Disclaimer: I. Wish.
Kyo didn't clearly remember the first time he'd seen Yagami with that cat wrapped around his ankles. He remembered, vaguely, that it was a kitten once, who'd sneaked into Iori's travel bag and started crying on the plane.
Booking the same flight had been an accident, and the two rival heirs were determined to ignore each other for the sake of survival—they'd crash the plane if they tried to communicate— but Kyo couldn't help but glance over and see what Iori was going to do with it.
Yeah, it had been that plane ride, when he'd watched with surprise as the redhead pulled the kitten out of the bag and started talking to it (which was how he'd figured out that it was a stowaway) and scratching it behind the ears. Then, surprisingly, the kitten had curled up in Iori's palm and went to sleep, spending the rest of the flight having what was possibly the hardest nap of its tiny life.
And then Iori had looked up and caught Kyo looking, and Kyo felt a little guilty for spying on such an intimate moment.
Since then, the cat had been Iori's constant companion. Its name was Pepper (and since he was an orange tabby, Kyo couldn't imagine why), and there hadn't been a tournament since then where Pepper hadn't been in attendance.
Yagami was supposedly a very peaceful guy outside of the tournaments, and maybe that was why Kyo felt compelled to watch the redhead interact with Pepper—because it was the only time he'd ever been witness to Iori's decent side.
Iori couldn't remember ever seeing Kusanagi without the younger brat mentioning his girlfriend at least once, if it was only to throw the fact that he had one into Iori's face. Eventually he became used to it, almost desensitized, where he could predict when Kusanagi was going to say something—and sometimes, even what he was about to say.
If anyone had asked him (which they didn't) he would have said that Kyo was in love with the girl, and that eventually they'd probably get married. Everyone assumed (correctly) that he didn't really care one way or another about Kusanagi's love life, and they didn't ever speak to him unless they needed to.
So it was strange, the first time he'd managed to slip up behind Kusanagi without him knowing and realizing that the other man was on the phone, arguing with the girlfriend he threw in Iori's face all the time.
Iori had only stuck around long enough to realize who Kyo was talking to, and then he'd gone as quietly as he came. He wouldn't tell anyone what he'd heard, or give anyone any indication that Kyo's life was anything more or less than the perfection he'd made it out to be. If he did, they wouldn't believe him anyway.
Kyo stumbled on the spit of land by accident, and he wasn't thinking about anything about how he and Yuki were just growing too far apart to get along anymore. He was tired of fighting with her, and of her always expecting him to be something different than what he was. He was a Kusanagi, damnit, and being a Kusanagi meant something a little like being the Prince of Wales. It wasn't something he could stop being; he'd been groomed for the shoes he was filling since he'd been born, and it was in his blood. There wasn't anything he could do about it.
He thought it was quaint, the little piece of land called a pet cemetery. It was a nice touch, although he didn't know anyone right offhand who was so close to their pet that they'd make use of it.
That was why he jumped, visibly startled, when he caught sight of Yagami standing just off the path, up ahead. The redhead didn't look like he'd been stalking Kyo again in hopes of a fight—in fact he wasn't even looking in Kyo's direction. There was something slightly off about him, but Kyo couldn't put his finger on it, no matter how hard he tried.
Impulsively, Kyo veered off of the path and strolled over, intending to ask Iori what he was doing there. The words died on his tongue, though, when he realized that his rival was gazing down at a fresh little mound of dirt, and a tiny, simple stone marker with one word written on it.
Kyo shut his mouth, and all of the sudden it hit him hard what was off—Pepper wasn't winding around Iori's ankles, or sitting under the tree nearby.
Iori shot him a sideways glance, pushing his hands further into his pockets. "Kusanagi. What do you want?" he asked, but the words lacked venom. Or any feeling at all, really.
Kyo shook his head. Unintentionally, he mimicked Iori's stance, sliding his hands into his pockets and focusing on the grave in front of him. He didn't know what to say—he'd had one pet in his whole life, a hamster from forever ago—but he suddenly realized that Yagami was human and that, had he been in the same situation, Kyo would not want to stand watch over a loved one all by himself.
So he would stay as long as Yagami did.
Iori shifted uncomfortably, trying to remember when he'd moved to sitting underneath this tree. Beside him, Kyo stretched too.
He'd forgotten the Kusanagi brat had stayed with him. Maybe he was less of a brat than Iori had given him credit for, because he hadn't mocked or tried to pick a fight. He'd just shut up and sat down, keeping Iori company like he didn't even know Kyo could.
The sun was rising now, which meant that Iori should probably go home and get some sleep. Maybe he'd call and skip out of band practice—he didn't feel much like playing, or at least not like playing what everyone else told him to play.
Kyo didn't make a move to go anywhere. Iori glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he planned on staying until he left. Kyo looked exhausted, but he doggedly kept his eyes open and fixed on the rising sun.
"Do you have a pet buried here?" Iori asked, and his voice sounded hoarse and too civilized, given the company he was keeping.
Kyo jumped a little, looking surprised that Iori was talking to him and being so civilized about it, but he managed to answer. "No. I was just walking and accidentally found this place. It looked... peaceful."
"Do you think?" Iori asked seriously, turning back to the little mound of dirt.
They didn't say anything else.
Kyo didn't see Iori for another month afterward. He was sitting at a bar (he didn't know or care which one) nursing a beer and shredding napkins just for something to do. He hadn't even realized that Iori apparently played here until the redhead slid into the chair across from him.
Kyo looked up, feeling a little like he'd tried to kiss a speeding train, so he hoped that if this was Iori's way of picking a fight then it would be over quickly.
But all Iori said was "you look depressed, Kusanagi," and Kyo realized he was just returning a favor. Iori probably wouldn't appreciate it, but since he'd asked (kind of)....
"I broke up with Yuki," Kyo said, staring at the napkin he was shredding. "I love her but we've grown too far apart, you know? She wanted me to stop fighting, and I can't. It's just... she said she loved me but she kept trying to take that away, because she worried about me."
Iori didn't say anything, and Kyo couldn't be completely positive that the redhead was even listening. But he couldn't deny that it was helpful, just having someone around to vent at who wasn't going to pretend to be angry on his behalf and who wasn't going to be angry on hers, either.
Iori found that after Kyo broke up with the girlfriend, and after Pepper died, that he started seeing a lot more of Kyo. And in more ways than one.
Kyo kissed him, and he was too surprised to do anything but kiss back before he realized that maybe this wasn't the best idea. By that time it was too late, because apparently one kiss with Kusanagi meant that exactly one half of their clothing vanished—so two kisses and they were naked, three kisses and their limbs were a tangled mess.
He hadn't realized Kyo felt that way about men—hadn't realized Kyo (or anyone) would feel that way about him, especially when they knew that he was notorious for being cold-hearted.
"I don't want a relationship, Kusanagi. And you don't need one," Iori said, because for some reason he felt obligated to say something.
"Who said anything about a relationship?" Kyo replied, and his breath tickled Iori's lips before they touched again.
It wasn't a relationship. It never quite became a relationship, or at least it wasn't supposed to. It was an arrangement, for satisfaction and to relieve stress, and it was a little like a fight anyway. And nobody could say that the two didn't always fight about everything.
Although Kyo's friends noticed a strange lack of fighting and an unusually high number of kisses, as of late. Benimaru would swear that once, he'd seen Yagami lean over and whisper something in Kyo's ear that made his friend turn the color of a tomato—but the odd thing was, whatever Yagami had said to Kyo had also made him light up and glow from the inside out.
Iori had never in his wildest dreams have thought that Kyo would chase him and succeed in catching him. He'd never cared what people thought, but now it was becoming painfully obvious what was going through their heads.
He'd spent years—his whole life, maybe—building up his reputation as a fierce fighter and a bastard with a heart of stone. His exception had been his cat, which nobody had seen in a while. And now there was Kyo (not even Kusanagi anymore, because they were too close) and apparently because he wasn't stalking Kyo with the single-minded homicidal drive he'd always saved for occasions like that, it meant he was going soft. In love. With Kyo Kusanagi.
Iori wasn't in love with anyone. Especially not Kyo. Kyo wasn't a replacement for Pepper and Iori wasn't going to be a replacement for Yuki. Everyone else needed to learn that, and so he did the only thing he could think of to do, and told Kyo that whatever they had going was over.
He pretended not to notice, but he had seen the devastated look in Kyo's eyes.
Kyo was never very good at giving up on what he wanted. If he desired something badly enough, he got it. He was a Kusanagi, it was the way things worked.
But when Iori said no more, he was at a loss. People weren't objects; he'd learned that lesson all too recently. People were a different case, so he just stood there and watched Iori walk away.
Three weeks ago he wouldn't have said it was a relationship; six months ago he would have laughed if anyone had mentioned a possible friendship with the other man. But now—now Kyo realized that Yagami was a lot more complex than anyone gave him credit for. Friendship with Iori was complicated enough, and if it warranted a breakup then it had to be a relationship.
Which meant that it had to be dealt with just like a breakup would, so it was off to the bar to shred some napkins for a while.
Iori would pretend to read his book. He would pretend like he didn't miss Kyo as much as he did, and shouldn't. He would conveniently forget that he didn't give a damn what other people thought of him, and that he'd broken up (no, not 'broken up' because that signified a relationship that didn't exist) with Kyo over something as stupid as a few rumors.
But he couldn't pretend that Kyo wasn't standing in front of him, waiting to be acknowledged. "What is it, Kyo?" he asked at last, lowering the book to lock eyes with the brunette.
Fuck, but he'd missed that.
"I have something for you," Kyo said without preamble, "but you only get it if I get what I want from you, first."
"What do you want?"
"A relationship, this time. No excuses, no lies. Just... us."
Iori hesitated, because he wanted to say yes but he should say no. He opened his mouth, intending to stick by the first answer that came out of his mouth. "I don't love you, Kyo."
To his surprise the brunette laughed. "I don't love you, either. But I don't hate you anymore, and I miss having you around. I know I have to be the one to say that, or it'll never get said, so there you go."
Iori considered it. It didn't seem like such a bad arrangement—what they'd had before, basically, with a name put to it. And a little bit of a promise that neither of them was going to run the first time some stupid gossip got thrown in.
He looked up, where Kyo was still waiting on his answer. "So what do you have for me?"
Kyo laughed, apparently taking that for the affirmative answer it was. He pulled his hand out from behind his back, holding out a tiny, shivering calico kitten.
"Not a replacement," Kyo said softly, "just something new."
Iori wondered idly if he was talking about the kitten, or the relationship.