Title: Infinity Road
Fandom: Tiger&Bunny
Pairing: Kotetsu/Barnaby
Rating: G
Contains: Set post episode 13.
Summary: Bunny is fighting demons, Kotetsu tries to help, and runs into a couple of roadblocks of his own. Like how he didn't know he'd really like to kiss Bunny.
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Infinity Road
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It's almost two a.m. when the call comes in. Kotetsu knows this since this is what the LCD on his alarm clock says, the one in the shape of a sunflower that Kaede got him since he's always late, he must be napping too much.
The phone, when he finally digs it out of his pants, says that it's actually 2:35 once his eyes have stopped tearing up from the display's bright glare. It takes him a moment to remember how he even got here, that Bunny had to help him off the bike because the ride turned out to have been the last thing his battered body needed, and that he managed to feign the capacity to walk up the stairs about as well as his sore ribs allowed, and somehow he actually got his shoes off and bits of his shirt undone. That was about all the acrobatics he was able to perform before passing out, and that shouldn't be as big a feat as it feels to him.
Oh, right, phone. His thumb slips searching for the call button blind, and then he needs another moment to convince his arm to move the phone close to his ear. He hopes it isn't Agnes. Or Lloyds. Or anyone else from Hero TV because just for tonight, Wild Tiger is not going to be ever-vigilant against crime and ever-ready for press conferences.
"Kotetsu?"
Okay. Okay, not Hero TV.
Kotetsu squints into the darkness, trying to make his mouth move in something that more closely resembles words than empty fish flaps.
"...Bunny?"
Silence.
"Bunny, 's that you?"
A click, followed by the disconnecting beep, and the only proof it happened is the display that is still listing Bunny's number, not the Hero TV caller ID from the wristbands but his private line that, to Kotetsu's knowledge, nobody except Lloyds and the president have, in case of one of the cataclysmic happenings that befall Sternbild at all hours.
Rubbing a hand across his face, he tries to figure out if Bunny lost his keys while dropping him off, or his driver's license, or his glasses, anything that would warrant a call at close to three in the morning. Nothing.
It's stalling, and he knows it. Even as fastidious as he is, Bunny still wouldn't be calling about his glasses in the middle of the night, which means something happened, and the only reason Kotetsu isn't already halfway to the car is because Bunny used his private phone, and that has struck him as stupidly meaningful.
He hits redial.
A pause, a click.
"Bunny?"
Silence. Maybe he just ended up sleeping on top of the phone and hit the speed dial that way, though the idea of Bunny having his number on speed dial is even stupider than losing his glasses. Still stalling. He should just address the elephant in the room.
"Bunny... is something the matter?"
Still nothing. A long, drawn-out nothing. This is the point where Kotetsu would be considering scenarios with robbers or muggers or stalkers, except this is Bunny and he can hear him breathing on the other end, short, shaky breaths like a weight is sitting on his chest.
"Hey..."
Nightmares. Either that or Bunny has been running a marathon in the wee small hours of the morning, and Kotetsu thinks he knows enough about bad dreams to know what they sound like, what they do to a person. Just a week or two ago, he would have felt stupidly satisfied to know that he's on Bunny's speed dial, that Bunny would actually stoop to call him, but that was before the telepathic madman and his fighting ring and before the invasion of the killer robots and before the high-rise apartment with the wall-to-wall screen.
At least, he likes to believe so. Likes to believe himself a good enough person that this was when one-upping Bunny stopped mattering, where proving something — to himself or Bunny or the producers — ceased to be an issue entirely. The issue now is that he's got a young man on the line who is no stranger to night terrors, can't be a stranger to night terrors, must've been dealing with night terrors for twenty years running, and somehow, tonight one was bad enough for him to ring up a person who has almost no part in his life at all.
"Bunny?"
Perhaps he should be saying something, like how it's okay and how he knows what it's like, and is there anything he can do, but before he can pick out a phrase that won't set Bunny off, one that doesn't sound too paternal or know-it-all or presumptuous, there's a deep sigh on the other end.
"It's nothing. I'm sorry for bothering you."
Kotetsu is left staring at the phone, the "connection terminated" message splaying across the screen, the redial icon taunting him with its inviting green. He doesn't know. He doesn't know what the right thing to do here is. His gut says to plow ahead, to ring again, and to keep ringing until Bunny picks up and tells him what's wrong, but his brain knows that's a stupid plan and keeps his thumb hovering in limbo.
It's one of those things for which 2:42 a.m. is a bad time, though when it comes to Bunny, any time is a bad time. Kotetsu has made mistakes before, said things and then backed out of them without meaning to, blathered nonsense because he thought Bunny was just being stiff and a killjoy, because he felt Bunny should be the one doing all the adjusting while he went on at his own pace.
Tomoe was the one who was good with this stuff. Tomoe knew when people needed to talk, and when they needed to be left alone, and she was the one who had to go make apologies when Kotetsu put his foot in his mouth in front of anyone important. He can't afford any of that right now, when he's being made to poke a raw egg with a sledgehammer, and the sledgehammer is his big damn mouth.
In the end, he places the phone back on the nightstand. The least he can do is stay awake in case Bunny calls again, and try not to feel too much like he's let the chance to help slip through his fingers, that on the other side of Sternbild, Bunny is kicking off the blanket and stuffing the phone in a drawer, that he's muttering "idiot, idiot, idiot" under his breath while he goes to hunt down a new t-shirt and a washcloth, and then curls back up under the damp sheets and resolves to never call again, because hell, how else to keep going?
In Bunny's vocabulary, "Quit it" means "Why are you doing this?" and "Leave me alone" means "I don't understand you." Kotetsu's figured out as much once he stopped being dumb about it, once he started thinking about it in earnest, how the world would look like if he were twenty-four and didn't have Kaede or Tomoe or Antonio or his mom or even a therapist since there's no one he can trust, not a single soul in the whole world.
It sounds like a cliché, that there should be a person who is so black-and-white, no grays, or mostly black and hardly any white, no friends to hang out with after work, no wife or girlfriend or, getting right down to it, boyfriend to turn to when things get really awful and he'd need someone who won't judge, or ask questions, or do anything other than be. Just be.
It sounds like a cliché, but Bunny is living it, and once he realized as much, Kotetsu couldn't help thinking how that's kind of sad and kind of horrible, except Bunny would murder him for the display of sympathy. There's a lot about Bunny that's trying to be strong, bits and pieces of a crab shell trying to grow as many spikes and sharp edges as it can, and Kotetsu might be getting ahead of himself thinking he can understand, that it's anything like what he did, is still doing, making himself as soft and pliable as he can so any insult, any offense bounces off the surface layer like a mound of jello. Maybe it's wrong, conceited, but he thinks there are a few things he can see now that he couldn't see before, and that's where the little mental dictionary is coming from, with Bunny in no shape to provide anyone with a roadmap to himself.
It's Friday by the time he can add a new item to the list, though that is more or less just conjecture.
He's gotten a few days off to heal up and feels a bit bad for taking them because Bunny took a similar beating and is already out there again, accepting awards and interviews and slicing into every host with a smooth, gracious smile to remind them that no, he couldn't have done it alone. Any of it. No way. They better not make insinuations again.
It's pretty stupid, how happy that makes him.
Kotetsu leaves the TV on while he limps around the apartment, tidying a little, whipping up a batch of muffins that are going to Kaede and trying not to feel old, really old, for every time his back twinges and his joints creak. A dose of hundred power every other hour, and he should be back on the job by Saturday. It's strange, listening to the shows instead of being a part of them, picking out the little differences between the Bunny who's there for the camera and the Bunny who is sitting next to him at the office, just the way he sounds, the smile he wears, the way he has to tilt his head so his glasses don't flash in the studio light. It seems like a person who knows this much about acting should be getting along better in life, but what does Kotetsu know.
Neither of the two personas sound anything like the call that comes in at quarter past midnight, though, and that's when Kotetsu notes down that never calling again means just "unless it gets too bad."
He's more awake this time around, was just drifting off with a bit of slow jazz in the background, and that's why he can say, "Hey," before Bunny gets it in his head to hang up again, and it comes out sounding almost not nervous at all.
"I..."
"Yeah?"
"I... this is stupid. I shouldn't have."
"Oi. At least tell me nothing's on fire, if you're going to leave me hanging again."
He's got it down, he thinks, the cranky-sleepy-old-man thing, because Bunny pauses long enough to move his fingers away from the disconnect button, long enough to try and catch his breath a little. For some reason, people are more inclined to listen to Kotetsu when he's feigning a bad temper.
"I... no. Nothing's on fire. ...I think. I hope."
"Good. That's good."
Another pause.
"...That wasn't awkward at all or anything."
An odd, high-pitched noise, and it takes him a moment to identify it as a mildly hysterical giggle. Things must be pretty bad, if Bunny is so out of sorts he's giggling.
"I'm not keeping score," Kotetsu says generously, and then, "Hang on a moment, gotta get the burn salve."
"...What?"
"Yeah. I forgot the baking tin was hot. My dessert ended up all over the floor."
It's not entirely a lie; he burned his elbow this afternoon when he was picking things up and hit the baking tin on the counter, but he doesn't mind looking like an idiot if it keeps Bunny on the phone right now, gives him a silly mental image to think about. Bunny isn't going to talk, is too tightly wound to talk, and this turns out to have been the right thing to do, because he huffs a little, like he's amused.
"Dessert, at this hour? Only you, Kotetsu. Only you."
"Hey, I get cravings sometimes. Just got distracted."
"By what?"
A hint of sarcasm in there, and normally, he'd take offense to that, but right now it means Bunny is hopefully sort of calming down.
"Oh, interviews."
"I... didn't think you were the type to watch."
"Well, it's pretty boring around here," Kotetsu says. "Just me and my old bones. And they're sure making it an even bigger deal than it already was. Thanks, by the way."
"...what for?"
"For, you know. Shutting up the reporters. I know you didn't have to, but thanks."
"I did."
"Hm?"
"I did have to," Bunny says, and his breathing is almost back to normal now that he has something else to concentrate on. Kotetsu takes a moment to picture him, alone in that dark, polished, empty apartment, with everything so neat and straight and Bunny just a mess, sweaty and confused and hair everywhere. He kind of wishes he could say something better. He kind of wishes he knew where to start.
"—don't like that. If they market a team, they should see a team."
"Funny to hear you say that."
He knows it's the dumbest possible reply he could have picked the moment it escapes his mouth, and it doesn't matter that he meant it as a joke, just a bit of teasing because Bunny doesn't do jokes, not about that, not now, and he knows he's messed up irreversibly when Bunny's voice just shutters, going low, going quiet.
"I know. I haven't been very fair to you, Kotetsu. I'm sorry."
"Hey. Hey, hey, don't—!"
The disconnecting blip cuts off his reply, and though he hits redial immediately, once, twice, three times, Bunny doesn't pick up the phone for the remainder of the night.
There are a lot of different relationships in Kotetsu's life that he manages to screw up every now and again, and he's got a recipe for dealing with all of them.
If he screws up with Kaede, he can call his mom, listen to her lecture and ask what Kaede's into at the moment so he can get her a present, catch her after school, and apologize. If he screws up with Karina, he'll bribe her back into talking to him with a strawberry shake, and she'll accept it despite her claims of watching her figure. If he screws up with Ivan, he apologizes straight up, and Ivan forgives him because he's a nice kid. He can't screw up with Antonio or Keith because both of them are far too easy-going, and Nathan will usually stop him right before he says something spectacularly stupid. He doesn't talk to Pao-lin enough to cause significant damage.
He's screwed up with Bunny more times than he can count, but there's this unspoken rule between them dictated by both their pride, which means they never apologize and just let it slide by next morning, or by the next live show, whichever comes first. None of those times, not even the Jake disaster, involved kicking Bunny while he's down.
It would be better, Kotetsu thinks, if Bunny were mad at him for it, if he'd say "Shut up" or "Go away" or treat Kotetsu like air, but he doesn't. He's just quiet, and a little pale, and much of the afternoon is taken up by the make-up artist wailing that she can't work like this, really, what has he been doing, what happened to his pretty skin, if she puts make-up on that, he'll just look like an owl, and then Agnes sighs and cancels the photoshoot because while there may be a concealer that can get rid of the dark rings, there's nothing that can get rid of that odd, brittle look in his eyes.
"Are you and Handsome having a fight?" Nathan asks while they're working the treadmills together.
Kotetsu let Bunny have the first go in the simulator in case he wanted to blow off some steam, and isn't sure if that was a mistake, too, if he shouldn't have forced the issue, gone in with him and talked it out. It's what he'd prefer, at any rate, a straight-up confrontation and a straight-up solution, but it's that new thing in Bunny's gaze that's keeping him away.
"What makes you say that?"
He's pretending now, and Nathan knows it, because he rolls his eyes. "I don't know, you cringing like a puppy, him looking like death warmed over, take your pick."
"I... no. Maybe. Yes." There's no use lying. "I said something I shouldn't have."
Slowing down, Nathan leans forward against the armrest. "He doesn't look mad to me."
With a sigh, Kotetsu does the same. "I kind of wish he were."
"Ouch."
"Yeah. I don't know how to straighten this out. Don't want to make it worse."
"Well, I can't help out if I don't know what's going on," Nathan says, tapping a finger against his chin contemplatively, "but..."
"But?"
"But something tells me it can't be that bad."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Well, let's just say that if it really were that bad..." Nathan smirks, gesturing towards the doorway, "Handsome wouldn't be over there playing wallflower, waiting for you to come over."
When it comes right down to the critical moments, Kotetsu is bad with words. He knows it, and knows no amount of practice is going to help because he's been sorting through apologies in his head all day and none of them seem like a good thing to say. He's not sure if there's a phrase in Japanese or in English or in any other language on Earth that perfectly encapsulates, "I'm sorry for punching you in the face when you were being nice to me and also quite possibly having a breakdown," but that doesn't mean he can stop trying.
What he manages after a day of scrounging up eloquence, though, is, "Hey."
"...Hello."
After a heavy pause, Bunny breaks away from the door frame, leading the way to the lockers for a bit of privacy. No sense in being on a silver platter for office gossip or any stray Hero TV employee who'll get it in his head that an epic break-up between Tiger and Bunny is going to be the next big special. Okay, that might be just him, projecting.
They stop by the changing area, Kotetsu unable to keep from poking at the tiles with his toes like a contrite schoolboy, Bunny trying to look like he isn't sneaking glances, at Kotetsu and the lockers and the door on the far side, calculating the quickest way out of here. It's all wrong, the jerkiness and the set of his shoulders, like he's been put in a steel cage and has been pacing it from one end to the other for hours, and if Kotetsu doesn't act soon, one of them is going to explode.
"Listen. Last night, I didn't mean that, I didn't want you to think I meant that, I did a bad thing, and I'm sorry, and you can get the first hit in, but I'd rather buy you dinner. Deal?"
And that came out in a garbled rush, because Bunny is blinking rapidly.
"Um."
"I can say it at half speed, too," Kotetsu offers, stomping down on his nervous grin in case it'll lead to Bunny picking up all the wrong signals. "Honest."
"You... want to buy me dinner," Bunny says after a minute, and there's something in his expression that's partly surprised and partly suspicious, but not entirely averse to the suggestion.
"Yeah. Yeah, sure. That's what I said."
"I'm... not very hungry."
"Oh." Kotetsu pauses. Somehow, in the sheer brilliance of his improvisation, he didn't consider that possibility. "Oh. Well. Actually, me neither."
"...Sounds good." There's a tiny glint in the corner of his eyes that makes Kotetsu think that maybe, just maybe, Bunny is laughing at him. "I'll get the bike."
It's not until they reach the corner bistro at the intersection to the seaside boulevard that Kotetsu realizes the last time they went anywhere together was also the first time they officially met. In his head, that doesn't count because there was no way to have an enjoyable dinner with a camera crew gazing over his shoulder, and he wasn't very inclined to enjoy it at the time, anyway. He remembers Bunny looking absurdly perfect, like something cut out of a high-gloss magazine, and he remembers thinking that Bunny was a snob and an arrogant little jerk and no way was he going to just roll over and do whatever some groomed newbie kid wanted.
Now, Bunny doesn't look perfect, and keeps throwing Kotetsu embarrassed glances while he fills out autographs for the three swooning waitresses, like he's sorry about it, and Kotetsu clamps down on the petty little devil inside of him that wants to snark about — still wants to snark about — how that's got to be a first. Something to start working on, if he still wants to be able to look at himself in the mirror.
Waiting for the food is one of the most awkward things Kotetsu's done in a while, clearing his throat every few minutes without anything to warrant the noise, dragging his feet back and forth and succeeding at hitting the table once or twice, or the second time was Bunny's shin and he's just too wrapped up in himself to complain. He's playing with his water glass, eyes flickering from counting the checkers on the tablecloth to Kotetsu, on to the salt and pepper ensemble and back to Kotetsu again, and all of that'd be entirely normal and really quite hilarious if both of them were sixteen and in highschool and had just arrived at the Point of No Return.
The food proves useful, both to quiet the nervous flutter in his stomach and give his mouth a workout that's not related to putting his foot in. Bunny's picking off the protective lettuce wall around his shrimp scampi one leafy bit at a time, giving each enough consideration that he could be a botanist on a rocky outcropping in the Andes, mapping a new species of succulent.
"It tastes like cardboard," he says eventually, pushing the shrimps back and forth in their marinade.
"Oh."
"No, I mean... everything." Bunny's mouth twists into what might have been a smile, if it weren't so horribly lost. "Everything tastes like cardboard."
"Oh," Kotetsu repeats, but this time it's because he gets it, gets it in the most painful way.
It was the same after Tomoe died, where he spent weeks pouring bottles of tabasco on his meals to get them to stop tasting like nothing, and had to crank the shower to boiling just to feel something, and everything around him was starting to look like a washed-out photograph, colors fleeing from the edges.
The hospital sent a counselor to talk to him right after they sent him the doctor to say my condolences, Mr. Kaburagi, we've done all we could. The counselor turned out to be a very soft-voiced, maternal-looking woman who talked to him about loss, and faith, and letting go, when he didn't want to talk about anything at the time. Her words meant nothing, his heart too hurt to listen, his head too full of thoughts about how on Earth he was going to tell Kaede, but a small bit stuck with him nevertheless, about how there's stages to master in grieving, and you have to go through each of them before you get anywhere.
Denial. Anger. He doesn't think Bunny ever moved past anger. Jake might have pushed him towards bargaining, but that's about it.
Twenty years. Twenty years of living on nothing but rage and vengeance and despair.
"I'm not sure what's wrong. I should be happy, shouldn't I?" Bunny is gazing out the window, examining the orange glow of the street lights. "I don't know why I'm not happy."
There ought to be something to say here, some nugget of sagely wisdom to offer about how it'll all come in due time, how nobody can survive on thoughts of revenge alone, except he was able to for a while, too, would have given anything to be able to reach into Tomoe's body and rip out the cancer, punch it until it stopped eating her up from the inside out, her smiles and her good humor and spirits. Five years, and he doesn't have any advice to give on grieving, except that there was a point when it all stopped hurting so much, and things moved on.
None of this is in any way what Bunny is looking for, what he needs, and if he doesn't speak up soon, Bunny will think he's being misunderstood, or rejected, or perceived as a bother. It should be easy. His place is clean, or as clean as it gets, there's some beer in the fridge, they can take the leftovers, and though getting smashed was never anyone's idea of a bright plan, a drink or two might stop both of them from twisting themselves into knots, might give them an easier time talking.
Before he can say as much, though, Bunny is pushing back from the table, looking him straight in the eye.
"I want to show you something."
The apartment is as posh and impersonal as the last time Kotetsu was here, and though it wasn't all that long ago, it still feels like forever. Bunny leaves the lights off and his boots on, murmurs "Mind the step," as he makes his way over to the table in what ought to be the living room but can't be described as the living room, just a huge empty space around a recliner, and beyond that, the whole of Sternbild, a bright and shining tide flooding in to eat up the emptiness.
Kotetsu didn't think of it as humbling the first time, being invited into a space that reveals more about Bunny than Bunny himself, but it's humbling now, demanding he tread lightly, demanding he stop halfway to the window and wait until he's asked to do anything else.
Bunny doesn't extricate any promises of keeping quiet, just like he didn't the first time, merely a flick of the remote and then the screen on the wall flares up, sending a cascade of text pouring down fast enough to make Kotetsu dizzy. There's no need to ask, no need to even try to read as clipping is opening on top of clipping, all words and snapshots he's seen once before.
"Kind of strange, isn't it, how a life can fit on a single screen." Bunny hasn't moved from his spot, gazing at the paper landscape with a dispassionate expression. "It feels like there should be more to it, but there just isn't."
Another button press, and yellow triangles begin popping up alongside the articles, yellow triangles in little red boxes asking "how" and "who" and "when."
"It didn't take me long to start thinking again. There's so much that doesn't add up... so many questions. Jake Martinez wasn't the head of Ouroboros. He can't have been. I don't know why I saw his face in my memory... but right now, I'm not even sure if he's really the man who killed my parents."
"That's—" Kotetsu swallows hard, and stops. He doesn't know how to end the sentence, whether he wants to say "impossible" or "awful" or "something we should tell the others," but in the same breath, he realizes it's irrelevant. This isn't about Ouroboros, or their job, no matter how frightening a prospect it may seem.
Bunny's eyes haven't left the screen, the nightglow rendering them almost blue. There should be anger there, or determination, but all Kotetsu can see right now is weariness.
"It should be important, shouldn't it? But it isn't. I wasn't happy... even before I started thinking again, I wasn't happy." He shrugs, helplessly. "And then I thought... why does it matter what I am? Why does it matter so damn much what's happening to me?"
"Bunny, you—"
"I was doing it for myself, see? All this time, I kept telling myself it's for my mother and father, that if I could do this one thing for them, they'd finally be able to rest. But it was a lie. I was making it all up to make myself look better. Nothing more." With a deep, shuddering breath, the screen returns to darkness. "That's... what I wanted to show you. The person who was pretending at being your partner."
Without the artificial glow, the room has returned to a black pocket, Sternbild lapping at its edges. Bunny has turned to face the window, and Sternbild should be eating him, too, but he stays whole, his silhouette a slash against the city lights, sharp and thin and very lonely.
Waiting, while Kotetsu deliberates his verdict, turns around, walks out and lets the door fall shut on their partnership. Or that's what Bunny is expecting him to do, anyway. He's pretty sure Bunny doesn't want him to talk, but this might be a good time to go ahead, regardless.
"When... when my wife, Tomoe... when she died, I thought my family was going to be angry with me."
Bunny doesn't move, just tensing up even more when he can hear him stepping closer.
"I wanted them to be angry with me. I mean, how couldn't they be? I'd done something, or not done something, but whatever it was, it was my fault. I was so sure it was my fault." Five years, and the lump in his throat doesn't seem to be getting any smaller. "For a while there... I would've given anything for someone to stand up and place the blame on me. For my kid to say that she hates me. For my wife's parents to ring me up and ask why I'd let their daughter die. For the doctors to tell me they could've saved her, if only I'd been there sooner. But... nobody did."
This close, he can see the hairs on Bunny's skin standing on end, shivering in time with the rest of him.
"Nobody did. They all just wanted to be there for me, and me to be there for them. The only one who felt like punishing me... was me."
He shrugs, and the extension of the shrug finds its way to the small of Bunny's back, the place where all the tremors are collecting, seeping straight into his palm.
"So, you see... I can't do anything to make you feel better. I can just help you feel worse."
Perhaps there'd be more to say, but it's here that Kotetsu's words desert him once again, and he's left to trust in the side of Bunny that's a smart guy, that it'll trump the side that's trying to veer down the path of self-destruction. It's a good sign that Bunny hasn't moved away, hasn't shrugged off his hand, and it feels stupid to be rubbing his back through the leather jacket, leaving damp streaks on the material that's stiff enough to barely transmit any closeness at all.
He should be good with hugs. He loves the contact, the way they can improve just about anything in a day, but when Bunny finally turns — slowly, hesitantly, searching him, searching everything — he might as well be the most inept novice hugger in the world. It's a lot like embracing a store mannequin because Bunny goes rigid the moment he brings them shoulder to shoulder, muscles locking up like they've been cast in fiber plastic, and though Kotetsu can't see anything past the tips of his curls, it doesn't take a genius to imagine the deer-in-headlights expression, like he hasn't gotten a hug in years, like he has forgotten how to go about it.
It would be less awkward if he could still think of Bunny as a kid, then he wouldn't feel quite so dumb picking out nonsense to mumble, stuff like how it's okay and he won't tell anyone, none of which makes it past his lips.
"You're pitying me," Bunny tells his collar, voice rough as sandpaper.
"I'm not pitying you. I swear it," Kotetsu says, and it's the truth, because the thing in his heart hurts too much to be sympathy, wants Bunny to stay where he is too much for it to be anything so trite, so superficial.
A moment's quiet, and then Bunny's arms are clamping around him like iron bands, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. He jerks, and shudders, his entire body fighting to let out what's been buried under twenty years of steel concrete, pressing small, choked noises into Kotetsu's shoulder like his voice has to climb up all the way from his gut. It's messy, and it's painful, he's getting the air squeezed out of his lungs and Bunny's glasses are jabbing into the side of his throat, but all his thoughts on moving are focused on his hands, on directing one to rest against the bump on Bunny's neck, on pushing the jacket out of the way so he can reach a little better, rubbing in tight, cautious circles.
The tears, when they finally come, are almost an afterthought, a trickle of clarity on top of the entire ugly wreckage of emotions. Bunny's still got his fists tangled up in his shirt, but he's stopped moving almost entirely, and Kotetsu wishes his legs weren't asleep so he could stretch up a little better, place his chin on top of Bunny's head where it ought to be going. Bunny doesn't seem to mind that he stopped halfway up his forehead, though, glasses riding up now that he's actually looking for a place to rest his cheek, and hell, if he's happy with second-rate comfort, then Kotetsu will gladly live with the crick in his neck for the rest of the week.
The only reason he wakes up in the morning is because he turns, slips, and years of reflex training keep him from ending up ass-first on the floor.
Kotetsu squints, the sunlight in his eyes too much to process, trying to distinguish up from down. It takes him a moment to realize that he didn't manage to fall out of bed, and that the light is coming from the wrong direction, and that the pain in his lower back means he fell asleep on Bunny's windowsill. Managed to steer them over there sometime halfway through the night because Bunny didn't much feel like letting go, and he didn't much feel like letting go, either, and the sill seemed like a marginally better place to fall over than the floor. It worked out pretty well, he thinks, but then his brain wakes up enough to stop feeling all warmfuzzy and pleased with the origami technique that allowed both of them to fit on a ledge a couple of inches wide, to notice the other half of the pile is absent.
A part of him wants to say that he should've expected that, Bunny getting embarrassed and going off to find some space to regroup, but that's before the faint thundering in the background registers as the shower going.
Oh. Well, perhaps he should start giving Bunny more credit; he sure as hell would've tried to run away.
The time between the shower shutting off and the bathroom door opening leaves him just enough room to run through a couple of eventualities, the huffy greeting or the "I don't want to talk about what happened last night" greeting or the "everything is totally normal" greeting, but that's before Bunny pads around the corner barefoot, towel in his hair, and gives him a lopsided smile.
"I think I owe you a shirt."
"Uh," Kotetsu says, because he couldn't have hit upon the relaxed happy Bunny scenario if he'd had a hundred years to prepare, and then, "Uh, don't worry about it."
"You're welcome to borrow one of mine. And the shower. I don't have anything besides cereal around, but..." He shrugs. "Do you take coffee?"
"Uh," Kotetsu says again, his brain still stuck on lining up last night with this morning and wondering whether he dreamt parts of it, or he's dreaming this, because Bunny is living up to his nickname leaping from A to Q, while Kotetsu's still trying to figure out the way to B.
A part of him, the stupid part, feels like he should be complaining about this. Instead he says, "Coffee's fine, thanks," and since he's looking hard enough for clues, he doesn't miss the involuntary twitch in Bunny's expression, like he's surprised the invitation went over so easily. Like he was expecting Kotetsu to go lunging for the door.
Kotetsu blinks, rubs at his stubble, and figures he should start applying for the cosmically stupid guy of the day award because this isn't Bunny being comfortable, this is Bunny so far out of his comfort zone that he's resorting to his impeccable manners, and while he spent the first couple of weeks wishing Bunny would at least give him a modicum of courtesy, he really doesn't want him to start now.
"Hey," he says, just as Bunny is about to vanish round the corner, "you doing any better?" and has the distinct pleasure of watching Bunny go wide-eyed and faintly pink.
"I... yes. Yes, I think so." A smile, and this time it's the genuine article because it doesn't look the least bit like any of the others, small and tentative and real. "Thank you, Kotetsu."
Kotetsu is left to sit back down on the windowsill while the espresso machine is gurgling to life two rooms away, a little elated and a little proud and kind of weirdly jittery all of a sudden since there isn't a smile in Bunny's arsenal that isn't weapons-grade material, whether he means for it to be or not. At this rate, it would be better to skip the coffee and just go for the cereal, this morning is already doing a number on his old heart.
He's not sure what changes, afterwards. Part of Kotetsu wants to say "nothing" because he's still using Bunny's head as a landing pad for paper planes when he's bored at work, and Bunny still whirls around to promise him murders he never gets around to committing, but this is the part of him that likes to act oblivious, the part that doesn't like having to ponder interpersonal relationships and prefers for them to sort themselves out.
He's the doing guy, not the thinking guy, and in this case, he'd have to be the risk-benefit guy, too, because Bunny is one of the most complex human beings he's ever met, and for all his dictionary-compiling, there are a lot of translation issues left to work out, and far too many blank pages where the vocabulary runs out because the topics just don't come up in casual conversation.
Like where they should take things from here. Whether they should take them anywhere at all. What the whole exchange meant to Bunny, if it meant anything in the first place and Kotetsu wasn't just a convenient outlet, the person who happened to be there when things got critical. Whether it's okay to still be warmfuzzy about that. Whether he'd like space, or not like space, and what on Earth ought to come after this.
They've been bouncing around all over the place, Kotetsu thinks, from zero to one hundred, hot to cold, and nothing really fits together, nothing arranges itself in a logical pattern, and while he's not a big fan of mathematics, he's a big fan of knowing how far he can go. At least with Bunny, because Bunny's made up of a lot of thorns, and hardly any rose patches, and maybe he's thinking too hard about this if he has to resort to describing Bunny in shoujo metaphors, so he stops.
Goes to get a coffee, and comes back to a double set of mayonnaise packets in his take-out chow mein.
And a bag of rock candy that makes everyone in the office wince when he munches on them.
And a smoothie with extra ice.
It takes him until Friday to catch on, since Friday is the day he finds an extra stapler and paperclips on his desk and remembers an interview from three years ago that was a right and proper disaster, where they spent roughly five minutes on his person and thought the most relevant thing to print was the fact that he keeps misplacing his office supplies. And while there is a chance that someone caught him stealing Bunny's stapler and decided to take pity on him, if he adds up all the incidents of the mysterious gift-giving desk, the far more likely thing is that Bunny's been spending his free time since The Incident going through years-old magazine gossip in an effort to build him a golden bridge.
Maybe that should creep him out, Kotetsu thinks, but this is Bunny and Bunny lives on his own planet with its own orbit and its own polar caps and its own hole in the ozone layer, and that means he'd rather start wading through the Hero TV archives than tap Kotetsu on the shoulder and ask about his favorite pizza toppings. It's sort of cute, except for the part where it means that Bunny has no idea how to go about making friends.
It also makes Kotetsu a giant chicken.
At least Bunny is willing to thoroughly embarrass himself for his sake, while Kotetsu is sitting there moping and turning questionnaires into paper planes, and when did he turn into such a worrywart, anyway?
"Hey," he says, and makes sure to drape himself halfway across the desk to come across as sufficiently noteworthy. "What are you doing?"
"The same thing you should be doing," Bunny says, pen flying across the paper, but his tone doesn't match his disinterest.
"Yeah. Well. I've been thinking. We never did get to finish that dinner."
Smooth. Really smooth, and would he like to drop a bomb on Bunny while he's at it, he's frozen up so nicely.
"Not that that's a bad thing or anything, just wondering if you'd like to repeat— well, okay, not repeat repeat—" And if he's hell-bent on upsetting Bunny, he's making good time so far, "Just. My place? After work? I'll cook?"
"...you'll cook?" Bunny repeats, and communicating his ineptitude in chunks seems like the better idea, less room for a faux pas and less room for Bunny to misunderstand him.
This should be the part where he puffs himself up and waxes poetic about his amazing spatula-wielding skills, but what comes out in the face of that honest interest is just, "Yeah. I'll cook."
Bunny tilts his head. "No mayonnaise?"
Okay, even in Bunny's world, that has to be teasing. That can't not be teasing.
Kotetsu swivels away from the desk, confident in his grin. "Cross my heart. I'll spare your plate."
It isn't until they hit the apartment that Kotetsu remembers Bunny has never been further than the downstairs door.
The only person who sees the inside of his apartment with any regularity is Antonio, and Antonio has known him way too long to even quirk an eyebrow at any stray UFO boxers lying around. That's not necessarily the impression he wants to leave on Bunny, though, and so he spends the thirty seconds it takes for Bunny to unlace his boots frantically scouring the vicinity for any laundry he left lying in the open, any orphaned socks or empty beer cans. It shouldn't matter, really; an untidy apartment never said anything about the trustworthiness of its inhabitant — here, he stuffs that morning's towel into the obliging CD drawer — but that doesn't mean he has to take any chances.
"I'll take care of that."
He snatches up the bag of groceries before Bunny can so much as blink in protest, and darts towards the kitchen, where last night's dishes are still awaiting a good washing.
"What should I—"
"Gotta do something real quick! Just make yourself at home!"
He means it, Kotetsu realizes, even as he's banging around with the crockery and the kitchen cabinets and splashing suds all over the sink, it wasn't just a meaningless phrase to let Bunny know he can do whatever, take a look around and get comfortable. More an invitation, some kind of signal that he can show up here whenever it suits him, crash on the couch, raid the fridge, that sort of thing. Part of him still can't wrap his head around how anyone could think of that neat, empty place with any sort of fondness, how Bunny can go there every night, kick off his shoes, lie back and not go insane for the lack of stuff, all the little clutter, souvenirs, potted plants, the garish comforter a friend thought made a good housewarming present.
Maybe he shouldn't be making assumptions, maybe he's got it all wrong and it's just not his type of lifestyle, but that's before he ducks out of the kitchen to find Bunny staring at the collection of Kaede's artistic efforts on the living room walls like he's never seen anything like that in his life.
"That's a fairycorn," Kotetsu says helpfully, only to have Bunny jerk away with a vaguely guilty glance, like it's inappropriate to look. "A unicorn with fairy wings. They eat magic flower pollen and sleep on rainbows."
And now the guilty face has been replaced with one that has aspirations of questioning Kotetsu's sanity.
"That was before she upgraded them, though." He gestures at another picture. "Mericorn. Half mermaid, half unicorn."
"These are your daughter's?"
"Yeah, when she was about three." Probably not the best moment to be playing the glowing dad, but he can't really help it.
"You kept all of them?"
"Yeah. Well, not all of them. Her grandmas wanted to keep some for themselves, and I didn't have room to hang up every single thing, so I shelved the rest."
"I... see," Bunny says, like he really doesn't, studying Kotetsu with a strange intent.
"It's just a parent thing. You keep everything your kid does. Doesn't matter how it looks, to you, it's the best thing ever. You know?"
Perhaps he should be looking into maintenance for that brain-to-mouth filter, because of course that last question was necessary, talking to someone who had to stop being a kid long before Kotetsu ever gave a thought to becoming a responsible adult.
Bunny has pressed his lips together, considering. "I'm... not sure if I did that. Sometimes, I don't remember so well. I've been keeping notes, so I don't start forgetting." Curling his fingers towards his palm, as if trying to imagine himself holding the crayons, doodling flying houses and sparkly robots and every imaginable creature in the world. "I probably did. I must have, right?"
It takes a second to realize Bunny's looking to him for confirmation, like Kotetsu can hand him the certificate to his missing memory, that he was a normal child, a good child, making presents for his mom and dad. It might be conceited to think he can, to think he knows anything of Bunny's past, but he thinks he knows enough about the person who loves his parents so very much that he can smile without hesitation.
"I'm sure of it."
Squinting a little, Bunny drops his gaze, searching for something else to look at and settling for the photographs on the sideboard. Kaede learning how to ride a bike, Kaede on her first day of school, Kaede waving a shovel and wearing her grandmother's big wide gardening hat. "Is that...?"
"Yeah. That's my girl. Kaede."
Bunny is leaning closer. "From the skating rink..."
"You remember that?"
"Of course I remember," Bunny says, almost a little offended, and then, "...You never said anything."
"Well, I didn't want to make things weird," Kotetsu mumbles, scratching his neck. "And later on... there just never seemed to be a good time. I mean, how do you drop that, anyway? 'By the by, that kid you saved two months ago was my daughter'?"
He doesn't say "and I owe you half my soul for that," but Bunny is most likely putting two and two together on that one.
"Not very casual, no," Bunny agrees, lips twitching. "I should have noticed, though."
"Eh?"
"She looks rather like you."
Okay, silly dad pride is go, and judging from the way his collar is getting hot, he's well on his way to blushing. "Heh. Most people I know say she looks like Tomoe."
And this would be the awkward pause since he forgot to mention talking about Tomoe isn't a taboo. They made that a rule, Kaede and him, and extended it to other people as time went on, not to start acting like all the movie people who don't talk about their dead loved ones, who keep cutting them out of their life step by step. It's better this way, made a lot of things easier, and this would be the point to let Bunny know, before he gets it in his head that he did something horrible.
Flashing a conspiratorial grin, Kotetsu tilts the photo in a show of assessment. "But just between you and me... I think so, too."
The other thing about the silly dad pride is that once it's taken effect, he can keep going for hours. Usually, the only one who gets subjected to the barrage of Kaede-this and Kaede-that is Antonio, who pretty much knows what to expect, and by the time his brain catches up to his mouth again, thinking he ought to have possessed better tact than to do that to a guy who is barely able to look back on any part of his childhood as happy, it's too late.
Bunny doesn't seem to mind, though, ostensibly busy with the tomatoes, head cocked in that peculiar way that means he's listening intently. It's odd to have his attention just like that, no yelling, no frantic arm-waving, no outrageous stunts involving traffic signs, and the part of him that enjoys acting out way too much for his own good is almost disappointed, while the rest of him is mostly just basking. Well, and keeping order among the bell peppers.
The attention problem goes all the way back to highschool, and it's probably lucky that the people whose attention mattered gave in pretty quickly, otherwise he'd have spent most of his teenage years in detention. Kotetsu isn't sure when simply bothering Bunny into giving him the time of day stopped being an issue and it became more about figuring out how to fit together, schedules, personalities, goals. He likes to think it's a recent thing, though, because if it isn't, then — surprise — he hasn't been going about it in a very constructive way.
It's not even that Bunny is listening to his chatter; he talks about as much as the day is long and half of that, if he's honest, is superfluous background noise. It's mostly just that he's here, and isn't a wall of iron resistance, that he shifts to the left without prompting the moment Kotetsu leans right to reach around him for the garlic. It's good, this having a rhythm thing, this sense of knowing where the other person is, and what they are doing, and maybe Kotetsu got too caught up in talking nonsense and replicating the reaction with the cutting board and the salt shaker and a peeler he doesn't need, because Bunny just said something, and he missed it.
"Hmm?"
"Nothing."
"Sounded like something to me."
A sigh, more a breath than true exasperation. "I said, I've never done this before."
"What?"
"This," Bunny says, waving the knife at the kitchen counter, the dish rack, the pot of spaghetti, the geranium that has miraculously not given up hope in Kotetsu's care, and goes back to slicing tomatoes like a pro chef who's wheeled out the caliper for extra accuracy.
With anyone else, he'd assume they're kidding, but he's seen Bunny's kitchen, all two hundred stainless-steel-framed square feet of it, and really, the only part of Bunny's apartment that looks even remotely lived in is the bathroom with its host of oversized towels and the absolutely ridiculous parade of conditioner on the sink. At the time, he didn't really think about the smell of brand-new electronics, that he had to unwrap some of the knives from their plastic or the fact that all of the supplies were sealed up, that the rice and the pasta and the flour were sitting there more to give the place an illusion of normalcy rather than because anyone was actually using them. At the time, he just thought it hilarious to imagine Bunny living on a diet of raw vegetables. At the time, he was pretty dense.
"It's... very new."
"But not a bad new?" Kotetsu asks, and if he tilts his head a bit, Bunny's ears are going pink.
"No." Bunny looks up, a small quirk to his lips, a steadiness in his eyes that wasn't there before. "No, not a bad new at all."
Anyone else would have left it at that.
Anyone not called Kotetsu Kaburagi would have dropped his gaze, and gone back to his bell peppers, and gotten started on the sauce. Nobody with even an ounce of sensibility left would have chosen that moment for an epiphany, or immediately forgotten what the epiphany was about. Nobody in the universe would have taken that moment, exactly as it was, with the way both of them moved and breathed and lived, and leaned across the space between, and kissed Bunny.
And nobody else would have jerked back a second later, rattled to the core not by the weight of his action, but by Agnes's impeccably timed, "Bonjour."
According to Cosmo, there are forty-eight hours to act after a person has kissed their best friend.
Kotetsu knows this because Karina brings the magazine to work and lends it to Nathan or the other way around, and sometimes Kotetsu gets bored waiting for the sauna or the simulator, so he just grabs the nearest thing to read. Granted, if he actually kissed his best friend, he'd have to be pretty drunk, and he wouldn't need forty-eight hours, either, he'd start laughing right away and Antonio would, too, and that would be the end of that, no problem.
He's pretty sure kissing the person to whom he's the first genuine friend in the world is a million times worse.
He's also pretty sure Cosmo doesn't account for weekend bank robberies with hostage situations or coverage on live TV, or that by the time they can even take the helmets off, it's close to one in the morning and then Bunny mumbles that he's completely wiped, he should be getting some sleep. No word on what just happened, and Kotetsu doesn't even find the chance to call after him, to at least pave the way for a heart-to-heart on the next day, before he has a microphone shoved in his face again.
Getting back home is a blur, a lot of "why did I do that?" crashing into "I can't believe I did that," creating a nice thirty-mile pile-up of horns blaring "bad thing, bad thing!" and the little drivermen clambering out of their wrecked thought-cars to wave their fists and start swearing incoherently.
Home is little better, with the pasta pot still sitting where they left it, limp noodles drifting abandoned in the water. Kotetsu tries tidying a little, cleaning out the pot, placing the cut-up vegetables back in the fridge. Scrubbing the counter-top. Trying to ignore the full-body jolt he gets each time he passes by that precise spot against the sink, all the tiny details he didn't even notice at the time leaping to the forefront of his mind and adding a bunch of flaming little rescue helicopters dive-bombing into the concrete to the side of the clogged-up highway.
The feel of Bunny's lips, soft and still half-curled, tasting faintly of bland chapstick. The scent of some vaguely flowery shampoo. The look in his eyes, right before Kotetsu closed the gap, stuck on the first syllable of, "Kotetsu, what are you doing?"
Taking a deep breath, Kotetsu turns on the tap, splashing his face with cold water.
The silly teenage contortions of his heart are keeping the focus away from the important stuff, stuff like how there are six hundred and seventy-two reasons why kissing Bunny was a terrible idea, and only twenty-three of them have anything to do with himself and his own issues. Half of them aren't even all that pressing, constants in his life in one way or another, thoughts of Tomoe, thoughts of Kaede, thoughts about how he's almost twice as old as Bunny.
His own life isn't the issue here. His own life isn't allowed to be the issue here because he went ahead with it, he crossed the line, and he was the one who added himself to the royal mess that is Bunny's baggage. Moving too fast. Always moving too fast. Cosmo can't even fathom a situation where a person knows everything about being sexy for the camera and nothing about making pasta sauce in his spare time, who's working so hard to hide that he had to grow up somewhere left of normal.
He doesn't even want to think about Bunny's perspective, the light this shines on every single thing he ever said about trust and sincerity and support. Whether Bunny thinks he was joking around, or looking to humiliate him, or that Kotetsu is the kind of guy who says one thing and means another, that it was all just a prelude to getting into Bunny's pants.
There's no recipe for making this right. No way to phrase it so Bunny won't think he can't be himself, that Kotetsu's expecting something from him, that he's open season just because he's good-looking, because he knows how to be good-looking, because there are approximately six million teenage girls who lose it every time he appears on a cover with the top three buttons undone.
There's no way for Kotetsu to explain his epiphany, the one that got elbowed aside because Wild Tiger is all about gut feeling and not in the least bit about introspection. The epiphany that consists of this thing inside him, this bright confusing carnival balloon filled to bursting with the realization that Bunny is beautiful, in his strength and his weakness and his sarcasm and his care and even the way he holds a plastic dinner fork.
Between thumb and forefinger. Tilted to the side like a writing pen, and that's the point where Kotetsu turns on the faucet again because that's just a completely crazy thing to notice and the stupid balloon won't stop expanding and nothing about this can be arranged to make any goddamn sense.
Kotetsu can face down telepathic madmen with laser fingers and never flinch, but unbuckling his seat belt, crossing the parking lot and riding the elevator all the way up to his desk on Saturday morning is one of the hardest things he's ever done.
He likes to think he's prepared for anything, for Bunny to be furious or disappointed or in the process of applying for a new partner, but what he isn't prepared for is Bunny not being around at all. Not at his desk, not in the gym, not in a meeting or at a surprise press conference, and there's that anvil of guilt, dropping on Kotetsu's head. He can't get any work done like this, interview plans and talk show programs where every second question is "What do you think of your partner?" and that's just the fastest way to send the little rescue crews into meltdown, who are still busy untangling the pile-up from yesterday.
By the time mid-afternoon rolls around, he's laid out in the best position to find a way to phase through his paperwork just to avoid checking the door every other minute, when his desk gives a little lurch, someone propping their hip against it and making him blink. It's not aggressive enough to be Agnes, and Karina only does that when she's mad, and Nathan just doesn't jostle any place he sits down on, period.
"Do you have a bit?"
He's probably looking pretty foolish, shooting up ramrod straight in his chair, but either Bunny files that under "weird things Kotetsu does," or he's too preoccupied with the bouquet of chrysanthemums in his arms.
"Bunny, you—"
"I asked for the day off."
"Um."
Perhaps this should be the moment where he blurts out how sorry he is, that he didn't mean to put Bunny on the spot like this, but judging by the way Bunny's fingers are brushing along the white and yellow petals, apologies seem to be the last thing on his mind.
"Um. Sure."
No need to ask where they're going. Bunny can take him to a military testing ground and spend the day launching rockets at him for all he cares, everything is better than sitting at his desk, alone, wondering about damage control.
They take Bunny's car since he left it parked in the fire zone, silence following them past the central crossing and up the exit ramp to Sternbild North. Kotetsu spends the ride with the chrysanthemums on his lap, holding them out of harm's way when they hit the road bumps coming off the belt highway, unable to decide whether the way Bunny is keeping his eyes on the traffic means he's an attentive driver or avoiding the passenger seat.
He can't decide on anything to say, whether he should even be making the attempt, but then the car slips into a parking lot at a nondescript corner, and Kotetsu stops trying to decide anything at all.
The place could be a park, hydrangeas stretching out alongside an ironwrought fence, trees spreading their shade across the winding gravel pathways. If he were passing by on his own, he would be looking for the dogs and the children, the ice cream vendors, but the flowers are dripping through their wrapping paper, and he isn't alone, and that is all he needs to know.
"I'm sorry for kidnapping you like this," Bunny murmurs, taking back the bouquet as they step past the open gate. "I realize I should have said something, but... I was worried that if I tried explaining, I wouldn't be able to go through with it."
"That's— that's quite all right." Kotetsu swallows, fumbling with his hat and almost managing to drop it. Part of him is wishing he'd have started keeping a suit at the office so he'd be able to properly honor the occasion, or that he'd at least get control of his dumfounded gaping in the face of the gift that's just been handed to him.
"Thank you."
No, he wants to say, no, you've got that totally backwards, but his throat has been put in a vise, strangling his protest. Nothing is making any sense, but this isn't about him, he's just the wingman, and it doesn't matter whether he deserves it or not, Bunny's asked him to do this.
Their destination is tucked away against the far wall, a simple slab of speckled marble sitting in a patch of clover. No statues, no decorations, just an array of slightly wilted white and yellow buds, spread out across its surface.
"My mother's favorite," Bunny says quietly, crouching down and picking up the flowers one by one. "She used to grow them on the front porch, always saying that she didn't have time for actual gardening. I used to help... well, for a measure of helping. Mostly I ended up waterlogging every pot I could find."
He laughs a little, lost in some private moment from forever ago, and it's so strange, imagining him as the little boy from the photograph, barely tall enough to drag the watering can around.
The ribbon comes loose, sending the bouquet spilling out over the headstone, and then there's just the silence, Bunny reaching out now and again to drape a flower back into formation, Kotetsu busy not fiddling with his hat or stuffing his hands in his pockets or doing any of the things he knows Tomoe wouldn't mind, but he wants to make a good impression here. A worthy impression. Something that shows he's working to be the person he was making himself out to be, and even a couple of things he wasn't making himself out to be. Mature. Reliable. Not quite so bull-in-the-china-shop.
After a while, Bunny rises again, taking off the glasses and rubbing at his eyes.
Kotetsu finds himself reaching out and stops just in time, unsure if the contact is welcome, redirecting his hand to where he was trying not to put it the entire time, toying with the change in his pockets.
"You need more time?"
"No. It's fine. I was just saying goodbye."
"...goodbye?"
"Yes." Slowly, Bunny tilts his head back, turning towards the sun. "From now on, I don't think I'll be coming here quite so often."
There's something different about the apartment this time around, though Kotetsu can't quite say what it is. Everything's still in the same place, and all the little things are still missing, not a speck of dust to be found, but it still feels like something happened to it, like the walls and the furniture and the modern art painting all let out a breath they'd been holding, and now the sunset is flooding in.
Kotetsu is digging socked toes into the carpet, resisting the urge to start plucking at the plush like grass. Bunny has uncorked a bottle of rosé, pouring a bit into two thin-stemmed glasses.
"Listen, I..."
"Hm?"
"...I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything." It's a rather poor start, and quite possibly ruining the moment, but he doesn't want it to linger anymore.
"I don't feel like I owe you anything," Bunny says, handing him a glass.
"Yeah, but I... Yesterday, I..."
"Hmm." Bunny stops swirling his own glass, setting it back down and leaning against the table. "You know the excuse that you were drunk and didn't know what you were doing?"
"Um."
"That's why I'm doing this before I drink anything."
At his age, maybe he shouldn't be making quite that noise, the dying mouse noise that comes from all the air getting stuck partway up his nose and that makes Bunny pull back, give him a mildly concerned look, and dive right back in. Clarysage, Kotetsu thinks, the shampoo smells of clarysage, and that's about the most meaningful thing he figures out before Bunny withdraws again, the tip of his tongue darting out to catch the aftertaste.
"Um." If Kotetsu ever knew how to talk, he certainly doesn't, now, not with Bunny's hand still resting on his cheek. "Are you... are you sure?"
Bunny's eyes narrow. "Do I look unsure?"
"I... no." He can't really help the laugh at the hint of petulance, like they're back to deciding which way to go and Bunny's dead-set on left and doesn't really feel like second-guessing. "No, I just... isn't... isn't this rushing things?"
"Is it?"
"I don't know." There's so much to say here, about mistakes and ineptitude and how suddenly life can give or take happiness, how this is too precious to mess up on a whim and how the balloon doesn't seem to care and is, in fact, blithely adding "really good kisser" to the list of noteworthy things about Bunny.
"I don't know, either." Dropping his hand, Bunny casts a glance at the floor, the play of red and orange against the outline of their shadows, slanted enough to be only a hair's breadth apart. When he looks up, his gaze is direct, and very clear.
"There's something else I haven't told you. That time, when I called you... I was having a dream. In that dream... you died, in that ring. You died, and I woke up, and I didn't know what was real anymore, so I had to make sure. It's... really stupid."
"No," Kotetsu says, and on this point, he can stay firm. "No, it isn't."
"It wasn't the same thing all the time, but... when I wasn't dreaming about that, I was dreaming about the fire. And then... that night, when I... and you said..." A vague gesture. "I haven't been dreaming since."
"You..."
"It's strange. I go to bed, and I'm just resting. That's when I realized... until that point, I hadn't been looking forward. Not really. All I was doing, any plans I made, everything, it was all looking back. You were right, when you said that thing about feeling better, and feeling worse."
A smile, one of the small ones that always give Kotetsu an odd twinge, too rueful for such a young face.
"I'm still not there... trying to figure things out. But... I want to keep going forward. I want to keep accelerating. I want to find out what's down this road... with you."
"Wow." Kotetsu lets out a breath, shaking his head a little. "That's... one hell of a thing to say."
"I..."
"No, I mean," and that's a good moment to put the glass down and reach for the hand that's resting against Bunny's thigh, "that's really... one hell of a thing to say."
It's not the mark of a skilled hand-holder, their fingers aligned more like one of those mutant creatures from the deep, all tangled up in no particular order, and he probably should have wiped his palm before, nobody likes sweaty palms, but then Bunny's thumb is nudging against his own and he stops caring.
"Perhaps I've taken a page out of your book here."
Kotetsu coughs. "I live by it. It's not a terribly smart book, Bunny."
A smirk. "That's all right. Mine's not a terribly smart book, either."
"So, um. Is this the part where I... you know...?"
"If you like."
"Yeah," Kotetsu murmurs, leaning forward to bump noses. "Yeah, I really would."
.
.
.
.
-Fin-
A/N: What can I say, except that I love this show? XD C&C is much appreciated.