A/N: One of the hardest sections of Komatta Toki for me followed the car accident in Volume 13, when Kiyomine very clearly chooses his sister Ayako over Takara, and leaves their relationship visibly scarred. I wished that there had been more consequences for Kiyomine's outburst, and that Takara had been able to lean on his friends, specifically Reiichi and Yoshiya, to get comfort after this betrayal.
With some prompting from a friend, I've decided to take up a multi-chapter project for Komatta Toki set after Volume 13, sort of a "what if" where Takara's father does go back to Africa and he turns to Reiichi and Yoshiya for comfort after Kiyomine's harsh words. Not totally sure how long it will be, but nine or so chapters at least, possibly with additional interludes afterward.
Note: Mostly a friendship story focused on Takara, Reiichi, and Yoshiya, with some light Kiyomine x Takara and Yoshiya x Reiichi pre-slash hints.
Chapter Seven
Reiichi was a little in love with Yoshiya's kitchen. Perhaps it was just transitive, but the room always made him feel exceptionally warm, probably because it put him in mind of all those lazy mornings after he'd spent the night, daydreaming in one of the high chairs while Yoshiya made eggs Benedict or hand-rolled croissants, their eyes meeting across the counter in a way that felt intimate, special, like this was a space just for the two of them. Of course, now he also had the wonderfully fun memory of feeding Fujishima bites of creatively garnished French toast, watching that little crease between Yoshiya's eyebrows get deeper and deeper as it became clear neither of them had time to waste on the strawberries. But maybe the thing Reiichi loved most about this kitchen was that he had been staying over with the Okunos long enough now for his own tastes to influence the family's shopping habits, which meant it was a rare day when he poked around and couldn't find the type of brie and stone-ground crackers he preferred, white beech mushrooms or the makings of a crispy flammekueche. But tonight he was on the hunt for something specific: comfort food.
Reiichi stretched languidly over his head, rolling up on his tiptoes to examine the top shelf of the cabinet. Behind him at the breakfast bar, Fujishima was messing with his phone—playing a game or something, Reiichi theorized, glancing back at the younger boy in his graphic T-shirt and artfully ripped jeans, his hair still wet from the shower. Yoshiya had of course been a gentleman—Yoshiya was always a gentleman—and let Reiichi and Fujishima have the first showers, Fujishima in the lavender-themed guest bathroom and Reiichi in the bathroom upstairs that was home to all of Sawa's lovely body washes. Reiichi preferred long soaks to showers anyway, so it was easy to beat Fujishima out of the bathroom, the linchpin in his plan to ensure Yoshiya came to bed smelling like brown sugar again. But the end result of all that chivalry was that Yoshiya was still in the shower, and that gave Reiichi unfettered access to the kitchen, not to mention ample time to decide exactly what he wanted for dinner and the best way to get it.
The day out with Fujishima had been an absolute ball. Reiichi couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so hard, and already he was imagining how he might embellish the story of the confrontation at the entertainment center (adorable, oblivious Fujishima at the mercy of three—no, eight guys with less-than-honorable intentions, and then the dramatic entrance by Yoshiya, riding to the rescue in a rippling silk shirt and tie…he'd leave out his own part in the story, because it was much more fun to spread gossip about other people than about himself). If that was what a day with Fujishima was like, Reiichi was never giving him up, not even to Kiyomine.
Of course, a good part of the fun had been getting Yoshiya's goat, taunting him with a panoply of ever more extravagant bonnes bouches—but in truth, Reiichi was at his limit, and all he wanted now was something simple to settle his stomach. Still, that was no reason to give the game away without a little token resistance. He'd get the cakes CocoaBella had delivered out of the refrigerator; that would put Yoshiya on the offensive for sure. Reiichi smiled as he traced his thumb down a package of udon. Surrendering to Yoshiya could be fun in its own way…he was always so accommodating when he thought he had to talk Reiichi around to something.
The water turned off in the bathroom upstairs, and Reiichi shut the cabinet with a snap, turning back to face the breakfast bar. The udon—that would do it. Yoshiya made the best miso udon Reiichi had ever tasted, probably because he made it exactly as Reiichi wanted it on any given day. Surely he'd do the same for Fujishima. After the commotion at the cake shop, Reiichi had a feeling Yoshiya would do anything for the boy currently parked at his kitchen counter, pouting at his smartphone.
Reiichi leaned back on his hands and tipped his head against the cabinet door, studying their houseguest with a little smile. From the moment he'd made his grand entrance at Souryou's dormitory, Fujishima Takara had turned everyone's head—Kiyomine's, naturally, and poor, goofy Aritomo, though of course he'd never had a chance, and even Reiichi's, if not for quite the same reason. Reiichi knew a little something about being the center of attention, too, and if half of that came from money and pedigree, the other half he'd earned by learning early how to dress and carry himself and what to say to get the reaction he wanted. But he was fascinated by Fujishima, who seemed to stir things up without even realizing it. He was like a whirlwind, a moody, petulant, contrary, delightful little dust devil who could go from sunny smiles to thunder and driving rain in about three seconds—as he had now, it seemed, punching his finger forcefully against his cell phone's glass face. Reiichi wondered what he was deleting with such gusto.
Even Yoshiya, his calm, collected Yoshiya who was usually immune to every trick in the book, had been flustered by the unpredictable Fujishima from the very beginning—and flustered was a good look on him, one Reiichi wished he could provoke a little more often himself. If Fujishima could only learn to harness that power he held over other people, he'd be unstoppable. But somehow, whether it was the disruptive elements in his class or that idiot cousin of Reiichi's that he roomed with, Fujishima could only ever seem to do things the hard way.
Reiichi shook his head, and Fujishima looked up at him suspiciously, as if trying to gauge whether he was being watched—which he was. Reiichi crooked his fingertips in a little wave. He wondered if he should read Fujishima in on the udon master plan. Unlike him, Fujishima wasn't an old hand at wheedling Yoshiya into doing what he wanted, and it would be a shame if Yoshiya caught on too quickly—then again, not cluing him in risked Fujishima and his sweet tooth diving right into the CocoaBella cakes, and then Reiichi would be up sick all night with the equivalent of a chocolate hangover. He hadn't made up his mind yet when the phone in Fujishima's hand started to ring.
Fujishima jumped, his fingers clenching around the green protective case as he stared down at the glowing screen. Reiichi was too far away to read the caller's name, but he knew at once that it wasn't Kiyomine—he'd come to recognize his cousin's ringtone, or at least the first few bars of it, which had played over and over that morning before Fujishima got tired of silencing it and finally put his phone on vibrate. Reiichi hadn't understood at the time why he didn't just shut the phone off altogether, close Kiyomine out of the fitting room and the town car and all the fun they were having on their big day out—but maybe he'd been waiting for this call, whoever this was. Fujishima glared at him like he was deciding whether Reiichi was the type to eavesdrop—and really, where had Fujishima gotten such a poor opinion of him?—and then grabbed the phone and slid out of his chair, answering the call with a frown. Reiichi only heard a few words before he stepped into the hallway and out of earshot.
"Dad. Hey. What time is it there?"
Reiichi huffed, drumming his fingers on the counter. Now he'd have to calculate how long he needed to loiter in the kitchen before he could go in search of Yoshiya and just happen to overhear Fujishima's conversation. Casual surveillance was so time-consuming. He stuck his head into the refrigerator to consider breakfast options for the next morning (maybe Yoshiya could make omelets using the prosciutto and crescenza from the swan?), but he'd barely pushed past the artisan cake boxes before Fujishima's raised voice pulled his attention to the upstairs hallway.
"No! Dad, I said—I told you I'd handle it!"
Reiichi frowned, following the angry words into the hall. When he reached the foot of the stairs, he could see Fujishima pacing on the second floor, his momentum halting abruptly as he grabbed the wooden banister and squeezed his eyes shut. Reiichi felt something lurch in him at the look on the younger boy's face. The shouting had caught Yoshiya's attention, too—Reiichi could see him lurking in the bathroom doorway, one hand sliding through his wet hair, his sharp eyes fixed on the boy at the railing. If Fujishima realized he had an audience, he was too focused on the phone to show it.
"Look, you said I could…no! I told you I don't want it to be Kim!"
Fujishima shook his head hard, too hard to be disagreeing with someone ten thousand kilometers away. Reiichi recognized that gesture. It was the way he shook his head when he couldn't bear what he was hearing, when he wanted to chase the words like drops of water from his ears. Cautiously, he ascended the stairs, pausing on the landing between the first and second floor to glance at Yoshiya again. He looked concerned, but rather than confusion his clenched jaw told Reiichi he was holding back hard on his temper—and certainly, he wouldn't be mad at Fujishima for whatever was going on. At his father, then? Reiichi knew Yoshiya had talked to Fujishima Kou before final boarding for his flight to Ethiopia, but when Yoshiya hadn't said much about it, Reiichi had assumed that meant there wasn't much to say. An assumption he was questioning as Fujishima pushed back from the banister and threw up his empty hand—giving something up or throwing something away, Reiichi couldn't tell.
"What do you even care? I'm not your problem anymore, remember? I'm not anyone's problem!"
Whatever that meant to those on the upper floor, apparently it was the last straw—Reiichi could see Yoshiya's expression hardening as he switched into protective mode, stepping out into the hallway and extending one stiff hand.
"Fujishima. Give me the phone."
Fujishima jerked back out of reach. "I'm fine, Okuno-sempai," he snapped, and then, into the phone: "I wasn't talking to you! No, I'm—I can stay wherever I want. Look, if you're gonna be gone, just be gone, okay?" he shouted, and Reiichi wondered if it was the echo under the vaulted ceilings that made those words sound so raw, like they'd been ripped out of him. Yoshiya took another step and then hesitated, as if he realized at the same moment as Reiichi that he'd boxed Fujishima in at the top of the stairs.
"Fujishima—" Yoshiya started, and through the pounding in his ears Reiichi heard himself speaking too, his voice a little hoarse around the heart in his throat.
"Yoshiya, watch out, he's—"
But Fujishima wasn't listening to either of them, his eyes shut tight as he wrenched away from Yoshiya's outstretched hand, pressed the phone to his ear with blistering force. "Would everyone just leave me alone—!" Then his heel slipped over the lip of the top step, and suddenly he was falling, careening backward with his eyes wide and his arm thrown out to the side to catch himself against the wall, the phone clattering out of his hand and skittering across the second-floor hallway. Reiichi felt the fear go through him like a bolt of static electricity—but it was all right, because Yoshiya was right there, reaching out for him with both hands, shouting something Reiichi wasn't hearing, fingers raking over Fujishima's arm, Yoshiya had him—
Yoshiya didn't have him. Fujishima's elbow banged into the wall and then he was tumbling headlong down the stairs, bashing his head on at least one or two before he slammed into Reiichi at about waist height and his momentum smashed them both back into the banister, the carved newel on top of one baluster driving like a fist into his spine. Reiichi gasped as one of Fujishima's sharp little elbows sunk into his ribs, too—the bruised one, judging by his answering yelp. Reiichi looked up through a haze of pain and surprise to find Yoshiya staring at them from the top step, breathing hard, his eyes a little wild behind his glasses like he'd been one second from throwing himself down after them if it looked like they were going over the banister. Fujishima bent forward clutching his head and Reiichi pried himself away from the wooden rail with his lower back screaming, though not as loudly as the phone abandoned in the upstairs hall.
"Takara? Takara, what happened? Are you all right? Hey, answer me!"
Fujishima groaned, twisting far enough to blink up at his human barricade with wet eyes. "I'm so sorry, Reiichi-sempai. Are you okay?"
"I think you're directing that question to the wrong person," Reiichi replied, scrutinizing Fujishima's tousled hair and the hand he'd clapped over the trickle of blood under his nose. It was probably nothing to worry about—nosebleeds seemed to be the way Fujishima's body coped with stress of any kind, and this one looked pretty minor—but he was a little concerned about the enthusiasm with which the younger boy had battered his head on the stairs. And here Reiichi had always heard cats were supposed to land on their feet.
He glanced up at Yoshiya again, threw him a little wave to show that they were all in one piece—or close to it. Yoshiya hardly looked reassured, and already Reiichi could see the wheels of self-recrimination turning in his head, but at least he relaxed enough to turn away and pick up the forgotten phone, Fujishima Kou's panicked voice fading as Yoshiya pressed it to his ear.
"Mr. Fujishima. This is Okuno—we spoke yesterday, from the airport. Yes, he's fine." His eyes locked on Fujishima as he spoke again, his voice remarkably calm for the agitation Reiichi could read in his face. "As for the other matter, I'll handle it from here. Yes—I understand the urgency. Consider it taken care of." Then he hung up, a little more sharply than Reiichi would have expected from someone who usually had himself so well under control. He'd been dead on, it seemed, musing that Fujishima was one of the few people who could rattle him.
Reiichi glanced at both of them, then crossed his arms and leaned into the wall, the better to assume a command posture without aggravating his aching spine.
"I think it's time someone told me what this is all about."
Ten minutes later, he was still waiting for an answer, seated next to Fujishima on the living room couch while Yoshiya settled into the armchair across the coffee table and raked a hand through his still damp hair. Except for a mumbled thanks when Yoshiya handed him a tissue, Fujishima hadn't said a word since they all trooped down the stairs, and he'd curled up in the corner of the black sectional with his arms around his raised knee, as far as he could get from Reiichi without crawling over the back of the sofa. Reiichi knew better than to take it personally. Yoshiya, for his part, had been procrastinating, fetching ice packs for Fujishima's head and Reiichi's back (which was a Godsend, but nevertheless…), and once when he left the room Reiichi heard him rummaging in the front coat closet, for some unfathomable reason. But it seemed like even Yoshiya had run out of ways to stall. With a heavy sigh, he reached into his pocket and drew out a square of paper, straightening each crease with his thumb as he unfolded it slowly onto the coffee table.
"I'm sorry, Fujishima. I picked this up yesterday, but…I wasn't sure how to tell you that."
Yoshiya slid the paper across the polished dark wood. Reiichi took it all in at a glance: Fujishima's name and his father's signature, and the empty guardian line. And suddenly everything about this made sense—not just the argument in the hallway upstairs, but all the pieces he'd been puzzling over, how tense Yoshiya had been since the night before, the anger on his face when he'd reached out to take the phone. Why Fujishima looked so sad every time Reiichi tried to ask him where he wanted to live when school started. He couldn't imagine how much it would hurt to think you were that alone, that unwanted. And Kiyomine—oh, he understood that too, in a dimension that had eluded him before: the way Fujishima must have quivered to hear Kiyomine put someone else above him, to his face, while he was carrying this in his pocket. How shortsighted Reiichi had been to assume it would blow over, as their fights had always blown over. This wasn't a fight—this was a wound, the kind that became a scar if you left it alone. He could only hope Kiyomine was perceptive enough to know the difference.
Fujishima reached out and dragged the guardianship form toward him, his fingers unnaturally still against the crinkled paper. "Oh," he said, and that one little sound seemed to take everything he had, barely a whisper in the silence of the house. "I thought…um. It doesn't matter, I guess."
Yoshiya braced his chin on his latticed hands, leaning forward as if trying to catch those elusive eyes. "Who is Kim?" he asked gently, but Fujishima flinched anyway. Reiichi had almost forgotten that already, the person Fujishima vehemently didn't want—for what, it was easy enough to guess now. The boy at the other end of the couch shrugged, staring down at his lap as he picked imaginary lint off his brand-new jeans.
"I thought you might remember his name, Okuno-sempai—it's on all my dad's photography books."
It was amazing how Fujishima managed to say so much and so little with those few words. Reiichi wanted to reach out to him, to wrap an arm over his shoulders or ruffle a hand through his hair, but it wasn't the moment yet, he could tell. Fujishima was still closed to him, to both of them. Yoshiya rubbed a hand across his forehead, obviously fighting a headache, but he soldiered on, his face pinched like he was determined to get through this even if it killed him. Which it might, Reiichi thought, if Fujishima started crying—he wasn't sure Yoshiya's heart could take that twice in one day.
"Is there…someone else?" Yoshiya pressed. "A family friend, or…Ms. Takayama or Ms. Uryuu's parents, perhaps?"
Fujishima jerked his hand back from the paper as if it had burned him, scrubbed his fingers through his hair. "I don't—" he started, and then cut himself off, staring off over Yoshiya's shoulder into the darkness of the front hall. "I don't know," he finished after a moment, his voice much more subdued, but Reiichi thought he could hear the words Fujishima hadn't said just as clearly, the desperate I don't want that that spoke to some other tragedy, some other loneliness for which he and Yoshiya didn't know the story. Though it had never occurred to him before, Reiichi found himself wondering suddenly if maybe Fujishima had been lonely for a long time, longer than he'd been alone. If maybe that was the reason it seemed like he and Kiyomine had become thick as thieves so quickly, constant companions before they were even friends. If that was the reason he couldn't bear to listen to Kiyomine's ringtone even once, and also the reason he couldn't just turn off his phone.
Yoshiya sat back in his chair, at a stalemate, his gaze shifting to catch Reiichi's over the starkness of the half-empty form. Reiichi watched him too, running through their options in his mind. Part of him leapt at the chance to adopt Fujishima into the Kashiwagis, but he knew his own relatives well enough to know that wasn't a decision to be made lightly. It wasn't a problem of approval—Grandfather would of course do anything he asked—but it was family policy to keep everyone they loved, or even liked well, as far away from the old man as possible, since even born-and-bred Kashiwagis could only handle him in short bursts. Honestly, the Christmas trip to Las Vegas had been almost more than Reiichi could take, and if he hadn't been winning so much money at roulette, he'd have commandeered Grandfather's private plane two days in and set a course for Yoshiya's.
There were a few other choices, none he liked any better. Reiichi was sure his own parents would be willing to take up the mantle, but there were certain strings that came with that—Fujishima would absolutely be expected to get his grades up, and to participate in at least one club or school service organization. And all that aside, Reiichi couldn't even bear the thought of broaching that subject with Tsukasa, who had been so prickly and unpredictable lately and didn't seem like he was in the right frame of mind to welcome someone to the family. Which left Masaya, who would no doubt be thrilled…too thrilled, perhaps. Besides, if he was going to consign poor Fujishima to Masaya's disreputable clutches, Reiichi would have to sue for custody as soon as he was legally an adult, and a Kashiwagi civil war…well, that could only end in devastation on a national scale.
Fujishima still hadn't spoken, leaning heavily into the crease of the couch—Reiichi wondered if he really couldn't think of anyone, or if he was just shutting this out, as if by not answering he could erase the question altogether. Yoshiya looked like he was reaching the end of his rope, the silence wearing away his resolve. But Reiichi couldn't really blame Fujishima for hesitating. This was so much more than picking someone to be his emergency contact, someone to make decisions for him if he was ever in the hospital—those things that had Yoshiya in knots. It was about who would get a call if Fujishima ever got in trouble at school, who he'd get sent back to on holidays when the dorm closed, whose permission he'd need to get for field trips or to work a part-time job or if he ever wanted to skip a week of school to go sightseeing in Marrakesh, which really, everyone should do once. It was about whose address he would have to write on the line marked Home, and whose name belonged next to his on the guardianship form, when even his father couldn't make that decision. It was an unbelievable thing to ask of him.
No, Reiichi decided, sitting up straight and then instantly regretting it when he remembered the contusions on his lower back. Unbelievable wasn't the word. It was unacceptable. And hadn't he always been a person who changed the rules when he found them unacceptable (or at the outside, inconvenient)? How could he rightfully call himself an effective dorm president while one of his charges was suffering under these draconian regulations? It wasn't like Fujishima's father had ever been around to sign forms—what had they done to this point? And then it was all so simple, and Reiichi smiled. Gingerly, so as not to do any more harm to either of them, he slid an arm around Fujishima's shoulders and pulled the younger boy in until he could press their heads together, wincing just a little to feel the swelling in his temple.
"Don't worry. I have a better idea."
Fujishima blinked at him. Across the coffee table, Yoshiya was blinking too, though the furrow between his brows meant he was less confused and more suspicious. "A better idea than what, Reiichi?" he asked, glancing predictably at the half-finished form on the table. Reiichi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Yoshiya would insist that all the rules and regulations were followed to the letter—luckily, it was a Kashiwagi tradition to write a few new ones in when the occasion suited, and Reiichi was still miles away from exercising the same gross overreach of privilege Masaya had accomplished while he was at Souryou. He had a lot of catching up to do.
"Fujishima," Reiichi began, pulling back far enough to meet his eyes, "have you ever read through the Souryou student regulations handbook?"
Fujishima balked. "Um…I sort of…skimmed it."
That was well within Reiichi's calculations, because no one read the regulations handbook—well, except Yoshiya, since he was usually the one handing out citations and mediating disputes between dorm residents. Reiichi had sort of skimmed it, too, enough to get a sense of the syntax and the numbering system, which was useful when he needed to invent something on the spot and then have it drafted into the official rulebook at a later time. Like now. Admittedly, the only person in the school except Saijou who could have called him on this creative license was sitting across the coffee table, watching him with narrowed eyes, but Reiichi wasn't concerned—Yoshiya's standard operating procedure was to go along with whatever he was saying in public and debate it later when it was just the two of them, by which time Reiichi had generally gotten what he wanted anyway. It was one of Yoshiya's best qualities.
Reiichi pressed a teasing finger into Fujishima's cheek, well below the swelling on his forehead. "Well, then you probably don't know that there's an addendum to the policy regarding official legal guardians that was put in specifically for students in this kind of situation." There would be, anyway—really it was just his tenses that were lying. "In the event where a student's legal guardian is unclear or unavailable, the dorm president can take the place of that student's guardian in all school-related areas."
Yoshiya was giving him that look again, the one that asked if he knew what he was getting into, but Reiichi was an expert at ignoring that look by now. He was much more interested in the look on Fujishima's face—that little bit of wary hopefulness he was working so hard to keep in check.
"Really?" Fujishima asked, one hand fisting unconsciously into his T-shirt. "Are you serious, Reiichi-sempai?"
Reiichi smiled. "Of course. You can't think you're the first student at Souryou who's ever had a problem like this."
Actually, he probably wasn't, and Reiichi wondered absently what had been done for those people—but it was really neither here nor there, because there was something he was driving at, an idea that had sparked from the memory of racing with Fujishima on the mini motorcycle track, the way even Yoshiya couldn't help laughing when Fujishima had tried to feed Reiichi a bite of French toast dunked in boysenberry syrup and then missed, leaving a claret smear down his cheek. Because he liked Fujishima, he really, really liked him, and Yoshiya liked him too, and he didn't want to think about Fujishima being lonely anymore, not if he could help it.
Reiichi leaned over and picked up the form, noting the flash of concern on Fujishima's face. "You will need an official guardian, just for emergencies. But if you can put a name down on this piece of paper—any name at all—I'll take care of everything else, and you'll never have to see this person unless you want to."
Fujishima sank back against the couch, his eyes flickering closed in relief. Reiichi glanced across to find Yoshiya watching him with a knowing expression, one eyebrow arched just enough to convey his opinion of regulations conjured out of thin air—but even so, Reiichi could tell he had relaxed too, and there was just a sliver of a smile tugging at Yoshiya's lips, like even he couldn't help being impressed with the display of verbal funambulism. Reiichi turned back to his companion on the couch as Fujishima sighed.
"Um…Shinomiya Keishi. He's kind of like—my uncle. I think he'd sign it."
"Perfect. We'll get in touch with him right away," Reiichi replied, careful to keep a straight face. "Of course, there is one caveat to the interim guardianship that I forgot to mention."
He felt a little bad watching Fujishima's hopeful expression falter, but really, it was Fujishima's own fault for being so fun to tease. "What's that?" the younger boy asked.
Reiichi leaned forward, bracing his chin on his palm. "Well, I could hardly claim to be supervising you from all the way across the dorm. I'm afraid we'll need to keep you closer than that." He couldn't stop himself from smiling anymore, didn't even try as he reached down and squeezed Fujishima's hand. "Luckily, I just happen to know of a dorm room with a live-in physics tutor, full coffee service twice a day, and a private bedroom with an extremely comfortable, totally unoccupied queen bed. Well, it will be unoccupied," Reiichi amended, ignoring the look Yoshiya shot him, "as soon as we modify the sleeping arrangements."
It wasn't the point, of course, but Reiichi was definitely not denying the allure of snuggling up with Yoshiya for the foreseeable future. Though he would have to give some careful thought to what kind of shampoo they had at the dorm right now.
Fujishima blinked once, twice, his eyes a little too bright as he looked between Reiichi and Yoshiya. "Wait—you mean I'd…I'd get to live with you guys?"
"I'm afraid those are the rules," Reiichi told him with a shrug—and then laughed outright as Fujishima hugged him around the waist, though it turned into a gasp when his spine threatened to snap in half. It was worth it, though, even if he had another bruise, even though it didn't take much for Fujishima to start crying again and Yoshiya looked like he was at his wit's end. Reiichi wished he could explain to Yoshiya that these were the good tears, the tears that came from borrowed notes and other infinitesimal kindnesses that Fujishima couldn't handle, the tears that meant everything was going to be all right. But really, Yoshiya should be able to tell that by now—or if he couldn't, he was likely to get a lot of practice in the coming weeks. The thought made Reiichi smile, and he pressed his cheek into Fujishima's hair, watching fondly as Yoshiya collected the guardianship form and Fujishima's phone and stepped soundlessly out of the room, already scanning through the contacts for Shinomiya Keishi.
There were a few more mundane details to take care of—the call to the dean of students, informing him of a Kashiwagi exception; back-dating the new rules about guardianship into the handbook, and then subclausing the detail about rooming together so that there wouldn't be any trouble when and if Fujishima wanted to move out; and then they'd have to find a way to sneak Fujishima's things out of his current room without Kiyomine noticing, and wasn't that just going to be like crossing the bridge without waking the cantankerous troll. But even his cousin's wrath would be a small price to pay, in the end, to know Fujishima had a place to come home to. Nobody should have to feel that alone.
It wasn't until he'd disentangled himself from Fujishima some minutes later and sent the younger boy off to scrub his face that he noticed Yoshiya standing at the division between the kitchen and the living room, leaning into the wall with a pained expression. Reiichi blinked, worried for a second that something had gone wrong with the call to Shinomiya—then Yoshiya sighed, rubbing his neck as he stared after Fujishima's retreating form.
"If you really think cake for dinner will help…"
In the confusion of the stairs and everything that had come after, Reiichi had completely forgotten about the cake boxes he'd left on the counter. Fujishima crying again had been the last straw—Yoshiya was in crisis management mode now, willing to abandon nutrition and common sense and whatever else it took to repair the damage. If Reiichi didn't do something post haste, they'd all be eating themselves sick on Amaretto ice cream truffles. He stood up from the couch too fast but tried not to show it, crossing the room at a deliberately casual pace that still sent sparks up his spine. Reiichi smiled as he slid his arm through Yoshiya's and tugged him back toward the kitchen.
"Actually," he said, "I think you have just the thing."
Yoshiya had never looked so relieved. Little did he know the feeling was mutual.