You know what? I'm feeling cheerful today...how about I post the next two chapters? :D
Chapter 10: The Botched Confession
Takahiro entered Hanami, and sure enough, spotted Hiroki right away sitting at the bar, a whisky neat in one hand, intently reading the book that was propped up in his other hand by his long fingers.
"Hiroki-san!" he called out as he approached him.
"Takahiro?" Hiroki asked incredulously as he was jerked back from the land of literature by the last voice he had expected to hear tonight.
"How...wait, are you reading a book? At a bar?" Takahiro asked in surprise, stopping right in front of him.
"Well done, Sherlock," Hiroki said, then mentally slapped himself, repeating his old mantra play nice, play nice, play nice in his head. He tried again. "Oh yes, I'm...er... just reading a translation of 'Hound of the Baskervilles' for a class I'm taking." His attempt at a save was lost on Takahiro, who hadn't caught the reference to begin with. "How are you?"
"I'm well, thank you," Takahiro said politely. "If you're alone, would you mind if I sit?"
"Oh, err..." Hiroki said, uncomfortably glancing at the full glass on the other side of him and the folded coat over the top of the chair that Takahiro hadn't noticed. "Sure, why not."
Takahiro sat down and braced himself for what he was about to say, feeling the pulse of the alcohol coursing through his veins.
"So, what a coincidence running into you here," Hiroki said, making an awkward, generic stab at conversation while Takahiro remained uncharacteristically silent.
"No, it's not," Takahiro replied.
"Come again?"
"No, it's not a coincidence," Takahiro repeated, then turned to Hiroki, grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt. "Hiroki-san, I think I'm in love with you!"
"Whoa, whoa!" Hiroki struggled to keep from shouting, jumping back as though he had been electrocuted, an expression of utter horror on his face as he looked at Takahiro's fist clenched in his shirt fabric. "What the hell... are you drunk?"
"Is everything alright?" a new voice asked. A tall, neatly dressed blond man had stepped up behind Hiroki, settling a protective hand on the back of his chair.
"Everything's fine, Shinoda," Hiroki insisted. "I just ran into an old friend of mine. Let me walk him out, he's had a little too much to drink."
Shinoda shrugged, knowing Hiroki could more than handle himself. He sat back down and picked up his glass. "Take your time. I'll be here."
Hiroki quickly rose and steered Takahiro out of the restaurant and onto the street, pausing underneath a street lamp and peering intently at the other man's face.
"How much have you had to drink?" he asked.
"A lot," Takahiro answered honestly.
Hiroki nodded. "Want me to call Akihiko to pick you up?"
The world was swimming before Takahiro's eyes, but he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the tears that were now welling up. He thought of how much he relied on Usagi, and how ashamed he would be to call on his best friend for anything else, especially a situation like this. He shook his head. "No."
Hiroki sighed. "Look kid, go home, ok? Chug a glass of water and two aspirin before you go to bed. Works for me every time. Are you ok to take the train? Or do you want me to call you a cab?"
"No, I'll manage," Takahiro said quietly. "Thanks, Hiroki-san."
They parted ways, and Hiroki watched Takahiro with concern as he walked down the street before shivering and returning inside. It was cold out.