Standard disclaimers apply.

III. Word After

They didn't keep regular hours, not like some cliché TV drama family. But it was close on 8.30pm, Kubo-chan didn't have some wife waiting with dinner cooling on the table, and Tokitoh couldn't cook for peanuts.

"Hey."

"Mm, something wrong?"

"…why d'you always ask me that when I call?"

"Well, if that's not it, I miss you too."

"…whatever, you dork. There's nothing to eat."

"There's curry in the fridge."

"There's been curry in the fridge for the last three days!"

"That's two days better than the last time."

"I'm sick of curry, okay? Can you just buy something on your way back?"

"Hmm, I'll see what I can do."

"Yeah, well, bye then."

"Mm, later."

But later was two and a half hours too long, and Tokitoh was bored, bad-tempered and hungry. He scowled sourly up at the ceiling from where he was sprawled on the low sofa, and turned onto his side to glare at the paused game on the TV until some of the tension in his shoulders eased, and he could flip the lid of his mobile open again with some measure of calm.

But he hadn't closed his mailbox, and he narrowed his eyes at the stupid words on the screen, matching them grim stare for grim stare. No shit you're running late, Kubo-chan. You could've told me earlier.

The tick in his jaw just wouldn't go away though, when he tried to pretend that he wasn't being stupid himself. The 24-hour convenience store wasn't so far off, and Kubo-chan had a little cash stashed away in the old ice cream carton on the top shelf to the right of the sink. Thrashing Don King Kong could have waited more than an hour ago.

But that would have defeated the whole point of calling Kubo-chan.

Tokitoh snapped his mobile shut to scowl up at the ceiling again. He could go out now, but he didn't know how late was late. And the dumbass hadn't said he wasn't bringing dinner back, so he could save himself the trip and wait.

Which was what he had been doing for the last two and a half hours.

"Augh!" Maybe it was a good thing he hadn't thrown the curry out, if only because he hadn't want to touch it unless necessary.

Getting to his feet, he dropped the mobile disdainfully onto the couch and trudged reluctantly into the kitchen, only to scramble back into the living area when it buzzed with another message. Come on Kubo-chan, ask me what I want to eat 'cos I will even settle for those cheap bentos you like. Tell me you're five minutes away so I can hang over the balcony and yell at you for being late.

Sorry, looks like it's curry tonight after all.

Blithely forgetting what he had been about to do a scant moment earlier, Tokitoh vehemently vowed not to touch the crap. Dropping his mobile again, he swung around and stomped disgustedly into the bedroom.

Fixing his collar with one hand when he came out, he tossed the jacket over the back of the sofa, and blinked when his mobile buzzed again. Picking it up with his right hand, he flipped the lid open on his way to the kitchen, and his fingers curled involuntarily into the plastic.

Won't be home so soon.

He had left the balcony doors open the last time, and Kubo-chan had come back to an apartment chilly with the dawn and him red-eyed and sniffling on the couch. Tokitoh had promised not to do it again, and he'd made his point, but he still slept on the outer side of the bed anyway, daring and denying leave beyond the body boundary.

But damn it, when Kubo-chan pulled this kind of shit on him, what else could he do? Tokitoh trudged into the kitchen and reached absently above the sink with his free hand. Kubo-chan had promised too, but you idiot, one stupid line is still keeping things to yourself. Coward, call me so I can hear it in your voice.

He jammed the coins into one pocket of his jeans, and was only half-surprised when his other fist again hummed dully through the leather. Already hating the sound, he waited for it to stop before he unfurled his fingers with another scowl. Well shit, it wasn't his money, Kubo-chan could send as many messages as he want.

Something came up.

And despite what Kubo-chan hadn't said, his lips quirked horribly because of what he did say. So yeah, the idiot hadn't forgotten – brownie points for trying. And Tokitoh would know anyway, even if Kubo-chan didn't say as much; nothing else would keep the guy away so long.

"That bastard," he growled, savagely pulling on his jacket, and grimacing when leather glove and mobile caught awkwardly in one sleeve. That fucking old man just didn't know when to leave him and Kubo-chan alone. He was hungry and he was furious, and he was – he was going to…

Well, shit. At the front door he jerked on his shoes and glared holes into the wood. He didn't feel like going to the convenience store anymore, but that would mean calling Kubo-chan instead. And somehow that wasn't such a good idea right now.

Shit. Shit. All bets off – that was how the old man forced them to play. He lifted his right hand and scowled at the mobile. His bane, his link. He could walk out blind or retreat back to the couch now, and neither one was going to do him any good. So, so…

He flipped the lid open and jabbed at the buttons before the mobile was done buzzing. A scant moment later the door slammed in his wake. It just had to be a really cold night, and he took the stairs in reckless jumps.

He knew Kubo-chan was trying, or he wouldn't be spending a small fortune on text messages. But old habits die hard, and Kubo-chan always had secrets to keep. Tokitoh wasn't expecting any immediate confessions, and he guessed one-liners were a good start. But hell, only Kubo-chan could say so much in so little.

Don't worry.

Ah shit, don't blame me. It's your fault that I'm coming for you.

You owe me dinner.

-End-