor hasn’t gotten much better since last time.

He could stand it and not fight back, if just for one night. Frankly, he felt comfort when seeing Kaoru at the restaurant. It meant the accident wasn’t too bad, at least physically. And there was the sense of superiority that came with knowing he chose his restaurant, of all places. Superiority at knowing he was Kaoru’s priority, and comfort at knowing Kaoru still cared for him. Despite everything—the years of arguing, being split up during their respective years of higher education—there was still care. Which is more than what he could ever feel towards that other asshole.

It wasn’t like he’d verbalize how he felt on the ride to the emergency room. Hours had passed and he still couldn’t figure out if he had been shaking from the worry towards his friend, or hatred towards the man they once thought they knew. All that was certain was the regret he felt upon not beating Aino—Adam to a pulp right then and there, for everyone to see.

Ainosuke, Adam. The same rotten person at the core.

That violent nature wasn’t like Kojiro, it wasn’t expected of him. Which only angered him further. How was it that he and Kaoru let it get this far? S had begun as a way of self-expression, and it snowballed into a free-for-all that sometimes made him sick to his stomach. The notoriety got to his head, despite the promise he’d made to himself years ago. It was a tricky situation, one he didn’t like thinking about yet still kept him up at night.

Kojiro sighed in relief as his house came into a clearer view (giving him a break from his thoughts), surprised Kaoru slept through the ride. The pain meds must have kicked in…. He fished his keys from the pocket of his jeans and unlocked his front door, turning a light on before carefully pushing Kaoru inside. The door was promptly closed and locked, followed by his shoes being removed and all the shit in his pockets being moved to the bowl next to the door.

Once again, he found himself debating his options. He knew fully well that he should have dropped him back off at the hospital, it’d been ringing around his head during the whole walk back to his house. How was he supposed to know he’d be okay, though? Surely one night won’t kill him. They’ve gotten into bigger problems and walked away unscathed. Then again, neither of them had gotten swatted at high speed by a fucking piece of wood and metal until that night.

Options, Kojiro.

Perhaps he could start with actually waking Kaoru up and asking if he’s okay. He crouched in front of the wheelchair, nearly eye-to-eye with the man, and carefully shook him by the shoulder. “Oi, Ru. Up and at ‘em, c’mon.”

Silence. He remained still as the other stirred, bright yellow eyes looking around in confusion. Another thing Kojiro would never verbalize was the way his heart picked up as he saw thin eyebrows knit together, chapped lips pursing.

“Kojiro.” Kaoru groaned, removing his glasses. His heart had moved on from picking up to doing backflips. He began scratching at his eyes, and the act made him look younger and even more fucked up at the same time. Amazing. “Why are you staring? Didn’t your mother teach you that’s rude?”

She never said anything about admiring pretty things. “Whaddaya need, kid? Want me to take you to bed, maybe get you some food?”

Both of them looked down at Kaoru’s lap, at the way his free hand fiddled with the temples of his glasses. It felt awkward; like he was actually… embarrassed of whatever was on his mind. Kojiro stood up, figuring he’d be doing him a favor by giving him the time and space to speak. No use in forcing words through a muddled mind. He took a seat on his couch, his back facing Kaoru.

“Back at the hospital, they just…” Kaoru sounded frustrated and like he’d given up despite barely beginning. Kojiro didn’t move. “They only cleaned the affected areas and I knocked out as soon as my head touched the pillow. I feel dirty.”

Ah. Hot springs, showers. Same difference. Kojiro wouldn’t find the courage in either scenario.

“Will you wash my hair?”

A terrible, no good idea, indeed.

And yet, he got up and wheeled him into the bathroom, with not so much as a peep leaving his mouth. It’s the friendly thing to do. It also wasn’t anything new between them; Kojiro saw it as one of the perks of having known him for more than half their lives.

And yet, as he helped Kaoru sit on the toilet seat and turned Carla off to preserve her battery, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. What a bad idea. Washing his hair, as if they were an old couple, with habits and routines.

Are you implying that friends can’t have routines? Have you seen how the kids act around each other?

“How are you keeping my cast dry?”

The two men looked at each other, playing a mental game of chess. With all the bandages around Kaoru’s face, the cast had become the last of Kojiro’s concerns, but he was right. Without excusing himself, he retreated back to the kitchen, returning shortly after with a trash bag in one hand and an old beach chair in the other. “S’not perfect, but I think it’ll get the job done.”

“You don’t have to do all this, you know.” Kaoru still had that embarrassed inflection to his tone. It was reminiscent of a time when Kojiro had to make up an excuse or other as to why they kept cutting class. “I know I asked you to—”

“And that’s all there is to it.” Kojiro took a step back from his shower, looking at the chair smack in the middle of the tiled floor. It was a ridiculous setup, but it would work, for now. Hopefully. “You’re my friend, Kaoru. You’re asking for a favor.

“Before you even think of it,” he added, now turning to face the other, trying to figure out where to begin the process. Maybe undressing the bruises would be a good start. “I’m not doing this out of pity. I know you wouldn’t let me if that were the case.”

His hands were shaking again. They were chef’s hands, trained for years to be steady and precise. The experience had roughed them up, with various small slices and healed burns around his fingers and palms serving as evidence of his hard work. They were athlete’s hands, being accustomed to heavy lifting and scraping along the concrete on his board. Hands that held pride in his achievements and deceit in the shape of women. Steady, sturdy hands, goldened by the sun and failing him before his very eyes.

He began with the bulk of the bruises—his jaw. While one hand cupped Kaoru’s chin, the other one removed the tape holding the gauze to his skin, being careful to not tug at it too hard. Gnarly purples and reds came into view, the bruise obviously still fresh. Then he moved to the bandages around his neck, then his head. Neither of them dared speak, even when they winced at the sight or the sensitivity.

The anger was resurfacing. One good punch, right in the nose. That’s all he wanted. “Think you can stand?” Kojiro felt too loud in the small room, even though his voice was low. He took a step back and extended his hands, as if to invite Kaoru to try.

The other’s felt soft. He took good care of them, needing them to make a living. They were polished, well cared for, albeit also scarred from his tinkering with his AI materials and his experience skateboarding. They were pale, seeming bright as they held the other’s. Such a contrast.

Both of them took their time in getting Kaoru to his feet. It was a process, trying to balance him to remove his robe and get him in the shower. Kojiro didn’t bother removing the arm brace; that’s a bridge they could cross later. The big plastic bag was wrapped around the leg cast, with both of them hoping the water would stay out. A messy, bad idea.

It only took Kojiro a minute to strip down to his underwear. He couldn’t afford to get lost in his thoughts again; being shirtless at Crazy Rock, being half-naked with the man consuming every waking second of his life for the last few months—what’s the difference, right? He was making himself dizzy, going in circles.

He turned the faucet on, being careful not to wet Kaoru just yet. The detachable shower head was gripped, and he pointed it at the wall, feeling the steady stream until it was at a comfortable temperature. Then he began. 

The ends of the long hair were first, going up to his scalp, digging his fingers into it to make sure everything got properly wettened. The faucet turned off, and he squirted shampoo onto his palm, feeling automatic; as if this really had been a habit of theirs for the longest time. Why wasn’t it? Why had his cowardice driven him into this cycle of guilt and heightened expectations— why didn’t those girls suffice him? What made him think he could ever compare to the thrill given to Kaoru when Ainosuke was in the mix?

The sound of a sob pulled him out of his thoughts. He furrowed his brows and pulled his hands back, initially thinking he had hurt Kaoru somehow. Maybe he touched an injured area?

“Ru?”

Another sob, followed by a sniffle. It made his heart drop. “Fuck. I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

What? “What? What’s wrong?” He was crouching in front of the other before he could give it a second thought. The sight was… it was something he hadn’t seen in a while. His stomach was churning. “Kaoru. Why’re you saying that?”

“I just—” Kaoru paused, trying to breathe, to calm down. He had snot on his red nose, which Kojiro cleaned without a second thought. “I really thought things would change. I didn’t want— didn’t need to win, but shit— I don’t even love him anymore, I just— I wanted to prove that it could— that we could still be friends. That things could go back to when we were kids.”

Eat your fucking heart out, eh, Kojiro?

“Hey.” He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say. His friend, the man he’d been hopelessly head over heels for, got fucked over by the same person in the span of seven years, and was crying his eyes out, injured, in the shower. It brought upon him a horrible feeling of deja vu, and he couldn’t shake it away.

But he could help again. Just like when they were teenagers, directionless and feeling everything all at once. He’d do it over and over if it meant Kaoru would be okay.

His broad arms wrapped around the man, and he didn’t let go, albeit their uncomfortable position. One of his hands was rubbing his back in soothing, circling motions, with the other one hiding in his hair. He felt cold, his body shaking with each little sniffle and sob.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Kojiro wasn’t sure if he was heard. His voice wasn’t much louder than a small mumble. He let go of the hug and cupped Kaoru’s pale cheeks instead, being as mindful as possible of his bruises. His thumbs wiped away the tears as they continued falling, and a chuckle escaped him, feeling his own eyes getting watery. “Fuck him. He’s nothing but wasted potential. You’ve done so much without him and I know you can do so much more.”

If I’d known this is where we’d end up, I would have cut him off ten years ago. Completely separate myself from him and take the opportunity to tell you what I’ve always felt. I know I wouldn’t have stood a chance, I’ve never been what you crave. But I wouldn’t have been such a coward.

“You look so ugly when you cry.”

The two men laughed at the feeble joke. Kojiro didn’t expect Kaoru to do that, but he figured it would happen. Both of them had always had a problem with vulnerability.

“Like you look any better. Your face is the same color as your hair.” He wiped Kaoru’s tears once more, then leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Allowing himself just this one thing. “You don’t need someone like that to prove things can still be good, Ru. I believe in you.”

He could tell Kaoru didn’t fully believe the words. And that was okay. He’d be okay.

Kojiro pressed another kiss to his forehead, then his knuckles, praying above all else that the actions could convey everything he was trying to say, as well as everything he felt. I’m here for you. I love you. I love you.

It was back to washing his hair then. Neither of them spoke; there was no need. Kojiro washed, conditioned, detangled Kaoru’s hair, washed his bruises, helped him dry off, and guided him to the bedroom, offering fresh, warm clothes. He even blow-dried his hair and braided it, just like he used to do when they were teens, keeping it out of Kaoru’s face. Now it was just a matter of changing into some new clothes himself, and set up the couch…. His heart wanted to explode, beat straight out of his chest and straight into bed with him.

So he did. The night was full of mistakes and bad ideas, anyway; what’s one more? He lay on his side, watching as Kaoru attempted to do the same, settling about three-fourths of the way there. They were eyeing each other, both of them seeming like they had something to say.

Kaoru went first. “Thank you. You could have just left me back home, or at the emergency room. This means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” Kojiro got closer to him, allowing himself to push his hair back, over and over, creating a rhythm. “You mean a lot to me. I’ll help any way I can.”

“Langa completely destroyed you.”

“Youth is wasted on the young.”

Kaoru was holding Kojiro’s hand by then, guiding it to his cheek. Kojiro left it there, softly running his thumb along his thin lips.

“You know I’m beating his ass if he comes near you again, right?”

Kaoru smiled, tired. His eyes were halfway shut. “Nothing in the world would make me happier.”

Kojiro smiled back, the feeling of relief and comfort slowly returning. “Need a lullaby?”

A shake of the head signaling no, followed by a sleepy sigh and closed eyes. “Just stay here. The kids’ll be okay, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, honey.” Honey. Sickly sweet. He pretended he didn’t notice the way his cheek felt hotter against his palm. “They’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

The way Kaoru kissed his thumb sent a jolt down his spine. A bad idea for another day, Kojiro decided. 

He sighed again, keeping his own hand loosely wrapped around his arm. “Goodnight, Kojiro.”