Warning: Language, mild sexual references, homophobia
To: Chappy-The-Bunny
My half of an AMV-fanfiction trade, the prompt being: "Hiroki has to cry and Nowaki has to see it!"
Words
Kamijou Hiroki cursed, a low hiss under his breath, as crimson-riddled papers slipped from the loose confines of his old leather duffel bag onto the hot pavement below. As if on cue, students scattered in all directions, desperate to flee the path of the devil himself as he crouched down to gather the scattered essays, muttering low and threateningly all the while.
Good days could go very bad, he mused, pulling himself to his feet slowly, glaring death and daggers at any innocent passersby through sweaty, wind-frazzled bangs, but very rarely did bad days ever get any better.
"Hiro-san!" A loud and boisterous voice called through the chatter of one hundred different students, across the expanse of the crowded sidewalk and booming high above all of the surrounding city sounds.
Today, however, he decided, scoffing in embarrassment as many eyes picked apart the strange, waving man who seemed to be smiling—actually smiling—in Kamijou the Devil's direction, maybe, just maybe, might be an exception.
Nowaki was the only thing in the universe that could turn all of his notions and ideas about life upside down. It was only befitting that he could also bring sunshine to a day that would otherwise seem cold and dreary.
"Hiro—"Nowaki started as he finally approached, scarlet-faced from the heat and the humiliation of his students' gossiping.
'Who is that?'
'He's so tall; so cute!'
'Don't tell me the Devil actually has friends!'
"Nowaki, hush." He spat, grasping the younger, taller man by the wrist and hauling him away from the student body's prying eyes. Nowaki simply smiled good-naturedly, as he often did when his older lover became too flustered, and wrapped his large fingers around Hiroki's slender digits, forcing them into a makeshift hand-holding before sighing happily and letting himself be dragged along.
"What do you want for dinner, Hiro-san?" He questioned lightly, marveling at the rosy shade of his boyfriend's cheeks. "We're almost to the family restaurant."
Hiroki scoffed, the color of his flush deepening tenfold, before slowing his pace, and glowering at the swirling clouds above, the sky, blue like Nowaki's eyes…
"I know, idiot!" He hissed, shoulders stiff, "Did you think I was wandering aimlessly?"
The taller man stayed silent, seeming to simply enjoy the warmth of his lover's hand in his own and the steady pace at which they walked. Hiroki eyed the pavement, sheepish, as he realized that he was already feeling one hundred percent better than he had even an hour or so prior.
Stupid Nowaki: always so cheerful and utterly charming.
The two chatted causally, about the next few chapters of a book Hiroki was reading, the essay he'd just assigned his morning class, and a young patient in the children's ward of the hospital that had argued vehemently with her visiting family that Nowaki was her husband and they were going to move to some far-off country and raise three beautiful girls and a small dog.
Hiroki let himself get lost in the conversation, laughing quietly at his lover's enthusiasm when it came to children and really anything he cared about, scowling whilst speaking of the more daft of his students and smirking as they spoke briefly of earlier in the afternoon when he'd accidentally walked in on Miyagi and his young lover in the midst of a rather nasty fight in which the teen definitely seemed to be giving his boss a piece of his mind.
"'I'm old enough to know when my boyfriend doesn't want to introduce me to his coworkers!', he said," Hiroki drew out amusedly, grin broadening as Nowaki offered a chuckle, "but I hope he knows that he's already well-known around campus as the kid who follows that old man around like a lost puppy."
Nowaki's laughter erupted musically, causing a flutter in Hiroki's chest. His broad shoulders shook slightly as he smiled down at the older man, admiration bright in his twinkling eyes.
"Am I well-known around campus as anything, Hiro-san?" With such obvious excitement at the thought of being part of his lover's life in any way, he swung their intertwined hands slightly, mirth evident in each step he took. Hiroki almost felt guilty for disillusioning him.
In actuality, Nowaki was quite a celebrity amongst his coworkers. Any person that could put up with Kamijou's nasty attitude was usually regarded as some sort of superhuman, but it seemed that the other professors just couldn't seem to wrap their minds around the dynamics of their relationship.
He'd heard it all: from Nowaki being his cousin to his personal assistant to his goddamn therapist (never mind that Nowaki wasn't even old enough to be a real doctor yet, let alone a psychologist—he wondered how some people even made it through college), but never had he heard anything about Nowaki being his lover from anyone but stupid Miyagi.
"W-well, uh, I—"
"Ew, isn't that disgusting?"
He paused momentarily, slightly curious but prompted by Nowaki's eager eyes to continue.
"Ugh, don't they realize that there are kids out here?"
"Well, you see—"
"Fucking queers!"
At those words, his gaze snapped in the general direction of the scattered voices, desperate to find the verbal assailant, but it seemed that everyone around them was averting their eyes. Nowaki's hand suddenly felt too hot and heavy within his own and it took every ounce of his flimsy restraint not to snatch his arm away and reprimand the man for so much as touching him in public.
"Hiro-san—"Nowaki started, suddenly worried as he noticed his lover's changed composure. "Hiro-san, what's—"
"I don't feel well." Was the muttered reply as Hiroki yanked him sideways into the street, ignoring the angry honking of passing cars as he lead them through traffic to the adjacent sidewalk, picking up pace all the while until he was nearly jogging and Nowaki was thankful that his long legs allowed him to keep up.
"Hiro-san, maybe you'll feel better if you eat something—"
"I'm not hungry, dammit!" He screeched, tearing his hand from Nowaki's grasp and shoving the taller man to the side. "If you're so fucking hungry, why don't you just go? I'll be at home!"
Nowaki's shock was obvious in the way he simply let him go, staying behind with that goddamn wounded puppy look that Hiroki had sworn countless times before that he'd never cause again.
"Hiro…san…"
He wondered why he was so upset. It wasn't like he gave a damn what some ignorant strangers thought of him anyway, but in that brief moment in which he had searched the crowd for those bold speakers and found no one, he'd thought to himself, mortified, 'What if Nowaki had heard?'
And it wasn't that he thought his boyfriend couldn't handle some minor criticism, on the contrary, Nowaki had put up with him for nearly a decade, but the taller man had spoken sparingly of his insecurities, and there was only one that had really stood out to Hiroki, maybe due to its desperate honesty, maybe because part of him wished it wasn't true, while another, more selfish, possessive side of him hoped that it never changed:
"Hiro-san," He had whispered sleepily one chilly January night, sadness tearing at the loose edges of his voice as he breathed steadily onto the back of Hiroki's neck, "is the only person in this entire world who really loves me."
He was sure it was followed by some sappy comment like, 'and I wouldn't have it any other way', but there were times that he simply sat and thought about it; about his bubbly, kindhearted lover being liked by so many but beloved by only him…
And what right did anyone have to say that what he felt was wrong; that the only person in the goddamn world who really loved him was unjustified and disgusting and—
"Fuck!" He choked, slamming his bag into a nearby telephone pole, heart racing as a distinct wetness prickled at his eyelids.
Home was only fifteen minutes away.
He really didn't want to see Nowaki.
'…the only one who really loves me…'
Nowaki ran a hand through sweaty, raven bangs, for once unable to be soothed by the various noises of the streets: honking horns and shop owners closing for the evening, young people deciding on bars to attend and the perpetual tapping of shoes against pavement.
Usually, he knew, those little sounds would cheer him up because his love of the world around him was only shadowed by his love for his precious Hiro-san, but Hiro-san was upset about something—most likely something he did—and when his adorable lover was unhappy, the color seemed to be drained from everything he encountered, as if no joy could exist in his life until Hiro-san's mood improved.
Not that it was rare for his lover to freak out for no apparent reason, but there was something unusual about his latest rampage, as if one moment he'd been happy as can be, and the next…
It was as if he'd seen something revolting.
He shook his head, smiling at the hostess as he pushed open the clear, glass restaurant doors and the bells chimed overhead.
"Hi there," He greeted, easily recognizing her from he and Hiro-san's many visits. "I'd actually just like to order two to go, if that's alright."
It was dark by the time Hiroki made it back to the apartment. He fished through his pockets for his keys, cussing loudly as they fell to the ground before scooping them up and jamming his apartment key into the hole with all of his might, slamming the door closed behind him.
He was shaking harder than he cared to admit, barely able to slip his shoes off without tumbling onto the ground, but he knew that the moment he let himself lie down, he wouldn't have the will to pick himself back up.
'This is stupid!' He chided himself, 'You're nearly thirty years old! A few rude little comments shouldn't affect you this much!'
But, his conscience argued, what if Nowaki had heard? How many friends would he lose if people found out about their relationship? Would he be fired? Would his patients' parents refuse to let their children be treated by him?
He thought of all the work his lover had put into his career; how hard he'd struggled to pull through the adversity he'd faced and become someone valuable to society. He thought of how much Nowaki absolutely loved his job and how the younger man would feel if it was torn away… because of him.
"Am I," He whispered to no one, clutching at the collar of his shirt as tears threatened to drip from his eyes, "ruining Nowaki's life?"
Maybe he could have denied it; maybe he could have reasoned that Nowaki was content with himself before he came around and gave him the will to live up to his full potential, but stupid Miyagi had a way of making excellent points, and when he had promised to back off if he ever risked getting in the way of his Lolita lover's progress, Hiroki had silently swore to do the same.
'So, you're in the way now… What are you going to do about it?'
He thought of that awful year without Nowaki around; about sleeping alone and how cold his sheets felt every morning. He thought of those strangers' voices, the hatred with which they scorned both of them, and he thought of Nowaki losing everything; he thought of Nowaki hating him.
"Shit," He croaked, knees buckling as he sobbed, hating himself with each struggled breath he drew as if just by breathing, he was betraying the one person who he really, truly loved.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit—"
"—Hiro-san?"
He wondered if he could retract his earlier notion that adding Nowaki to the situation could make anything better, because at that moment, as he crouched in the dark, crying like the idiot he was on the cold tile of the kitchen floor, Nowaki was definitely the last person he felt like seeing.
"Hiro-san, I…"
He seemed to be struggling with what he wanted to say. He finally settled for moving forward hesitantly, setting two full, plastic bags on the counter before looking down, not quite meeting Hiroki's eyes. "I got dinner… I thought you might be hungry by the time I got home."
And Hiroki couldn't help but chuckle bitterly, through the soreness in his throat and the gnawing pain in his chest and the fresh wetness on his cheeks.
He pulled himself to his feet, eying the bags on the counter, knowing that Nowaki must have ordered his favorite meal, must have remembered which parts to omit, what to ask for more of.
He felt that he was going to be sick.
"So you're really not going to tell me what's going on." Nowaki drew out, fists clenched at his sides, eyes trained on the cracks between the tiles as if he were trying to memorize their patterns. "I've been worried sick and you're not going to tell me what's bothering you."
"Nowaki, it's—"
"It's not "nothing", Hiro-san!" He interrupted, knowing his older lover all-too well. "Nothing about you is petty or stupid and if something is bothering you, it's a big deal!"
Hiroki scowled, scrambling away as Nowaki stepped forward. He wiped furiously at his eyes, caught between being shocked by his lover's uncharacteristic outburst or angered by how demanding he was being.
"You always try to shoulder everything on your own," Nowaki murmured, extending a hand to wipe a few stray, wet hairs from the older man's face, "and you never realize how much it hurts me to sit back and watch you fighting alone."
Brows furrowed, heart racing, he slapped Nowaki's hand away, voice cracking as he screamed, literally screamed in the younger man's face, "Didn't you hear what they called us? Don't you care what people think?"
"Hiro-san, who—"
"The people on the street, dumbass; they called us queers, they called us disgusting!"
"Hiro-san, since when has what other people thought of us mattered—"
"Since you decided to become a doctor!" He wailed, feeling more useless and pathetic than he had in years. "Since you got a career with real bosses and clients who care about your life!"
Back slumped against the refrigerator, tears rolling down his cheeks, he dug his nails into the palms of his hands, refusing to look up at his boyfriend as he made his way toward him.
"I don't want to ruin your life," He muttered, broken, "but, fuck, I don't want to lose you."
Nowaki paused, surprise etched into his features.
"Hiro-san," He repeated for the thousandth time that evening, tone gentle as he ghosted careful fingers through his lover's tangled hair, "you care so much about what those strangers think, but why won't you ask me what I think?"
And Hiroki would have laughed had it not been for the current stare of things: with Nowaki comforting him as he made a crying, messy fool of himself when they should have been enjoying a nice dinner.
"Fine," He scoffed, face regaining some of its previous color, "what do you think, Nowaki?"
The younger man smiled mysteriously, cupping Hiroki's face in his large hands and bringing their lips together in a brief albeit much needed kiss.
"Well, I know that I love you more than anything else in this entire world... and I don't think that anything or anyone else should matter."
And then Hiroki did laugh, briefly and bashfully, before pushing Nowaki aside to inspect the meal that he'd brought home, and discovered, just as he had expected, that Nowaki had ordered his favorite.
He wondered if it was healthy for one person to know so much about another, but found that, honestly, he didn't really care.
Fin.
I was trying to find the perfect title for this. I mean, I literally looked everywhere for inspiration, but I just kept thinking about it and about how one feels when faced with issues like homophobia and I thought, 'Well, they're words—just words. And they can only hurt you if you let them.'
And I know that sometimes they're punches and kicks and people turning their backs on you, but in the end, hate is only hurting the hateful person. I feel like going back to high school just to announce: "To the person who punched me on the Day of Silence, or the guy who called me a dyke in the halls, and all of you other assholes: I'm sorry that you've decided to be so hateful and miserable because I, personally, am pretty damn happy with myself!"
Alright, end of rant. Mandy, I hope you enjoyed this! And, again, I'm so, so sorry for the ridiculously long wait!
As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read, and please feel free to leave a review and let me know what you thought!
Happy Pride Month!