Barnaby is a little surprised at how quickly he adjusted to that extra warmth in his bed.
He wakes up to an alarm, minutes later followed by a morning-breath kiss. Disgusting, Barnaby thinks, but he always kisses Kotetsu back. It's a small, brief kiss, and Kotetsu gets out of bed a minute later for first shower, leaving Barnaby to wake up his bones by himself. He's much more motivated to leave the bed when it starts growing cold without Kotetsu's body heat, but it still takes Barnaby a few minutes to get up, filling his joints one by one with the will to move.
By the time he gets out of bed, Kotetsu has already vacated the bathroom, leaving it free for Barnaby's shower, the water pre-warmed and the air comfortably humid. He's especially grateful to follow Kotetsu's shower in the winter months, the steam easing the shock of morning wakefulness. By the time he's finished in the bathroom and dressed for work, he's ready to face the day with strength and a smile.
Kotetsu cooks breakfast, which for a long time, was a disaster. With time to kill while Barnaby got dressed, and a little idyllic dream of domestic harmony in his head, Kotetsu tried experimenting with hot breakfasts: bacon, eggs, ham, tater tots, pancakes, waffles, French toast, on and on. However the key word is tried. After a week of waking up to blackened lumps of burned food, Barnaby and Kotetsu negotiated a schedule: they would eat their own breakfasts, hot or otherwise, Monday through Thursday, and on Fridays, Kotetsu could practice cooking whatever he wanted for the two of them. And like many things, Kotetsu's cooking improved with time, until they lifted the ban and Barnaby began each morning with a lovingly home-cooked meal. He's unspeakably grateful Kotetsu decided to expand his culinary horizons now that they're living together; fried rice, no matter how delicious, gets old. Besides, having a wonderful breakfast helps his handful of bitter pills and vitamins go down easier.
They carpool to Apollon, usually in Barnaby's car. The old Chasers live in their garage, but they're a bit flashy for the morning commute. Barnaby drives, and Kotetsu chatters on about whatever matters to him that morning. Then, at the office, they part, Barnaby to his lab and Kotetsu to his cubicle.
They don't see each other for most of the day. At first, Kotetsu escaped to Barnaby's lab at every opportunity, almost as if to check that he was still there. But neither the engineer nor the hero got any work done with that setup, so Barnaby took a few drastic measures: he promised favors, he threatened punishments, and he secretly tutored Edelman in Lloyds-isms that had proven effective in controlling Wild Tiger in the past, until Kotetsu could survive the workday without visiting Barnaby. They still met for lunch when their schedules allowed, but for the sake of their job performance, they abided by 'corporate mutual exile.'
Barnaby makes it worth Kotetsu's while after, rewarding the both of them for their productivity and restraint. When the weather is nice, they go to a park and stroll arm-in-arm, or claim a hill or a bench and bask together in the sunshine. When it's colder or wet, they take the cuddling home, either on the couch Kotetsu brought with him when he moved in, or on the bed. Barnaby is usually responsible for dinner, since Kotetsu is much more scatterbrained after a day at work, and might forget to eat until atrociously late if left to his own devices. Barnaby's cooking also takes a turn for the better, though Kotetsu never quantifies improvement—if he likes the dish, he declares so very enthusiastically, and Barnaby glows with pride.
If there's a hero call, they respond: Kotetsu fighting in the field, Barnaby on headset guiding him through the potential applications of his suit's functions. Wild Tiger: Eternal is a great success, not quite a camera darling, but scoring very well. Kotetsu is the only one who recognizes Barnaby's influence, but Barnaby takes joy in Kotetsu's victories: stopping the bad guys, protecting the people, earning rescue points for saving the other heroes with nick-of-time catches reminiscent of the ones Barnaby himself was famous for in his prime.
If there's no call, they stay in, watch movies or talk, and often drink. Never too much, because a hangover the next morning is unacceptable, but they each enjoy a glass of something. Barnaby favors wine, and Kotetsu experiments, tracking the actual volume of alcohol, but switching up flavors, from shochu with ice to whiskey to beer to scotch to mixed drinks of his own invention.
He's more honest when tipsy.
"No one believes in it," Kotetsu says. "No one believes it's a hero's job to save people, not anymore. When we had everyone… your first year, the eight of us, even if no one acted like it, we knew that was why we were doin' what we did. For the people."
Barnaby is inclined to think that Kotetsu is exaggerating, because Hero TV would not survive without some noble do-good spirit buried in it somewhere, but he doesn't interrupt.
"A hero's job is to protect people. You said that, remember? On TV years and years ago, when I was losin' my… well, I thought it was power loss back then…" He's almost talking without thinking, so Barnaby gently takes the glass from Kotetsu, eases him down to lie with his head in Barnaby's lap, and strokes his hair. Kotetsu settles happily, and continues his train of thought.
"Tomoe said that, too, almost word for word. It freaked me out back then… well, lots of stuff had me freaked out, but it was crazy. Like an echo straight out of the past. And even when other people have talked about a hero's job, savin' people, only you and Tomoe used those exact words." Kotetsu smiles up at Barnaby. "I guess that's when I should've realized I love you, huh?"
"Better late than never," Barnaby reassures him, kissing his forehead.
The mood lightens—Kotetsu's attention drifts and he talks about news he heard on the radio, products he saw on TV, places he swears he's going to go with Barnaby. Soon, he falls asleep, head still resting in Barnaby's lap. Barnaby sits with him for a while longer, absently running his fingers through Kotetsu's hair, but he yawns. Bedtime already? What happened to the days when he and Kotetsu could stay up all hours of the night? He slides out, replaces his legs under Kotetsu's head with a throw pillow, spreads a blanket over the sleeping hero, and then prepares for bed, changing into pajamas and sliding under the covers.
The bed is cold; Barnaby can't get comfortable, so he lies awake. But no more than a half hour after he left Kotetsu asleep on the couch, he hears the door click open, the drawers slide, cloth rustle, and suddenly Kotetsu climbs in beside him, wrapping an arm around Barnaby's waist and snuggling in close. He probably thinks Barnaby is already sleeping, so he says nothing, but Barnaby smiles in the darkness. With the bed finally warm, he falls asleep.
And though the years go by—he shouldn't complain, he's in love with Kotetsu who loves him in return, who could ask for more?—Barnaby can't help but feel everything he feared he would feel.
Hero-related events happen with surprising frequency: closing ceremonies, induction celebrations, retirement parties, charity balls, investor receptions. Each time, Barnaby and Kotetsu are each other's date. The media turned their relationship into some sort of epic. Two heroes with tragic histories and uncertain futures, staying together and demonstrating nearly fifty years of devoted partnership and going on ten years of love… It's sensationalized, but accurate.
Their arrival is always magnificent: the red-carpet entrance where he and Kotetsu keep their arms around each other's waists as cameras flash lights at them, like a thousand starbursts right before their eyes, a glittering world just for them. Kotetsu tends to duck his head often, still camera-shy, even after decades of celebrity. Barnaby whispers encouragement in his ear, and in a few minutes he's back and beaming.
Barnaby loves parties. He loves cameras. He loves people. He loves Kotetsu.
Within the party, they acknowledge its purpose, greet any guests of honor, thank the speakers, approach old acquaintances and say hello, but within thirty minutes, people are approaching them to ask questions and tell stories. The education gap usually splits Barnaby and Kotetsu: a scientific peer will introduce himself or herself to Dr. Brooks, comment on recent developments in some field or another, add their own observations and findings, on and on.
Kotetsu gives Barnaby's hand a squeeze. "I'm going to get some food, okay?"
"All right. See you later."
The night progresses, and when the conversation runs out, Barnaby searches for Kotetsu again. And that's when things take a turn for the worse, because Kotetsu is always talking with someone—from the press, from Apollon, from Mars, for all Barnaby cares. Barnaby stands to the side, out of Kotetsu's sight, and observes the person he's speaking with: the way her hair curls, his eyes sparkle, her dress clings, his hand lingers.
Kotetsu is over eighty years old: the public can guess that through some simple mathematics, but Kotetsu looks half of that, his spine is still straight and tall, his physique excellent, and his traditional domino mask subtracts a few more years, hiding his crow's feet. There's almost no difference between this Wild Tiger and the one Barnaby rescued with a princess carry when they first met, decades ago.
He's handsome. Barnaby looks over his partner, a fine suit on a finer body with a great wide-open heart, and then someone says something to make Kotetsu laugh, that hearty laugh of honest joy.
He can't watch for very long before he retreats to a bathroom and leans over the sinks, staring at his own face in the mirror. His hair is completely silver and thinned, and with his wrinkled face and cracked lips and glasses thick as window panes and age spots all across his skin, Barnaby almost can't take it. His bones are weak and his muscles atrophied and his joints ache and he has to swallow handfuls of pellets throughout the day just to feel like a normal human being, but the pills can't stop him from feeling hideous, and he only feels uglier when he thinks of the young party-goers outside that are so good at making Kotetsu laugh. He wants to hide in a corner and crumble to ash and never be seen again, and for everyone—especially Kotetsu—to forget how pathetic he's become, and just live happily without him.
Barnaby hates parties. He hates cameras. He hates people. He loves Kotetsu.
He loves Kotetsu so much it hurts.
He eventually finds the will to leave the bathroom, return to the party, and mingle politely. When the evening begins to quiet down, Kotetsu finds him with ease and asks, "Having fun, Bunny?"
Barnaby smiles. He says, "Yes, but I think I've had enough fun for one evening."
"Ready to head home?"
"Just about."
So Kotetsu loops his arm around Barnaby's waist one more time, a gesture Barnaby enjoys much less than he did a few hours earlier, and they leave the party. For nights like this, Apollon provides a driver, so neither man has to worry about driving while intoxicated. Kotetsu sits close to Barnaby in the back seat, frequently with an arm around his shoulders, recounting his evening and telling Barnaby about the fascinating people he talked to that night. When Barnaby can't take it anymore, he closes his eyes and leans against Kotetsu's shoulder, enduring Kotetsu's coos of "Aw, sleepy Bunny" just to make Kotetsu shut up about all those other people that aren't him.
Kotetsu is oblivious to this routine, and Barnaby wants to keep it that way. Just let the cycle continue: happiness, envy, hate, happiness, envy, hate. He knows there's going to come a day when he won't even be allowed to have the intermittent happiness, and he'll have nothing but envy and hate. So he'll continue in this circle, clinging to his lover for as long as his ancient hands can hold on… before Kotetsu finally slips away.