In the tiny kitchen of a small one-bedroom apartment in Shinjuku, Makoto Kubota rummaged in a cupboard. He was looking for coffee. Kubota's roommate, Tokito, had made it the last time, and now the shelf bore the telltale sign of his headlong approach to everything. It was a complete mess. Kubota sighed, and shook his head in somewhat uncharacteristically amused annoyance as he fumbled about, setting things to rights as he searched.
Ah! There it was. He sighed again as he twisted the lid off the jar, and spooned the instant crystals into two cups. That done, Kubota replaced the jar in the cupboard, finished straightening it up and then closed the door. The kettle was still a bit from boiling, but he knew that if he ventured back out to the couch, it would instantly begin to whistle. In Kubota's experience, this was an invariable law of the universe, like the waitress coming to ask you how you were doing just when you took a mouthful of food, or your bus showing up just as you lit a cigarette. Some things were just inevitable, and he had discovered long ago that it was best just to admit to such.
With nothing further to do for the moment, Kubota leaned back against the wall across from the counter where the cups rested, folding his arms. The matching ceramic vessels faced him, one proclaiming in bold red letters, STUPID, and the other bearing the phrase I'M WITH STUPID. Tokito had chosen them, enamored of the dusty joke in the way that only Tokito could be. Kubota had simply rolled his eyes, and taken them to the checkout counter to pay.
The most interesting thing, in Kubota's mind, was that Tokito had claimed the STUPID cup for his own, leaving Kubota with the other one. This would not be so strange, but for the ferociousness that Tokito displayed in defending his mug. On the one occasion when Kubota had accidentally grabbed the wrong mug while Tokito slept, he had been the recipient of a lecture, which was in his opinion, somewhat longer and much louder than was necessary. He had been rather more careful since then; Tokito's tantrums were really more trouble than the entertainment they provided was worth.
A few moments later Tokito appeared in the kitchen, his bare feet slapping faintly against the linoleum. He padded over to the cupboard where the mugs sat, and leaned over slightly to glance into them. Absently snaking his left hand between the flaps of his unbuttoned shirt, he scratched his belly as he turned a scowl on Kubota.
"Kubo-chan," (blinding flash of color) "is that still that same kind?" he demanded.
"Of course it is," Kubota returned, "We haven't run out yet, so I haven't bought more."
"I like the kind with the red label." Tokito continued, just as if they had not had this same discussion the day before, and the day before that. "This blue-label stuff is gross."
"Yes, yes," the taller man replied calmly, then added, "I already promised I wouldn't buy it again."
Tokito turned and opened the refrigerator in search of a snack. Kubota quietly contemplated his roommate as the smaller man leaned down in order to get a better view inside. Tokito fascinated him; the force of his vitality, the pure unabashed life in which the temperamental young man wrapped himself, was mysterious to Kubota. Here was a person who never did anything by halves, whether it was the way he laughed from his belly, spoke his thoughts without apology or humility, complained like an unruly child when he was unhappy, or played without restraint. When they played fighting games together on one of the many game consoles in the apartment, Kubota was still, thoughtful and concentrated. Tokito, by contrast, was prone to leaning this way and that, straightening and slumping by turns in an effort to get his characters to move the way he wanted them to. Once, Kubota had watched with curious amusement as Tokito leaned so far to the right that he lost his balance and fell over. How could a cynical young man, locked in a detached, grayscale world, resist immersing himself in the torturous busts of color that such vigor brought?
Straightening up and closing the fridge door, Tokito turned back around to Kubota. "Why are you standing in the kitchen?" he asked, though he surely knew the answer.
"It's not so far from boiling, so I thought that it might be better to just stay here and wait for it," Kubota said, with careful patience. "You don't have to stay, though. Why don't you go back out to the living room? I'll bring your coffee, when it's done."
Tokito glanced over his shoulder at the empty room behind him. When he moved, it was toward Kubota rather than the other room, coming to lean up against the wall to the left of his roommate and crossing his arms over his chest as well. The two stood there for a moment, close enough that their arms brushed against each other as they breathed. Kubota raised his left arm; Tokito automatically leaned toward him, and he lowered his arm again, settling it into place around the shorter man's shoulder.
"Kubo-chan?" (color)
"Hmm?"
Kubota tilted his head to look down at Tokito, who tilted his back to meet the gaze. There was something at the corner of his mouth, Kubota noticed, and reached up with his right hand to brush it away with his thumb. It was wet.
"Tokito, you've been drinking straight from the carton again," he chided in a low, teasing tone. Smiling just a little, he swiped his thumb gently across Tokito's lower lip and marveled at the way his gut coiled when the other man's tongue darted out to pick up the think sheen of liquid. Without reasoning, without forethought, Kubota leaned down and slowly trailed his tongue over that place, too (color). The coil tightened.
When he pulled back, Tokito's brows drew down thoughtfully. Kubota, Familiar with this expression, straightened up, turned his head back toward the opposite counter and waited. It would only take a moment, he knew. The kettle was very close to boiling, now; he could tell by the sound it made.
"Kubo-chan?" (color)
"Hmm?" Once again, he looked down at the young man by his side.
Tokito's eyes met his boldly, without fear or anger, an invitation that was almost a challenge. The coil tightened, and Kubota leaned in again. This time, his companion's head tilted back further, to meet him. Their lips pressed together, soft but firm. Tokito's mouth was warm, silken against Kubota's (colors, bright…sound, intensified). He pulled back again, to see the same expression. He began to straighten, to turn, to wait once more, but then…
"Kubo-chan." (color) Not a question this time.
"Hmm?" Still looking into Tokito's eyes, no waiting.
"Again," he demanded in a fierce whisper.
Kubota acquiesced, pressing forward and downward to meet waiting lips (color, sound), but gentle now only for an instant. The coil tightened, and he drew in his arm, crushing Tokito to him. He was only slightly aware of the heat from the other man's hand as it pressed against his chest. He probed the soft flesh beneath his with his tongue, and Tokito's lips parted.
There was a pause, like a hitch in the breath of time, before their tongues touched and the world washed in to flood Kubota's mind with a riot of sensation. The world was alive all around him. He was alive here and now, the throb of Tokito's pulse driving his own, their breath mingling, tasting suddenly and sweetly of cigarettes and chocolate milk. The coil was no longer a coil at all, but a white-hot burn in his belly. Every nerve was alert, each color a picture, each sound a cacophony in his mind.
The kettle whistled and Tokito drew back abruptly, taking the world with him. The colors faded, the sounds dwindled, his nerves stilled, and the burn uncoiled. Kubota felt suddenly adrift in the dimmed reality he had always known.
Dutifully, he crossed to the kettle, took it off the heat, and turned the element off. He poured water into each of the two cups, put sugar into Tokito's, stirred them and then handed over the one that announced, in big, bold letters STUPID. Tokito took it, looked Kubota in the eye (color, sound), and grinned before turning to pad back into the living room.
Kubota picked up his I'M WITH STUPID mug. He smiled at the statement this time; he finally understood. Taking a sip of his coffee, he grimaced at the taste before following his life's guardian into the living room.