What Happens Next

Disclaimers: Paradise Kiss belongs to Ai Yazawa, Zipper, and Tokyopop.

Warnings and rants: Here be slash, or yaoi, or shounen-ai...m/m relationships... whatever suits your fancy. Angst and romance, soppiness and pining. It's intentionally cheesy. Might coincide with "Roulette," but that would just be by chance. Or not. _ Hrm. A fanfic of a fanfic? ::knows she doesn't make any sense::

Summary: Some things happen, and other things don't. Hiro goes to school, Hiro goes to college, comes back to visit, and friends will be friends. Vignette-ish, random-ish, but I enjoyed writing it.

Radishface

A classroom, a tall school building, and Hiroyuki Tokumori was only a little scared when he walked in. It seemed like a high school to him, with the endless corridors and the pristine white hallways, and he wondered if he had accidentally been dropped off at the wrong location. Elementary school, he wanted to say, as he walked on the tiled floors. The school year was already a few weeks in, but he didn't think he had missed much. His father often tutored him, and Hiro knew more than other children his age. When he entered the classroom, the teacher gestured to the back of the classroom, and Hiro felt the sweep of eyes on him as he made his way there.

"Hi." The boy next to him said, as Hiro took his pencils out.

"Hi." Hiro replied.

"Are you new here?"

"Yeah."

"When'd you move here?"

"A week ago."

"Where from?"

"Not too far away."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"So what do you like to do?"

"Um. I like to read."

"Why?"

"... why not...?"

"Well, let's not talk about reading. Let's go outside and play."

"But it's not recess time yet."

"Oh. That's right."

"What else do you like to do?"

"Well, I like math."

"I'm not good at math."

"But you're really good at drawing. Isn't that your picture the teacher put up, over there?"

"Yeah. It's not that good."

"I think it's really good."

"Well, yeah. Maybe it's good."

"It's really good."

"Maybe. Hey, you should meet one of my friends. Her name is Miwako. She has a lot of cats at home. You're not allergic to cats, are you?"

"No."

"Then we should go meet her."

"Okay."

"There's not much we can do on the playground, but Miwako's house is fun." Arashi grinned and went on, oblivious. The teacher had stopped talking and was glancing at the back of the classroom, her eyes narrowed. "One of her cats is named Josephine. She has four cats. The other cats are called Meg and Beth and Amy. She says her sister, she has a big sister named Mikako who is in college, at Yazawa Arts. Have you heard of it?"

"No." Hiro said, and nervously eyed the teacher, who was making her way over to them. "But I think we should--"

"Study."

"What?" Arashi groaned. "You're so boring, Hiro. It's the weekend."

"And we have that test on Monday, or have you already forgotten?"

"No, I haven't forgotten. But Hiro, it's Saturday afternoon! Don't you have anywhere you want to go?" Arashi's voice was whining, and Hiro shook his head and bent over his book, tapping his fingers along the edges of the page. They were in Hiro's room, and Arashi was half-bent over the desk, alternating between pacing the room and flopping down on Hiro's bed, and Hiro was sitting at his desk.

"No."

"We can ride the metro."

"No."

"And go to a noodle shop."

"Arashi, I don't think your mother would let us go to a restaurant by ourselves."

"Why not? It's only ten minutes away."

"Arashi, I still don't think--"

"I like tempura noodles. Hey, Hiro, do you like soba noodles better or udon noodles?"

"Udon noodles," Hiro replied automatically. "But Arashi."

"Hiro, you already know all this stuff anyway." Arashi sighed, and flipped Hiro's books shut. "Now let's go out somewhere. Just for a walk, even. I don't care. Anything's better than being stuck in your house all day."

"Well, Arashi, you can go." Hiro frowned. "I don't see why you always have to take me everywhere."

"It's because Miwako's not here." Arashi muttered. "She'd go somewhere with me if I asked her."

Hiro shook his head. "Miwako would listen to what I have to say, at least."

"No, she wouldn't." Arashi shook his head. "Miwako is better friends with me." And then he stuck out his tongue, a classic display of immaturity.

Hiro didn't know why he felt saddened by that statement. "You've know her longer than me. And you spend more time with her."

"I spend more time with her, because." Arashi glared, and Hiro was taken aback. "You're always busy, Hiro, with homework, and schoolwork. That's why Miwako's there. But she's still a girl, you know. I don't like talking about hair and clothes and babies all the time."

"You have other friends." Hiro protested weakly.

"I don't like them." Arashi scowled.

"Why?" Hiro asked, and Arashi glowered at the ceiling, hands resting behind his head as he lay down on Hiro's bed.

"Just because." Arashi said. "I don't. And I only need you and Miwako. That's all."

That was a very naive thing to say, at twelve years of age. But Hiro and Arashi didn't know that. They didn't think much of it, because Arashi never meant half the things he said, and Hiro had learnt not to take them seriously.

"Okay." Hiro said, and Arashi brightened, as if this were his cue to being repentant.

"So let's go." Arashi said, and jumped up to the desk, one hand on Hiro's book.

Hiro stared blankly at his scattered papers. "Go where?"

Arashi grinned at him, his pubescent face unable to conjure the evil of a smirk, and he took one of Hiro's ears in each hand and pulled, leaving the other boy to wince at the momentary pain. "It's the weekend, Hiro. We don't have to eat noodles if you don't want to. Let's go outside, just for a little bit. Your house is boring. Let's go to Miwako's house."

"You just said Miwako's not here this weekend, remember?" Hiro sighed, and smiled, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "She's visiting her sister in England."

"Oh, that's right." Arashi stood back and regarded Hiro for a moment. "So."

"So." Hiro repeated, and they were still looking at each other.

"So we can't go to her house."

"No."

"Hn. You know, we should probably--"

"Stop this."

"I can't." Hiro said, almost desperately. "You said yourself, Arashi. You can't just stop feeling some way or another."

"Yes you can." Arashi gnashed his teeth and turned around. "You just have to put your mind to it. That's all. That's the only thing you have to do. You have to tell yourself that over and over again, all right? I don't know what the hell she told you so that you thought you could love her."

"Arashi," Hiro said, color rising in his cheeks, "if I had loved her, I would have done something a long time ago."

"So you don't love her." Arashi said. "Then why the hell are you pretending to?"

"I do love her." Hiro said. "As a friend. As a friend."

"A friend with benefits, right?" Arashi stepped forward, closer to Hiro, and he was breathing hard so that when he exhaled, all that Hiro could see were the little puffs of air that looked like small clouds, that disappeared into the cold night air. He was aware that his toes were numb, that Arashi's scarf was loose and flapping in the wind, that it was a winter night, Christmas night, gone horribly wrong.

"No." Hiro said, felt himself tremble. "It's not like that. I just love her. And I could love her more. But I know she loves you more than she loves me, so--"

"She doesn't love me more." Arashi narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, and Hiro remained where he was, trembling, not from the cold. Arashi was the one who should be cold, only a scarf wrapped around his neck, the chain from his ear to his mouth clinking against the metal pin fastened in his lip. The wind blew around them, and snow started to fall.

"I don't understand you." Hiro said, watched Arashi shiver as another chill descended upon them. He wanted to take off his coat, drape it over both of their shoulders, walk Arashi back into his house and sit down and talk about it, or even better, not talk about it. But Arashi's eyes gleamed with some unnamed emotion, and Hiro thought that if they cried now, it would be appropriate.

But boys don't cry, and apparently, both of them remembered that.

"She doesn't love me more." Arashi said. "She said she loves both of us equally."

"And you told her to choose." Hiro said, feeling the energy drain out of him. "Why did you tell her that, Arashi?"

"Because." Arashi said. That was his answer sometimes, and Hiro had gotten used to it. Because. Things are the way they are.

"Because." Hiro echoed, and it sounded empty, and the snowflakes fell into Arashi's hair, and once Hiro knew that he could have just brushed them off, but he couldn't even take a step closer now, and it was like there was this wall between them now, fortified by the cold remains of winter and the ironic Christmas that was anything but generous.

"It's not even that." Arashi said. "It's not Miwako."

"It's not Miwako." Hiro repeated, and that was all he could do. He felt his heart sinking to the bottom of his chest, as he watched Arashi sail further and further away, and Miwako wasn't even part of that ship, she wasn't the anchor, or the stern, or the mast, she was a grain of sand lost on the shore that they had both left behind. And Arashi was disappearing over the horizon, and Hiro had to squint and shade his eyes from the orange sun that was setting.

"I mean." Arashi said. "It's you."

Hiro wrenched his gaze away from Arashi and stared resolutely at a point over his shoulder.

"We're friends." Arashi said. "Why the hell would you like my girlfriend? Why the hell would you even think about it?"

I didn't think of it. Hiro said. And you're not thinking about it. You don't love Miwako.

Would you ask a girl if she loved her best friends, and she would say yes. If you asked a boy, they would stare incredulously.

"We were best friends." Arashi said. "All three of us."

"Yeah." Hiro said, his voice bleak. "We were."

Going to get ice cream on hot summer days, playing in the rain, watching Arashi wince when he went to get his lip pierced, and Hiro was there with him when he did it. He would remember Arashi's hands gripping the arm of the chair, knuckles white. And then there was Miwako, her strawberry shampoo, and how Hiro had accidentally used it one time when they were at her house, after that episode in the rain. Arashi and Miwako had been dancing in the streets, shrieking and running as cars passed by, and Hiro had watched from the sidewalk. Arashi and Miwako, and Hiro thought about how he had come by Arashi on his first day of school, in the back of the classroom, how Arashi kept talking about Miwako and the cats, how Hiro had felt happy that he had made a new friend but that he wasn't the first one.

"Why the hell would you think of something like that?" Arashi was saying. "Why the fuck would you even think about liking Miwako?"

This is the last time. Hiro thought, and started walking away, letting Arashi have the last word. This is the last time I try to take something that's already spoken for. This is the--

First time.

Arashi was staring like this was the first time he'd seen Hiro, and he stumbled away from the door to his room.

"It's been a while." He said, without any trace of malice.

It was Arashi's room, with the oversized poster of his rock-star father hanging up on the wall, the exceedingly cheesy jaguar-print bedspread. Hiro remembered the room like it was yesterday, the Spartan quality of the decor, the faintly spiky smell that resembled Arashi in every way, tart and snide, tempered and sharp.

"I heard you were living here for a while, so I wondered what was going on." Hiro said, when Arashi just settled for looking at him incredulously from the doorway.

"What does it matter?" Arashi finally said, and made his way to the bed, setting his book bag down on the floor. "Don't come to someone else's room to study. You haven't changed a bit."

Hiro found himself basking in that sentence, feeling strangely moved by something so trivial. Arashi's voice hadn't changed since the last time he had heard it. He could feel Arashi's eyes on him, looking, now they were in their last years of high school, and they hadn't seen each other for so long.

"I'm in the middle of exams." Hiro said. "But there was something I had to ask you."

"What?" Arashi said, and Hiro could hear the note of irritation in his voice.

"Do you know where Hayasaka is?"

"What?"

"Yukari Hayasaka." Hiro felt reluctant to bring her first name into it, somehow. "She's going to be the model for your show."

"Why do you know about Yukari?" Arashi's voice had risen in surprise, and Hiro looked speechlessly at him for a moment.

"She's my classmate." Hiro said.

"Your classmate? Yukari and you?"

"Yeah. Didn't you know?"

"Not at all. I noticed you went to the same school, but--"

"Didn't Miwako tell you? I met her a while ago and talked to her."

Arashi sat down abruptly and looked at him warily. "I've heard nothing about it."

"Well, I wonder why she didn't tell you. Then again, she's a strange one."

Hiro turned to look at him, to make eye contact, somehow, but Arashi's eyes were somewhere else, his mind somewhere else. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was nibbling on the pin in his mouth, a nervous habit of his.

"Anyway," Hiro said, and Arashi blinked out of his reverie. "Can you tell me where Hayasaka is?"

"I don't know." Arashi said, exasperated, frustrated.

"If you don't know, then I'll ask Miwako."

"No." Arashi turned to him, eyes flashing, and Hiro didn't see the possessiveness he expected to see, he saw something else, and before he could detect it, Arashi looked away. Hiro felt his heart sink, and tried not to let himself show it.

"Yukari's at my apartment." Arashi finished, and Hiro knew at that moment that Yukari Hayasaka had left her academic world for Arashi's, for this group they called "Paradise Kiss," and Hiro knew that he had lost again.

"I thought so." Hiro said, and began putting his books away. "It was strange that you'd come back here."

"Why?" Arashi was glaring at a spot on the wall, and Hiro looked that way, to see if he could see what Arashi was seeing.

"Because." Hiro said, and wanted to stop there. He remembered that was what Arashi used to say. That was Arashi's excuse for everything when he had been a little boy, irresponsible and flighty. "Because you're independent like that. Because you'd never--"

"Come back."

The voice on the other side of the phone was indistinct and fuzzy, and Hiro tried to push the phone closer to his ear while nibbling on a pencil, while watching the computer before his eyes, brainstorming for his research paper.

"Come back to Tokyo this Christmas." Miwako was saying. "Caroline says she hasn't seen you in a while, and everybody else misses you too."

"Miwako." Hiro smiled, disbelieving. "I--"

"And if you say that you don't have any friends again," she admonished, "Miwako will be very sad."

The girl-woman still possessed an intrinsically childish nature, still referred to herself in the third person. "Miwa," Hiro shook his head, even though she wouldn't be able to see it. "I wasn't going to say that."

"Good." She said, and there was a pause, a rift in their conversation. "Now Miwako doesn't know what to say."

"Why not?" Hiro shifted, set the phone on his other shoulder, took the pencil out of his mouth and nibbled on the eraser instead.

"Miwako only called on impulse." She said. "Miwako got your number from your old school friend, Natsukawa, and Miwako only knew you were at Harvard, but Miwako didn't know what your phone number was."

"Long-distance calls are expensive, Miwako--"

"Nonono." She said. "Miwako even bought a phone card just so she could call you. It has Crayon Shin-chan on it, and Miwako likes it very much."

Hiro laughed. "That's nice to know."

"Yes." Miwako said, and then there was another pause, more awkward this time.

"So." Hiro said, searching his mind for something to say. "How's everybody?"

"Oh." Miwako said. "Caroline is, you know. Modeling for Vivi and Vogue Japan. Do you want me to send you last month's issue? She was in the shoot."

"That'd be great." Hiro murmured absently, knowing that it wasn't a great thing, saying it because it didn't matter what he said. But that was because Yukari was just Yukari, her success in one hand and her fabulously wealthy boyfriend in the other.

"And oh-- you don't know them very well, do you, but George and Isabella are fine--"

Hiro stared absently at the computer screen, the word processing field blank, the cursor blinking. He wondered when he would finish his research paper at this rate.

"And Arashi."

Hiro held his breath.

"Arashi's okay." Miwako said, and Hiro noticed her tone was more melancholy, more reminiscing, and he blinked, and the world slid back into focus.

"What happened?" He asked, blurting it out without thinking about why he was asking.

"Oh." Miwako said, and Hiro mentally cursed himself. "Miwako and Arashi broke up. After so long."

Hiro found himself momentarily speechless, could feel his throat straining from the effort to want to say something. "I see." He finally managed, sounding strangled, a direct paradox to the weightless feeling in his chest.

"And Mr. Noriji was sick last week." Miwako said. "But he's fine now."

Hiro found it in himself to type "t-h-e" and it showed up on the computer screen, glaringly obnoxious. He left it at that.

"But Hiro." Miwako said. "You'll be coming back for Christmas? We haven't seen you since you went away to college."

"I know." Hiro said, shoving away that feeling to the corner of his heart, the grey-black cloud that crept over him sometimes, slowly, while he was alone, when he was alone having coffee somewhere in Boston, all the way here across the world. It crawled over him and sometimes he would feel like going to sleep without fear of waking up, and let this black cloud take over him. It was a thing that had troubled him since he was younger, dispelled by a hand in his, two boys running to places, and he wouldn't care about anything except the hand that was in his, black cloud crawling away.

Miwako laughed. "Everybody misses you."

"I know." Hiro said, except he didn't know. Miwako was the only one to call, besides his parents.

"What airlines do you use, Hiro?" She asked, and it was as if Arashi had never existed, so casual was her tone, even though they had broken up, and Hiro could barely imagine the fact.

"Well." Hiro said. "I usually--"

"Take the subway."

Hiro looked up from signing the hotel reservation form and blinked.

"Excuse me?" He said. He couldn't have heard that right.

"Take the subway." The lady at the registrar said, tucking a strand of hair back into her pristine bun. "It is usually the best mode of transportation here in Japan. It isn't too crowded late in the morning or later in the evening, so I suggest that when you check out tomorrow, feel free to wander around a little before going to the metro."

"Thank you." He said. She was looking at him, and it was then that Hiro felt as though he was being regarded as a foreigner, coming from Narita Airport, one roll-away suitcase tucked away in one hand, his loose-fitting polo shirt and jeans and loafers something different than what most Japanese were expecting. He looked like an American, and he realized he had just said thank you in English.

"You're welcome." She said, and looked inquiringly at him. "Would you like a map of Tokyo's subway system?"

"Oh." Hiro said, feeling his face flush, and he trained his eyes on his suitcases. "No thank you. I think I'll be fine."

She stared at him incredulously before shrugging and turning back to the computer screen. "Here is your key card, Mr. Tokumori. Enjoy your Christmas here in Tokyo."

He was speechless, a little bewildered, and he accepted his key card without a word, heading up the elevator to the hotel rooms. He set his luggage down in his room and looked around at how small the room was. Hiro went and took a shower, promising himself to try and sleep in and not wake up at the crack of dawn. He was planning to surprise Miwako, maybe take her out to lunch, and then stay with his parents for the rest of the week. And then he'd be coming back here, to the Hilton Narita, and the next morning he'd depart on a plane for Los Angeles, and from there, back to Boston.

He turned the lights off and tried to go to sleep, but it wouldn't come to him. Sighing, Hiro changed clothes and put on his shoes and put his card key in his pocket.

The lobby was deserted at this time of night, and Hiro went over to the open cafe area and sat down at one of the tables, drumming his fingers absently on the granite. The pastry rack gleamed attractively behind the glass panel, but there was nobody behind the counter.

"Good night, sir." A voice called to him, and when Hiro looked up, he recognized it as the registrar lady, and he waved absently. "And Merry Christmas."

"Good night." He replied, wondering why his voice chose to give way at that moment, chose to whisper the words, hushed and inaudible, why it mattered to him that she was wishing him a Merry Christmas when Christmas Eve was the next day. She didn't hear him, and walked away, her heels clicking smartly on the marble tiles.

He wondered what college Miwako had decided to go to-- she hadn't mentioned it to him when she had called him last, about a month ago. She had not implored him to come back to Tokyo for Christmas like she usually did, and Hiro assumed that everybody's interest in his well-being had waned. His parents called him once every two weeks, Miwako called him once a month. She was still bubbly and cheerful, and as the months had passed by, he had managed to gather up his courage about Arashi and ask her openly, press her for information instead of listening to her babble on about Yukari, who he held but the slightest interest in.

"Miwako." He had said. "How's Arashi?"

"Oh." Miwako had said. "He's fine. But you should hear what Caroline--"

"Is he at a university?" Hiro said, and regretted the words, because they made him sound arrogant and snide, is he at a university, because that's all I care about, academics.

"Well." Miwako had said. "No. Not yet. But he's applying for a scholarship to Bauhaus."

"Bauhaus." Hiro remembered saying. "In Germany?"

"Yes." Miwako had said. "And you know how horrible his German is."

Yes, Hiro remembered, but he didn't say it.

"And." Miwako said, and then she seemed at a loss for words, too. "Well."

"Why doesn't he just stay in Tokyo?" Hiro had asked. "Has he tried applying to Tokyo U? Waseda?"

Miwako had sighed. "Oh, Hiro. Why would he?"

"Because." Hiro had said. "Because then." Because then he wouldn't be in Germany. I don't even know where Bauhaus is, besides that it's in Germany. Where would I find him? Who's to say I'd find him at all? I know my way around Tokyo and Boston. That's all I'm ever going to want to know. I want to come back to Tokyo. I want to see him again. I haven't talked to him ever since that one time I was trying to find Hayasaka, and she didn't even care. You see, Miwako, my efforts are always wasted. And if I were trying to find Bauhaus, I'd be lost. Hopelessly, hopelessly lost. And then you know, that black cloud is going to come back again. I don't know what I'd do.

He woke up the next morning, blinking himself out of his dream, out of Arashi's room where he had been in Arashi's bed, his hands clutching at those hideous leopard-spotted bedsheets so hard that they had ripped them into shreds, raining like butterflies around the two of them. His head was pounding with a persisting headache, he felt hot, as if in a fever. His temples weren't the only thing that was throbbing, and he took another shower that morning. The tiles were pleasantly slick as he slid down the wall, water running down his face, his legs spread apart, his hand working between them.

He finished packing away his things and checked out at the registrar, heading to the patisserie and buying an éclair before he headed to the metro.

The ride was short and long at the same time, and Hiro tried not to stare at the wonder of it all. It was a homecoming, in a way, the hot air, the cool air, the cigarette smoke, blowing in his face, the hush of strangers who dared not look at each other in the subway cars, the scream of the breaks as they halted at each stop.

Somebody was waiting for him at the Ueno stop, a red scarf wrapped around his neck like a signal flag, blonde hair a little longer but still spiked, and when Hiro stepped off the subway, he almost tripped over the gap between the rail and the platform.

"Hi." They both said at the same time, looking at each other, and then looking away.

They stood there for a while, and the bustle of the subway seemed to melt away in Hiro's ears, the quiet was loud in his ears, and his arms felt like lead at the same time his heart felt like bursting. He tried to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth. Arashi coughed, and it sounded amazingly polite in the silence.

"So." They both said, and Hiro started laughing. He was laughing because there was nothing else to do, not with this irony and this situation, having not talked to Arashi in so long and only seeing him now, at this subway platform somewhere in Ueno. The corner of Arashi's lips quirked and then he was laughing too, and the sound of their laughter rang through Hiro's ears, a beacon at sea, driving the clouds away.

"How'd you know I was coming?" Hiro finally said, and they started walking, Arashi carrying one of his bags for him, and it was like they had never fought, as if neither of them had ever loved Miwako. Hiro had the urge to take Arashi's gloved hand in his own and hold it there, walk hand-in-hand with him that way, to show the world, I've come this far, so much has happened, and here we are. He forgives me, and that means the world to me.

"A bird with pink wings told me." Arashi said, and it was oddly poetic, and Hiro glanced at him, question and amusement in his eyes.

"Miwako?" Hiro said. "I didn't tell her I was coming."

Arashi shrugged, and Hiro wished he had that nonchalance. "She said you were coming back for Christmas. She didn't know it was today, but I had a feeling."

"A feeling." Hiro repeated, and it was like he was back there, outside, the snow falling down on the both of them, Arashi saying, we were best friends, the three of us, and Hiro thinking, this is the last time.

"So." Arashi said, and shoved his hands in his pockets, and Hiro wrenched his gaze from them, and didn't think about it, about taking the gloves off those hands and pressing the cold fingers to his lips, because he knew they were cold.

"Well." Hiro said.

"You wimp. You're freezing, aren't you." Arashi was looking at him, and Hiro was glad that his cheeks were already flushed from the cold.

"Maybe." He offered lamely.

"My apartment isn't too far away." Arashi said. "If you'd like something to eat, maybe something to warm you up a little." Then Arashi was staring down at his shoes, and Hiro looked at them as well, black boots with brass buckles, traditional Arashi. "I only have instant soba, though."

"That's fine." Hiro replied.

"I know you like udon." Arashi said. "Maybe we could go to a noodle shop."

"No." Hiro said. He avoided Arashi's eyes, didn't want him to see his expression, the faint hunger, and not just for something to eat. "I mean. Soba is fine."

"All right." Arashi said, and grinned. "I always knew you were strange, eating soba in the winter."

Hiro could only smile stupidly as they reached the streets, clouds above them, grey-blue in color, the sounds of honking horns and people walking, the steady drip of leaking pipes, the sounds of music coming from the shops along the sidewalk, barren cherry trees in the distance waiting for spring.

"How's Boston?" Arashi asked him, and Hiro trained his eyes on the silver stud above Arashi's right eyebrow.

"It's cold."

"If you can't even adjust to a Tokyo winter," Arashi said, "you must die in a Boston one."

"I do." Hiro said.

Arashi laughed.

"I die every year, and then I grow back again."

"Hiro the wallflower." Arashi said, and Hiro saw the fondness there, and it hit him unexpectedly, the knowledge that some things had been let go and that Miwako was one of them.

"I am, aren't I." Hiro said.

"Among other things." Arashi said. "You've changed, though."

Hiro blinked. "I--"

"Can't lift you up!" Hiro smiled as Arashi pretended to struggle with Alice. "What are you, a hundred pounds?"

"Give me a piggyback ride, Arashi." Alice was pouting. "You always do, so stop pretending. Why can't you do it now?"

"Arashi's an old man, give him some time."

Miwako set down the teacups and gave an exasperated smile over in Arashi's direction, sitting down next to Hiro in the kitchen. Hiro had one of the cats in his lap, Josephine, he thought it was, and it was purring contentedly in his lap, nuzzling his thigh affectionately.

"Hiro." Miwako said. "Miwako thought she told you to call her before you came! Now Miwako doesn't even have a guest room prepared for you!"

"Honestly, Miwako," Hiro said. "There's no need, I mean--"

"Oh, Hiro." She pretended to look hurt as she peered at him over the rim of her teacup, but her eyes sparkled. "You're just a mean ogre, Hiro. Barging into your hosts' houses in the middle of the night without any consideration for their well-being."

"I had no idea eight-thirty was so late for you." Hiro quipped.

Miwako pursed her lips. "Of course not, Hiro. Miwako's always been an owl."

"An alley cat." Arashi called from somewhere in the house, lost in the exploits of Alice and her gallant white unicorn.

"Shush."

"Fornicating like a--"

"Oh, you." Miwako pretended to cry. "Always picking on poor Miwako--"

"Miwa." Arashi sighed, and peered into the kitchen, Alice's arms wrapped around his neck, her face popping out from behind his shoulder. "Stop crying, you baby."

Miwako bawled harder, and Arashi gave her a little peck on the forehead, and she sniffed. Hiro felt his head spin.

"Well." He said, standing up. "It is getting late. I should probably find a hotel somewhere--"

"I'm sorry about the guest room." Miwako said earnestly. "But Mikako's friend is staying there already, and they're coming back later tonight--"

"Hiro can stay at my place."

Arashi had set Alice down and was picking at the tablecloth as he said it. Hiro felt his throat tighten.

"No, really." He said. "I don't want to be any more trouble--"

Miwako shook her head. "What are friends for?"

Arashi looked up at Hiro, then at Miwako. "He doesn't have to if he doesn't want to." He said, and Hiro wanted to say, that's not true.

"That's not true." Hiro said.

Arashi looked away, and Miwako smiled. "Oh, that's good then. And then Arashi can bring you over in the morning and we can go shopping tomorrow, or--" She glanced nervously at Hiro, "whatever you want to do."

"I don't see why we shouldn't indulge you." Hiro said, and that brought the sparkle back to Miwako's eyes. Arashi huffed, and stood up.

"Well then, if you don't object." He said. "Since Hiro's obviously got a place to stay tonight, I think this calls for a celebration."

Miwako blinked. "What?"

"It's Christmas Eve, Miwako." Arashi laughed, as he went into the kitchen. "Or have you forgotten already?"

Arashi brought out the glasses and the champagne and a bottle of sparkling cider for Alice, who sipped it cautiously from a plastic cup before declaring it disgusting and marching upstairs.

"Kids." Arashi muttered under his breath, putting the cider away in the refrigerator. "They don't appreciate the good things in life."

They toasted to Christmas, even though champagne was more suited for the New Year, and drank their fill. They emptied one champagne bottle, and Miwako headed into the kitchen for another.

Hiro's head was spinning again, a slight buzzing accompanying it, and he felt warm and relaxed all over, like his joints had been screwed loose from his limbs, he laughed with a practiced ease, except he wasn't a wallflower now, he was with his two best friends, now his best friends again.

When Arashi covered Hiro's hand with his own and squeezed lightly, Hiro felt as though the world had fallen into place for him, his own breath harsh with the remnants of laughter and speech, and he wondered why he had worked so hard in school when it hadn't made him truly happy, why he had decided to move so far away to get away from something that he wanted the most. Hiro turned his hand so that their palms were touching, and he laced their fingers together.

Miwako came back and Arashi raised his glass and proposed a toast.

"What should we toast to?" Miwako giggled, thoroughly intoxicated. "Haven't we toasted to almost everything?"

Arashi sat back and pondered this a moment, and Hiro found the line between his eyebrows fascinating. "I think we have." He concurred. "But still, cheers to--"

"Hiro."

"Hmm?"

They were walking back to Arashi's apartment building, leaning against each other for support, losing sight of each other when they passed the light of the street lamps, but each knowing the other was there. Arashi had given his scarf to Hiro, and Hiro's fingers absently toyed with the fringe as they walked along.

"I missed you." Arashi said, when they had passed a street lamp.

Hiro processed these words in his brain, a compilation of things that had wanted to be said for some time, and had never been said. Words that they couldn't say, somehow said now, but not all at once, because then that'd be chaotic. Hiro wanted to laugh.

"I missed you too."

Hiro didn't mean for the duration of college, when he left for Boston. He meant since the beginning of high school, when Arashi went to the Yazawa School for Arts and Hiro went to the Seiei Private Academy and they hadn't seen each other since then, not in a figurative sense, had not really seen what had been happening right under their noses.

They reached Arashi's apartment and Hiro dropped his luggage by the door, taking his shoes and the scarf off. He didn't feel drunk anymore, he felt so aware of things, the slightest touch of things. Arashi's fingers ghosted over his neck, sent sparks of electricity through him, alternating between hot and cold.

Their eyes met and held for a long time in an unbroken stare, and somehow, Arashi's lips found their way to Hiro's and pressed there lightly, before he pulled back.

"You'll come back every chance you get." Arashi said, emphasizing each word with a kiss to Hiro's fingertips.

"Yes." Hiro said, shuddering. "Of course."

"Every," Arashi's pressed his lips to the underside of Hiro's jaw, "fucking," he bit lightly, and Hiro felt himself inhale sharply, "chance."

"Yeah." Hiro whispered, incoherent. "Every chance."

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