"When is your doc appointment again?" Kiba asks, handing over a glass of water when Kankurou's vomiting seems to have settled for now.
"At two this afternoon. Thanks."
He's been feeling nauseous for the past couple of days, and while that event had not initially worried either of them and Kankurou figured he'd just eaten something fishy or caught one stomach bug or another, the fact that it had gotten worse through the days, to the point of waking him up at 4 this morning and still keeping him here a couple of hours later, had. (It had worried Kiba, at least. Kankurou still thought his body would get over itself sooner or later, but he had still been successfully talked into taking the day off and seeing a doctor, if only to reassure his partner and get himself some meds.)
"Okay," Kiba says, not looking particularly soothed by the prospect yet. "I gotta go now, but if you need anything, text me. I'll try to have my phone nearby."
Kankurou nods.
"I will," he lies.
If he needs anything, he will get it himself, because Kiba has a job too and can't be playing nurse all day. But the offer is still sweet. It's what matters.
"I'm not kissing you good day," he adds with a feeble smile that Kiba reciprocates and that's at least one win for this morning.
"Yeah, maybe not. But I still love you. Take care."
"When did your symptoms start?"
"This weekend. I've been nauseous for two to three days, and then started properly vomiting this morning. In all honesty, I don't feel terrible, just ill and a bit tired, but I need a sick note for work and something to say to my spouse who's convinced I'm dying. You know how it is."
The doctor chuckles.
"Yeah, I see. Can you sit down at the table and take off your shirt for me please?"
The ageing faux-leather cover of the table sticks to his clammy hands when he sits on it. It's starting to crack and could probably use a replacement.
Upon walking up to him, the doctor's eyes drag over his chest for a couple more seconds than necessary, then move on. Kankurou tries to not let himself be phased by it. Part of him still thinks he would enjoy being able to take his shirt off without everybody in the room suddenly thinking about his dick or lack thereof, but that's probably not a luxury he will ever get to enjoy. There's no further comment on the matter this time. He can't ask for much more than that.
"Please lie down. I'm going to proceed to an abdominal palpation, if that's okay with you? Tell me if anything I do hurts."
"Sure," Kankurou answers, bracing himself for the contact.
He's always hated those. "Tell me if anything hurts," they say before sticking their fingers in your internal organs. Yes, of course it hurts, assholes.
(This one is not an asshole, Kankurou just still hates being probed like this, but he gets that it's part of the process and that he's a grown thirty-year-old who's not allowed to whine about this anymore, so he won't.)
The examination goes through as expected, which is to say, not wielding any abnormal reaction from his body despite being very much uncomfortable, but the gaze he is faced with once his clothes are back on is not as reassuring as he thought it would be.
"What?"
"I'm sorry to be asking this," the doctor says with what sounds like genuine empathy in his voice, "but do you think there's any chance you could be pregnant?"
"What? No. I'm ten years on T. I certainly hope that shit has stopped working a while ago already."
That answer does not soothe the worried face in front of him.
"That's not always enough."
It's true, Kankurou knows it. Of course, he knows it. He's been a good patient, and has listened to his docs, and read the consent papers, and done his research and shit. He knows. Sometimes it's not enough. But it's gotta be enough for him, right? Come on.
When he doesn't say anything in response, the doctor continues.
"I can prescribe you some antiemetics. Whatever it is, it will help, or at least be harmless. But with no pain, no sign of inflammation, no diarrhoea, and given it hasn't gotten better but rather worse after a couple of days, it doesn't really look like indigestion or simple gastroenteritis, and I have no reason to suspect something more acute either at this stage, so, I would advise you to take a test, if only to take it off your mind. If it's negative and your symptoms haven't gotten better by the end of the week, come back and we can do further exams."
He is trying to be tactful and bargain his way into getting the results he wants. If he said, "I really think you might be pregnant, please don't be obtuse about it." – which is what he truly means – Kankurou would tell him to fuck off. He realises that. So instead, he says, "Maybe you're not, but better safe than sorry, right? And if you do the test, I won't bother you with it anymore. It's win-win."
And it's working.
"Alright, I'll do that," Kankurou agrees. He's correct anyway. (Not about the pregnancy. Not about the pregnancy. But about the fact that, now that the idea has been brought up, Kankurou will not be anxiety-free without a negative test in hand, so he might as well start there.) "Write me the papers and I'll pass by the pharmacy on my way home."
The apartment is very quiet when Kiba comes back from work in the evening. The sound of his keys hitting the bowl in the entrance echoes against the walls, and he slips out of his shoes without a sound before entering the main living space.
At first, judging by the absence of Kankurou and the lack of light coming from underneath the bedroom door, he figures he must be taking a nap. Then, after a couple of seconds, a sniffle comes through from the other side.
Kiba knocks gently.
"Hey. I'm back. Can I come in?"
He gets a feeble hum in response and follows through, closing back the door behind him.
The blinds are mostly down, plunging the room into semi-darkness, and Kankurou is curled up on the bed with a pillow in his arms, his face buried into it. He flinches slightly when Kiba first sits next to him and passes a hand in his hair, but soon relaxes under his touch.
"Are you okay?"
The answer to that question is evidently no, but part of him still hopes to hear a reassuring, "Just tired and sick, it'll pass."
Instead, Kankurou shakes his head and the next cry to come out of his throat is too loud to be fully muffled. For a brief moment, he seems to try and articulate an answer, but quickly gives up in favour of waving vaguely in the direction of the nightstand.
So far, Kiba had been way too focused on Kankurou and his obvious distress to really give a second of attention to anything else in the room, but, following his movement, he can make out the shape of an object there and, when he picks it up, identify it as a pregnancy test. A positive one. With two dark lines clearly visible even in the dim light.
"Is that yours?"
The question is incredibly stupid – whose else would it be? – but he is too stunned and confused by the sight to hold it back.
Kankurou takes a long, constricted inhale.
"Yes. I'm fucking pregnant. God, fuck!" he swears, throwing off the pillow to the side and rolling over on his back.
Too many questions flood Kiba's brain all at once for him to be able to say any of them at first. Questions about how, when and why this happened, questions about how Kankurou feels and if he just spent the entire afternoon crying here without thinking he was allowed to call him and why, questions about what they're going to do now, and in what state they might come out on the other side.
"What happened? Did you miss a shot?"
Kankurou shakes his head.
"No. It just-"
He pauses and seems to try and gather himself for a moment before he wipes the tears on his face with his palms the best he can, takes a deep breath, and sits up to pick up a tissue from the pile next to him to blow his nose.
When all that is done, his hiccup seems to have settled for now, and he mostly looks immensely tired.
"You can still ovulate on T, sometimes," he says.
"I didn't know that," Kiba answers. Not in a million years would he have dropped using condoms with him if he had. "Did you know that?"
Kankurou nods.
"Yeah. I did."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
His lips move silently for a couple of seconds before words seem to be able to form in his mouth.
"I don't know," he admits. "At first, we weren't really doing front hole stuff anyway. When we got exclusive and got tested and all, it wasn't for that, it was just so we could do whatever we wanted freely without having to worry much. And at some point, it happened, and I thought briefly maybe I should tell you and we should use condoms but- It felt like a hassle."
"It's not," Kiba cuts. "It's never a hassle to keep you safe. Did you think I would get upset? Christ, I don't even care about the type of sex we have. We could have just not done it at all, I would have been happy. You know that, right?"
The idea that he may have, somehow, made Kankurou feel like this wasn't something he could or should say, that it would be a hard or tense conversation to have, that it wasn't entirely clear that they could be happy and satisfied without him having to put his wants and needs to the side at any time of the process is gut-wrenching in the scariest of ways.
"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Kankurou assures. "I should have told you. I'm sorry."
"I'm not accusing you. And you don't have to apologise. I should have asked. I should have looked it up. I should have made sure we had talked it through enough. I'm sorry."
Kankurou shakes his head.
"It's not on you. I was just an idiotic asshole and I told myself I'd be okay because, sure, it happens to others, but not to me, because I'm doing things right, and doing my shots on time, and I haven't had a period in a decade, and I have a good body, I've worked with it for years, I've worked to love it for years, surely it's not going to do this to me. As if that's how any of this fucking work. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to think about it. It was stupid and now we're both in this because of me."
Anger grows further in his voice with every word he says and tears build up at the edge of his lashes again in the end, but they're not tears of distress and fear this time. They're tears of frustration and upset. All of it directed at himself.
It is not any less heartbreaking to see.
Kiba wants to argue back and defend him. Say that if he'd simply taken a minute or two to check in on Kankurou on that front, surely, he would have told him. That his lack of consideration for the question is what allowed him to opt for silence and denial for a while. That he is, at the very least, equally responsible for what happened. But he can tell Kankurou is not in a state to be debated with on the matter.
"You know what? Let's not fight about that," he says. "We both had the sex and now we're here. That's all there is to say. More importantly, how are you feeling?"
Kankurou shrugs. It doesn't do a great job of making him look detached with how puffy his eyes are and how defeated he looks.
"The doc prescribed me meds, so at least I'm not throwing up anymore for now and the nausea is bearable."
This is not what Kiba is asking, but that's always one good thing, he supposes. And if Kankurou needs to stall before he actually answers the question, Kiba can let him.
"Do you want it?" Kankurou asks after a moment with a sheepish look in his direction.
"Do you want it?" Kiba answers without a second of doubt.
Kankurou's shoulders shudder, but it's unclear whether it's another shrug or the first forewarning of a new sob to come.
"I don't know."
Judging by the break in his voice, probably the latter.
A handful of seconds of silence is shared between them before he starts crying again.
"Alright, come here," Kiba says, coming to sit a little closer and reaching his arms out to hug Kankurou.
It's not the first time in years of being together that he's seeing Kankurou cry, and it's not the first time he's held him doing so. Still, there's no getting used to how fragile and broken this makes him look, trembling and struggling to breathe, he who is usually always so grounded and unmovable.
"You want kids, don't you?" Kankurou asks without taking his face out of his neck, and Kiba keeps petting his hair gently while trying to think of an answer.
He could say "No, I don't." or simply "I don't care." Be reassuring. Take that pressure out of the equation, at least.
But Kankurou deserves better than soothing lies.
"I think I do, yes."
"Sometimes, I think I do, too."
Neither of them says a word after that, both their admission hanging in the room and filling the air gently. This is not a comfortable or easy thing to say. It is hard and it carries weight. It carries hope and desires as well, and those are not less heavy. Especially not today.
Kankurou hugs him tighter.
"But I don't want to be pregnant," he cries. "I'm sorry. I really don't. I've been thinking about it all day and it's scaring the shit out of me. I feel so invaded. I can't do this. I don't want to. I really wish I could, but I can't. I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry about," Kiba whispers.
"But there is. You want it. I want it. I could give it to you. I could give it to you right now. And I can't. And I won't."
"There are other ways to have children."
"There aren't so many. We're two men. And I'm trans. This is not going to be easy, and it might not even be possible at all."
"Then it won't happen. You being pregnant is not easier or more possible. That's not up for debate. If there is no other way, then there is no way, and I'll live much better with that than with having you go through something so big if you don't want it."
Kankurou nods.
"I know."
"Good."
Kiba kisses his hair before pulling out of the hug and wiping the tears off his cheeks with his thumbs.
"I'm not going to keep it," Kankurou says.
"I know."
"And I know I'm right," he continues. "But I really wish I could. And if I could, I would. I need you to know that. This is not a baby or children issue. This is a-"
He trails off, trying to find words that may somehow convey where exactly his distress lies, and visibly failing to do so.
"You don't have to justify yourself, I get it," Kiba offers as an out.
Maybe he doesn't. He is not there, he will never be, and whatever effort he may put into imagining what it must be like probably won't be sufficient to fully grasp what Kankurou is feeling at the moment. But he understands that deep physical change is scary, that there is no way being pregnant can be a light and painless experience, no matter the very real joy and desire that might accompany it, and it especially isn't now. Not when it wasn't planned, not when it comes with additional questions like "How the fuck do I tell people their gay coworker is pregnant, actually?", and not when Kankurou's relationship with his body is already difficult to begin with and it has taken him a while to get to finally own it in a way that felt comfortable.
"Have you eaten today?" Kiba asks, because there are other conversations to be had, but they could probably both use a break.
"No. I was too sick and then I was too crying." He snorts. "I'm gonna take a shower first."
"Okay. I'll make dinner in the meantime then."
Kankurou's lips are salty and wet from tears and snot, but at this point, Kiba needs the contact too much to care about it.
"I love you," he says, his forehead pressed against Kankurou's.
"Me too."
"When was your last period?"
"Nine years ago," Kankurou deadpans with an expression that everyone can probably notice is at least blasé, but that Kiba knows enough to know is more upset than that.
"Right," the nurse awkwardly answers. "I'm sorry, it's the usual set of questions. I have to ask."
"I know."
Kiba rubs his thumb gently on Kankurou's thigh as a silent support and, if he's being honest, to soothe himself in the process as well. He hates the knowledge that his partner is hurting and that there's nothing he can do about it but sit in a plastic chair and exist in the room and hope it counts for something that he's there.
"I will prescribe you a dating ultrasound anyway, it's fine if you don't have an idea of the start of the pregnancy yet."
"I'd rather not."
Kankurou hasn't moved one bit since sitting down in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest at the beginning of the appointment, and he has been careful to keep his voice stable and serious throughout. It's an impressive feat considering how much he could not contain his distress over the matter two days ago. Kiba would be proud and impressed if he didn't know it to be Kankurou's way of building walls so the person in front of him can't reach through.
"It's legally required, I'm sorry," the nurse apologises again.
He knew it. Kankurou probably did too. It's written on every webpage about abortion. He hasn't read as many as Kiba has, or at least not in front of him where he has favoured assuring he didn't need nor wanted to discuss the process further, but he must have read some, still.
"But you can ask the radiologist doing it not to show you the image if you don't want to."
Kankurou doesn't answer and the nurse sheepishly glances at Kiba as if hoping for some sort of support in this process.
"Noted, thank you," he says in his place.
Part of him wants to see it, if he's being honest. But it's also the part that would want to keep it, if they could, and they can't, so he shouldn't enable it. This whole debate is pointless anyway. Kankurou does not want to, that much is clear, and so they won't ask to see it. End of story.
"Depending on how far you are in your pregnancy, you can be offered two abortion methods. Medical abortion is possible up to the seventh week of pregnancy. It consists of two medications taken twenty-four to forty-eight hours apart. The first causes the embryo to detach from the uterus, and the second causes the contraction to evacuate it. The upside of this method is that you can take them either with a doctor, or at home, with whomever you'd like. The downside is that you have to handle more bleeding and the expulsion of the embryo while conscious and over a longer period of time. The other method, available up to the fourteenth week, is surgical abortion, in which you will be under local or general anaesthesia, your choice, and the embryo and much of the lining will be physically vacuumed with a cannula. The upside is that you can be unconscious while it happens, and while there are still risks of bleeding afterwards, it's usually less heavy, and the intervention is on a single day. The downside is you need to go through anaesthesia and come to the hospital for it. Neither method is better or worse than the other, so it's up to you to evaluate which might be more comfortable."
Kiba is looking at Kankurou the entire time of the explanation. He looks angry, still – Kiba doesn't expect the scowl to leave his face for the whole time of the appointment, he's not exactly known to be enthusiastic about being made to do things he doesn't want to – but something has settled in his attitude. He is truly listening this time, and knows how real the words said to him are about to become.
He nods for the first time in fifteen minutes.
"I'll think about it."
The nurse smiles slightly in response and slides a few sheets of paper his way.
"Here are all the details written down, so you can think your choice through at home. There is also a number you can call at any time for further information or if you need to talk about it with a professional. We can also schedule a psycho-social appointment before the second abortion appointment during which you will sign the consent form and be prescribed whatever method you've chosen. It's only mandatory for minors, but I always advise patients to take the offer. Even if your mind is made up – and the goal is not to question that – it is an intense event and appropriate support is precious."
Kankurou's eyes skim through the texts for a couple of seconds, then he folds the papers in half.
"I don't need it. Thank you," he answers.
He decidedly needs it, Kiba thinks, but doesn't say anything. It's obvious that, for now, Kankurou has decided to be upset, cold, and firm, because it's the best tool he has in him to get himself through an appointment he doesn't want to be even in the remote vicinity of. Pointing it out won't help. Hopefully, they can talk about it again later, in a space more suited to convincing him to let his guard down a little.
"Feel free to call if you change your mind," the nurse offers without insisting.
Surely, she has seen others like him before. (Maybe not like him. Maybe she hasn't seen a lot of thirty-year-old gay men needing an abortion in her office. Maybe she hasn't seen any before, even. All three of them know that and it's a good part of why the ambience in the office is what it is at the moment. But other angry people who would rather not dwell on their feelings, most certainly.)
"I won't," Kankurou assures. "Is that all?"
She nods. It is all. If he doesn't want to take her offer, she won't push it down his throat.
"We just need to set the date for your next appointments, unless you'd like to take them in another facility, and you are on your way."
"Alright, I have to go," Kankurou states, picking up the few of his belongings scattered around the light console. "Amagi, I'll be back before six, so if anything's wrong during this afternoon's rehearsal we'll have the time to work on it before the theatre opens, don't worry about it."
The young man nods.
"Got it."
Kankurou pauses for a second, looking at his round face and sun-bleached curls. He feels a little bad for leaving the boy to handle this alone, but he is here to learn the job, after all, and it will certainly do him so good to be forced to practise his newfound skill in autonomy for a bit.
Truth is, Amagi or no Amagi, he also just hates having to take time off for anything at all, and for his health in particular. If it wasn't for Kiba, he probably would have come here sick on Monday and glared into silence anyone looking like they might question his life decisions. And it would have worked.
Or at least, it would have worked up to the point where the vomiting wouldn't have stopped, and he wouldn't have taken care of it for possibly weeks, and by the time he would have found out about the cause, it would have been much, much later, and possibly too late. So maybe it wouldn't have worked, actually, and he owes Kiba a thank you. But he's not remotely ready to give one.
Amagi frowns lightly in front of him, faced with his immobility.
"Are you alright?"
"What? Yeah. Yeah, of course. I just have an exam now and one next week and I'll be as good as new." Kankurou flashes him a grin. "So, enjoy your time with the tech desk all for yourself, cause it's not gonna last."
Amagi gives him a playful salute.
"Will do!"
"Absolutely not."
He has zero desire to be in this room doing this exam and he is already upset that Kiba insisted to take some time off from work to be here instead of letting him get this shit over with with as little self-awareness as possible and putting it all in a neat corner of his brain never to be looked at again. There is no world in which he will accept to let this be a transvaginal ultrasound.
"I can attempt a pelvic ultrasound first," the doctor offers with a voice that makes Kankurou feel treated like a wounded animal that might bite, which is perhaps not so inaccurate, but fucking humiliating all the same, "but if you are early in your pregnancy it will most likely not be enough."
"If I'm early then surely I can just get the damn abortion without needing a precise date, can't I? It means I'm within legal limits."
The doctor winces. Looking at Kankurou struggling with fate like this is uncomfortable for him. It's uncomfortable for everyone and Kankurou is hating every second of being the centre of this attention and embarrassment.
"This is not the only thing this exam is checking for. For example, if this is an ectopic pregnancy, we ought to know it beforehand."
The silence in the room between all three of them is heavy, and the entire weight of it is sitting on his chest. He could bargain his way into starting with a pelvic exam still. Stall some time, and maybe hope it'll be enough. But he also doesn't want to stay here longer than necessary and, most importantly, doesn't actually want to hope that his pregnancy is too old to get his abortion at home, or worse even, too old to get one at all.
Kiba catches his hand.
"Okay," he says after a brief look in his direction. He looks worried and in pain and Kankurou doesn't want to spend one more minute pondering over the question. "Do whatever you must."
"What are you doing here?" Kankurou asks later that night, finding Kiba at the door of the theatre after the performance.
"I'm picking you up from work? It was a premiere today, you had a stressful day, I wanted to see you."
"It was not a stressful day," Kankurou retorts while all remaining reasonable parts of his brain call him a fucking liar, "and I don't need your pity."
Kiba's expression closes. He's been catching stray bullets for days, and it's starting to be a bit much.
"It was. And it's not pity. It's care. Also, you say this like I don't usually come to see you here. Why is it that much of a problem all of a sudden? I thought you liked it when I came over and met people and got interested in your job."
"You know why!" Kankurou accuses. "We both know why you're here today, and I don't want to have that conversation at the theatre."
"You don't want to have that conversation anywhere," Kiba bitterly notes.
"Correct."
The word stings and lingers in the air like the crack of a whip while they both stare each other down wondering who will cave and apologise first.
Rationally, Kankurou very much knows it should be him. Kiba has done exactly nothing wrong, has not forced the topic on him, and just came over to see him the way, it is true, he does fairly regularly in a normal setting. But he doesn't get to wrap his head around the idea before Amagi's snooping nose makes its appearance in his field of view.
"Do you guys want anything to drink?" he asks, looking acutely aware that he just interrupted something, but carrying on with his plan all the same rather than giving in to the embarrassment.
"Definitely," Kankurou answers without taking his glare off Kiba, silently defying him to object.
He doesn't. Instead, he breaks the eye contact and nods with a feeble smile.
"Sure, thank you."
After a few years of working at the theatre and handling closing the place down for the night a good half of the time, Kankurou could probably do the whole routine in his sleep if needs be. And while he does not, in fact, need to do it in his sleep, the muscle memory still comes in handy on days when he is as drunk as he is now. (Which is not often, but happens, and he's had a week.)
Once everybody is out and he's checked the door of the admin office probably three times already, he joins Kiba at the front door.
He is waiting with his hands in his pockets and looking at his feet with a tired expression on his face. He's had one beer earlier under Amagi's zealous care, and then spent most of the next two hours looking at Kankurou drinking and talking to other people. In another context, he may have been happy with it. It's a nice thing to see Kankurou in his element, happy and chatty, moved by the effervescence of a night spent talking with other artists about their jobs and projects. For that sight, Kiba is more than willing to be the lonely spouse at the bar gazing at their lover from afar, but they both know it's not what happened today.
Kankurou pulls him into his arms when he gets to his level.
"Thank you for coming tonight," he mumbles into his neck, resting some of his weight on his shoulders.
"You're welcome," Kiba answers while reciprocating the hug and passing a hand in his hair.
"I've been an ass this week. I'm sorry."
Kiba kisses his temple.
"I know."
"I just want it to be over," he says in what sounds more like a whine than a statement.
With every passing minute of vaguely acknowledging his feelings rather than dwelling in distraction or anger instead, the stress of the past days falls harder and harder on his shoulders. He's only realising now, too, just how heavily he's been disconnected from his body the whole time. He feels exhausted, sick, and invaded by the remnant feeling of hands and probes on and in his body, and the knowledge of the embryo nestled in his belly.
The doc earlier measured it at ten millimetres. So, presumably, five weeks. It's good news because it means he doesn't need to take his clothes off in front of anyone for another few weeks until the last post-abortion ultrasound. It should also be good news in that it's nothing, barely the size of half his pinky nail, but he doesn't find a way to let the data lighten any of the weight-crushing him down.
Kiba scraps his scalp gently and kisses him again.
"I know," he repeats. "And it will be soon. And I will be here the whole time until it is."
Kankurou nods and a sob shakes his frame.
"Sorry."
Kiba shakes his head.
"Don't apologise, it's okay. You need it."
He does. He infinitely does.
The tears start damping his face and Kiba's skin underneath it a few seconds after he is given the authorisation to let go, and the flow of it only becomes more uncontainable in the minutes that follow.
"I feel so sad," he cries, and it's the first time in a week he named it as such. Not angry, not scared, not sick and tired – although he is all of those, too – but sad and grieving, and he didn't think it'd go there, and he doesn't know what to do with it. "I so wish I could do this. I feel weak and I feel like a coward. I should- I should-"
Hiccups cut him in his way, and Kiba takes the occasion to interrupt.
"You shouldn't," he assures. "If you can't, you can't. If you don't want to, you don't want to. No one is judging that."
"I am," Kankurou objects.
He hears what Kiba is saying. He is certain, also, that if the roles were reversed, he would be saying the same thing and would wholeheartedly believe there to be nothing wrong and disappointing in his current state and decisions. Yet none of this is enough to quiet the thought that if he just fucking toughened up for a couple of months it would all be so much easier.
"Well, I'm not," Kiba says.
This is the only thing he can offer, and it might not be enough, but it's something still.
Kankurou nods and sniffles.
"I know."
"Good. Let's get you home."
"I hope this is not a rude question to ask, but are you and your boyfriend all good?"
Kankurou doesn't turn around to look at Amagi upon hearing the question, but rather favours closing his eyes for a couple of seconds and taking a deep breath. He is mildly hungover, still nauseous, and has had a very poor night of sleep. If he's going to keep this exchange polite, he needs to gather all the patience he may have left first.
"Okay so, first thing, as your mentor, I'm going to give you a little life hack, yeah? If you have to preface a question with 'I hope this is not rude', it means it is and you should refrain from asking it. Got it?"
Amagi nods.
"Yep."
He does not stop to look at him, though.
Kankurou sighs. He's lucky he's this cute.
"And secondly – not that it's any of your business but – yes, my partner and I are fine, I promise. Please stop worrying about my marital life and focus on your job."
Amagi nods again, a bit more fervently this time, and Kankurou finds himself hoping he has satisfied his curiosity enough to grant himself some quiet for at least the time it will take to finish his coffee.
He is so tragically wrong.
"Is it because of your health?"
This is going to be a very, very long day.
"If you ask one more question," he says slowly to make sure each word imprints into his stubborn trainee's brain, "I will lock you in the technical closet with a gag, and since you've been in there, I'm sure you can tell it will be a long time before anyone finds you. Am I clear?"
This time, the boy's expression falls worried, and he nods much more seriously.
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Good."
This new exchange does do a good job of cutting the discussion short and, at first, Kankurou takes pride and relief in the silence that follows.
After a handful of minutes, however, he comes to the realisation that he is not much more comfortable with Amagi's sheepish look, or the slouch in his back, or the tentative looks he takes in his direction whenever he wonders if he just moved too quick or too noisily or too anything that may anger Kankurou further, than he was with his impulsive questions and over-interest in his person.
"I'm gonna grab another coffee," he says to break the silence between the two of them. "Do you want something?"
Amagi's big brown eyes rise in his direction and hesitantly bat their long lashes at him.
"No, thanks. I'm good."
This is why he's like this, Kankurou thinks. He looks like a baby animal and the main instinct it awakes in people (Kankurou) at all times is to grab him by the scruff of the neck and lick his hair clean like a mama cat. It's so hard to be upset at him. How in the world is anyone supposed to be firm with him in these circumstances?
He puts his empty cup back down on the desk.
"It is about my health," he says and Amagi looks almost as scared by the change in his attitude as he did by the threats. "But it's private, and I don't want to talk about it, and I'd like it if you'd respect that. Can you?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
He lets out a deep breath to try and get some of the tension out of his shoulders and gives Amagi a small smile as a reassurance before continuing.
"But you needn't worry about me. It's not-" not anything severe. Not anything Bad, is what he wants to say. But it is all of those, in a way. "It's temporary," he opts to say after a short moment of reflection. That's at least one thing he knows is true. "I'm just having a rough week, and I will have a few more, and it will pass, but it's hard being kind and patient with people when I'm in that sort of mood. That's why it was like that yesterday between Kiba and me, but we talked it through, and I apologised, and we're good. For real. That's why I snapped at you a bit, too, and I'm sorry. Although note that you were legitimately being a nosy shit, please don't, but still. I'm the adult and I should know better."
"I'm an adult too," Amagi notes.
Kankurou chuckles.
"Don't push your luck, buddy."
For most of their second appointment at Planned Parenthood, Kankurou doesn't say a word. He says he wants the pills, says he'll take them at home, and then keeps it at vaguely nodding along to information and signing off papers when he's asked to.
The whole time, Kiba doesn't say much either. He doesn't have much to say, and he understands that these moments may as well be diving underwater without oxygen for Kankurou: he is keeping his investment and vulnerability at a minimum with the hope of getting through to the other end with as little damage as possible. Kiba is not sure that's a good strategy, but he doesn't have anything better to suggest, and it's not his decision to make anyway. The best he can do is be there when the mask falls later, and encourage it to do so.
When he offers to walk Kankurou back to the theatre afterwards, he asks if they can sit down for a bit first.
"Do you think I'm making a mistake?" he asks after a long moment of silence, his head resting in Kiba's lap in a mostly deserted park of the city. It's the afternoon of a work day, the sky is grey and the air still fresh, and not many people seem to have decided this was a good time to watch the clouds with a lover.
But it is.
"No, I don't think so," Kiba answers. "Do you?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
For another while, the discussion stays at that. Kiba keeps petting his hair, and Kankurou keeps looking at the sky with tired eyes, then snuggles his face into the palm of Kiba's hand.
"It's Amagi," he says eventually.
"What's up with him?" Kiba asks when no more information comes.
"He's cute and endearing and follows me everywhere like a little duckling."
"Is that bad?"
Kankurou shakes his head gently.
"No. I like it."
"Ah. I see."
"Sometimes I think- maybe I can actually do it. If I want the kid enough. And it seems I do want it. Maybe I just need to toughen up? Admit that it's only for a few months and it won't be the end of the world. We'd have a kid together. I'd have a kid with you."
Kankurou is very pretty when he smiles. Kiba has always thought that. He's quite certain most people do. He is charismatic and smooth. So confident and makes it look so effortless. The first time they made out, Kiba was entirely drunk on his aura. It's only a bit later down the course of their budding relationship that he got to see him in a different state and under a different light. Softer. Clingy. Nuzzling his neck and whining when he tries to get out to carry on with his day. And he decided he liked it too.
It's that second side that shines through today. Gentle. Loving. Needing a shoulder to seek warmth and comfort in. But nurturing and willing to give back, too. He'd be a great father, Kiba has no doubt of that.
"Whatever decision you make now, I will support it. I mean it," he says first. "If you've changed your mind and you really think that's what you want and your best option, I'm ready to keep it with you. I will happily do so."
Kankurou nods slowly.
"But I'm not sure that's the case," he continues. "I think you're good at telling yourself and others that whatever something costs you can take it, and you will if that's how you get to the outcome you want. It's a quality sometimes. You're good at the things you love. Great, even. You'll put in the work it takes to get there. You can be proud of that."
He tilts his head and pushes a strand of hair out of Kankurou's forehead.
"But it's dangerous, too. I don't think I've ever seen you say no to extra hours at the theatre. And we all know they don't pay you for them. You always think whatever it takes to make it work, that's what you'll give. God forbid you take holidays or see a doctor every once in a while, even when you really should. And at the end of the day, that's who you are. That's who I chose. I don't want to control or change you. But for this once, I would like it if you'd really make sure that you're not just gaslighting yourself into believing you're not that averse to the idea of being pregnant for another eight months actually. Because I think you are that averse. And you're allowed to be. And if you are, then I don't think you should push yourself through it."
"Won't you regret it?"
Kiba shakes his head.
"I won't."
This situation is not exempt from sadness for him either. He has done what he could not to think about the what ifs too much, about what it would be like if they made a different choice now, about the joy it would possibly bring him. But it would be a lie to say he hasn't thought about it at all, and that there will be nothing for him to grieve.
Yet, he knows that grief and regrets are two different things. There are moments in life where all options are painful, and the pain of the one you chose doesn't mean you long for the pain the other would have brought instead. He won't deny the existence of these pains. Kankurou knows they are real anyway, and he deserves much better than for Kiba to pretend he doesn't share them. But regret is not something he fears. Whatever happens, he will be glad as long as Kankurou has the space to take this decision with as much self-indulgence and freedom as the situation can offer.
"Won't I regret it?"
That, is a very different question.
"Maybe," he admits. "But if you really do, we can have children later. If in some months or some years, without the emergency, without the pressure, and when we will have seriously looked at our other options, you find yourself thinking you actually want to do it, and you think you can safely do so, you can always be pregnant then. The question you have to ask yourself right now is not whether or not you ever want to carry a child. It's whether or not it's a good idea to do it now, when you are unprepared and uncertain and, I think, distressed by it. And when you haven't been in a position to make the best choices to foster it either."
Kankurou averts his gaze at the comment, and Kiba would add that he is not judging, but he knows by now it's not enough to dispel the shame.
"I think part of why I got drunk the other day is I thought it'd make it easier. Like 'I've fucked up now, so I don't have any other choice than to terminate it and I don't have to wonder anymore.' But it doesn't really work like that."
"Probably not."
Kankurou sniffles and wipes his nose against the back of his hand before sitting back up.
"I should go back to work," he states, and Kiba nods. That's already a lot of talking compared to the standard of the past ten days. It will be enough for now. "Can you pick up the meds for me?"
"I will."
When the first bleeding occurs, Kankurou is five metres from the ground adjusting the placement of a backlight Fresnel, because of fucking course he is.
He took the first pill this morning. It had been there on the bathroom counter for a couple of days and Kiba had kindly not made a comment yet, letting him the time to gather himself after their last conversation, and probably hoping he would just come talk to him if he needed.
The truth was, there wasn't a whole lot left to say. And so, when the building inaction and indecisiveness building up over the week had become unbearable, he'd decided to do something.
Kiba had already gone to work at that point of the day, and he hasn't had the time (or courage) to text him just yet. He'll do that on his break later. Or maybe tonight, when he can curl in his arms on the couch and get a kiss on his hair after the admission.
"I need a bathroom break," he says upon coming down the ladder. "You guys can try this out with Amagi, I'll be back in a sec."
If there is one comfort to be found in this whole situation, it's the golden retriever-like excitement on Amagi's face at Kankurou saying out loud he trusts him to handle anything at all alone.
He flashes him a brief smile of encouragement on his way out.
There is not so much blood yet. Just enough that he'd feel it drip for a moment, and while he had certainly hoped to be one of the lucky ones who only started bleeding after the second pill, it's probably going to be manageable for now.
(It's going to be manageable for now thanks to the pack of pads Kiba thought to buy alongside the meds and placed there silently should Kankurou want them. He'll have to thank him for that, too.)
He roughly wipes himself clean, washes his hands, takes some painkiller under the pressure of Kiba's voice in his head telling him to stop being headstrong and stupid about doctors and medical help, and winces at the feeling of the pad in his pants, bulky and uncomfortably dry and making him wonder how much it might show and how weird his walking may look.
He did not miss the feeling over the past decade.
When he comes back to the stage, the room is plunged into darkness while Amagi tries out the new light set up with the actors on stage.
"Before you ask anything," Kankurou warns when sitting back down at the light console, feeling his curious gaze on him, "I will advise you to think about the state of the technical closet again for a second."
Amagi shakes his head and redirects his attention to the stage.
"I wasn't about to," he assures, possibly lying.
Kankurou gives him a grin and a friendly tap on the shoulder in response.
"Great. You're a quick learner, I like that. Now show me where we're at with those lights."
He doesn't text Kiba during the day, in the end, but he must go home after work to find the pills and pads missing from the bathroom and do the maths by himself, because he is at the theatre's door again when the performance ends that night.
Kankurou doesn't ask why this time and Kiba doesn't say anything either. Just "How was your day?" ("It's been alright.") and "Are you staying around a bit or are we going home?" ("We're going home, I just need to find someone to close for me.") and they are on their way.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you when I took the pill this morning," Kankurou says when they arrive home and Kiba takes it upon himself to microwave dumplings for the night.
"It's okay," he assures in return. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Not really, if he's being honest, but while Kiba is doing his best to keep his distance for so long as Kankurou doesn't invite him closer, he knows he's aching to know more and be called for more support, and, frankly, Kankurou's owes him that.
"I've been bleeding a bit," he says in an attempt to open up and get the conversation going.
"Just a bit?"
"Just a bit."
"Are you working tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
If the play is on, he is here. If he's going to bleed and feel like shit anyway, he'd rather do it while working than while wallowing in his misery at home.
"Okay," Kiba concedes. He must know him enough by now to know there's no bargaining a change of heart out of him on that front anyway. "When are you taking the second pill then?"
"Tomorrow night when I come home. It's our day off the next day, so I can peacefully bleed out in the bathtub or whatever is going to happen."
"Aren't you waiting for the morning? It's gonna wake you up. You'd be better off with a night of sleep first, probably."
Kankurou shakes his head.
"I'd rather have thirty-six hours than twenty-four before I have no choice but to go back to work."
For all that he's tried to tell himself he would just take the first pill this morning and try not to think about it as much as possible afterwards, he has, in fact, been thinking about it.
"Can't Amagi cover a night for you? He's been there the whole production."
"No, he can't." Well, he probably could. But- "I don't want to ask him."
Kiba is right, certainly, when he says that Kankurou gives too much to his job and never takes a step back even when he would need to. But he also can't. This is all way too much already, and he is not remotely ready to give up on the one thing he can cling onto as a sign that this is still normal daily life, that he is still capable, that the outside world doesn't see him the way he sees himself right now, and instead rather the composed, competent, and reliable person he's built himself into over the years.
He needs to get this done, and go back to work to drown himself in the darkness and quiet and anonymity of the lighting booth, and make sure the show goes on without anyone needing to glance in his direction or know he was ever there, because that's what he does and that's what he is.
"I don't want to debate that," he adds when Kiba seems to consider doing so, and he still does even once that statement is made.
"I'll be there on your day off," he says after a moment. "This is not debatable either. I've talked to the clinic already, I'll do extra hours in the ER later to catch up. I want to let you do things the way you want to as much as possible, I really do, but I cannot have you take unreasonable risks. So, we're doing this your way as long as possible, but I will call the hospital if you have signs of complications, and if a doctor says you should not work, you won't. Are we good?"
He is not good with any of this, Kankurou thinks silently, but he also supposes that haemorrhage or sepsis doesn't feel great either, and neither does Kiba being upset or worried for him – worried is worse than upset – so he still nods.
"We're good."
"Great." Kiba smiles. "Come here."
His lips are dry but gentle when he presses them against his, then a little less gentle as the hands on his hips get needier and clingier.
"I love you," he whispers without moving his face away from Kankurou's.
"Me too," Kankurou answers.
He's not sure how comfortable he is getting this much attention today, but he also knows it's exactly why Kiba does it. Not that he isn't also genuinely smitten and aroused, but he undoubtedly knows that Kankurou needs confirmation that he is still himself, and still very much the same spouse as he was two weeks ago.
The attention makes him a little soft.
"The dumplings are good," he notes when the microwave has rung for a short minute and Kiba is still holding him against the kitchen counter with kisses.
"'don't care. 'm busy," he mumbles against his lips.
"I care," Kankurou objects. "I'm hungry."
He can feel Kiba's pout against his lips before he can see it.
"Alright," he concedes. "Let's get ourselves fed so we can take back where we left off, then."
Kankurou spends another day lightly bleeding, then gets about two hours of sleep the next night after the second pill before he wakes up sweating.
Surprisingly, it's nausea more than cramps that tears him out of his sleep first and he is on his knees in the bathroom again when Kiba joins him. (Kankurou didn't find it in him to purposefully wake him up but didn't try to be quiet either. He wants him there and needs him, he knows it, still.)
"Do you need your painkillers?" he asks gently.
"I've taken them before bed."
Kiba's surprise only comes out half-masked, but Kankurou doesn't comment on it.
It's fair. It's not really in character for him to be this lenient with himself. (It's not lenient, it's just normal, just the doctor's advice, but even just that he doesn't normally do.)
"Good," Kiba simply answers, kind enough to phrase all of those facts out loud. "I'm going to grab you some water then."
"Thanks."
Not for the first time in the past two weeks, Kankurou wonders how in the world can Kiba be so calm, so composed, and so gentle.
He certainly cannot.
He is not fully panicking yet, but it's definitely building up alongside the growing pain in his abdomen, and he's also been very short on patience since this all began.
Then again, Kiba is not the pregnant one, nor the one full of hormones and bleeding out and heaving on the bathroom floor, so surely that must help, but Kankurou still cannot help but feel both infinitely grateful for his support and unwavering presence, and infinitely weak in comparison.
Kiba comes back after a handful of minutes, with a bottle and heating pad that he slips silently against his belly while sitting behind him and resting his head against his scapula.
"I'm sorry," Kankurou says after a few minutes of silence.
"For what?"
"I don't know." He hisses at a cramp worse than the previous ones. "Fuck."
He pauses to try and settle his breathing with no success between the pain, the anxiety and the general exhaustion stealing any control he could have had left on his lungs. The more time passes, the more it just sounds like sobs, and it might very well be what it is, actually.
"You shouldn't be going through this," he answers eventually, all too aware he's being pathetic and stupid but unable to not say something, and he has nothing else to offer.
"Neither more nor less than you," Kiba answers before tucking a strand of hair sticking to his temple with sweat behind his ear. "What if we saved the self-depreciation and blaming for later? You have other things to be doing right now."
Like aborting their baby because he's too much a pussy to see himself pregnant, as if millions of people didn't do this every year, and because Kiba enables him and is too weak to say it out loud and leave for someone braver, better and that would make him happier and give him the children wants and deserves.
Part of him wants to say it out loud, because it's not fair, because it hurts like fucking hell, and it cannot hurt less but maybe it would be more bearable still if Kiba hurt just as much. Because he is bitter, has always been, and his last wall of defence is always to bite and think if he can take the world down with him in his fall it will make the impact duller.
But under the fever and pain and panic attack that makes him feel like he's about to growl and snap, part of him knows that Kiba hurts already, of course he does, and, also, that Kiba loves moody wounded dogs who bare their teeth at the hand that heals them so much he made it his job to take care of them.
Unaware of the rotten words raging under Kankurou's skull – or maybe entirely aware but equally unbothered – Kiba passes his hand in his hair and pets his scalp gently, once, twice, and a third time before Kankurou entirely breaks into sobs in his arms.
Neither of them says anything. There is nothing more to say than what has already been said. There is no more decision left to make than the ones that have already been made. There is only the knowledge that good decisions do not save you from grief and pain, and that being together doesn't either, but that it's better still.
It drags on for a long time, although Kankurou would be incapable of saying how long because reality has melted around him and keeps him stuck to the floor like a seagull bogged down in an oil spill, dying slowly on the beach, shrieking at passersby as if any anger or despair could save it.
It cannot.
When Kiba pulls himself away from him, anxiety spikes in Kankurou's stomach and it takes a good few seconds to talk himself into remembering that he is, of course, not leaving.
"I think you need to change," he says, his voice soft and careful, but firm too. He doesn't want to be commanding or rough, and knows it isn't an easy thing he is saying but, also, is aware that Kankurou needs someone to direct him right now because he will not manage to do it himself.
Had he done this whole thing alone, things would have been different. He would have put on the same angry autopilot mode he has used for most of the past weeks. He would have taken his pill, put on a pad, and suck it up for the next twenty-four hours. He would have held on tight, clenched his teeth, and powered through it all fuelled by sheer spite and denial. And, probably, it would have worked. Not without its damage down the road but, for the night, it would have worked.
But this is an armour that only stands for as long as it is untethered with and whole. For as long as not a crack, not a fingerprint on its surface weakens it. It's an armour that does not, has never, and cannot possibly stand in front of Kiba, whose eyes alone strip him down to the bone without a single word.
He sits up from where he's been resting against the toilet bowl and looks down at his crotch to find blood soaking up the edge of his boxer where the pad he put down doesn't reach, and is probably overflowing at this point anyway. (He can feel it. If he thinks about it, he can feel the wetness against his groin and spreading to the side of his thighs. But he has been very cautiously avoiding thinking about it so far, and he will continue to do so for as long as he possibly can.)
"I'm going to shower," he states, pushing himself back on his feet with a grunt at the pain using his abs triggers in his belly. He doesn't really want to have to see any of this, but now that the topic has been brought up, he feels gross and unable to distract himself from the knowledge of blood staining his skin and clothes and he figures, maybe, if he manages to get himself fresh enough, he can go back to bed for an hour or two. He is unlikely to sleep in this state, but it will at least be kinder on his back and knees than the bathroom tiling.
"Okay," Kiba answers. "I'm gonna grab you some new clothes."
They do not settle back to bed after the shower in the end. Instead, Kiba, probably trying his best to contain the worry showing on his face at Kankurou's obvious expression of pain, asks if he wants to settle for a bath, and says the warm water may help with the cramps.
Kankurou opposes him a little, says he's going to bleed in the water, that it's going to be gross, that he's fine (he's not but Kiba doesn't even try to debate this statement and just ignores it), but there isn't a lot of fight left in his words. He just can't hear himself saying "Yes, good idea." because being positive has never been his forte and he is not in any state to pretend it is, but it is a good idea, and he's too tired to contradict Kiba and not let him step into the bathtub with him and hold him in his arms and touch him and kiss him and tell him he's doing great and he loves him.
And so here he is, now, with water up to his rib cage and his back against Kiba's chest, dosing on and off on his shoulder.
"Do you want a beer?" he asks at some point before opening an eye to peek at Kiba's reaction.
"I'm not sure you're allowed to do that," his partner opts for answering after a moment.
"The internet says it doesn't interfere with the meds," Kankurou objects. "But it's a blood thinner so it's not great given…"
He gestures vaguely at the water before him and the blood floating in it like ink volutes.
"When did you look that up?"
Kiba is trying to not make it sound like an accusation, but it is one.
Kankurou can't really blame him. He's right.
"A couple days ago. I figured maybe I could just do it very drunk. I thought that, if you weren't there…"
He doesn't finish his sentence again. They both know what he means. That it's easier to make poor life decisions when the person he loves doesn't have to know or see it. That it's easier to take care of himself because he doesn't want to worry Kiba than because it's good and he should just want to.
"I'm glad I am, then."
Kankurou nods.
"I'm glad too."
It all still sucks and it doesn't prevent him from wanting to punch something or someone (or himself) about it, but it does prevent him from doing it, and offers him the opportunity to get caught in stable enough arms that he can let himself be weak, maybe.
"I would still like the beer, though," he says after a moment, and lets Kiba study his face with hesitancy for a little while before he adds, "Just one. I promise."
It's not a promise he is always very good at keeping, but it's been a while since he hasn't and, today of all days, Kiba ought to trust him a bit. If only because he is not physically capable of breaking it without his help anyway.
"Alright," he concedes after a bit, gently pushing Kankurou out of his arms so that he can get up and out of the bath. "But you better hope you don't bleed too much because I will call the hospital on you."
"You wouldn't do this to me," Kankurou argues, trying to pull off the best, most saddest puppy eyes he can muster.
Unfortunately for him, Kiba is as used to those as he is to snappy old dogs, and entirely immune to their power.
"Try me."
"Hungover?" Amagi asks at the sight of Kankurou chugging some paracetamol down with his first coffee of the day in the theatre kitchen.
It seems he hasn't learned privacy while he was out.
"I wish," Kankurou simply answers.
He also wishes he would be running on some better painkillers. You'd think getting a fucking abortion would at least come with the right to some funny meds, wouldn't you?
The worst of the cramping and bleeding seems to have settled sometimes during the afternoon the day before, and he will probably make it through today if they don't make a comeback, but he has slept very little, still feels nauseous as hell, and frankly just thinks he would deserve to be a little high for the rest of the week at this point.
"How was your day off?" he asks, hoping to redirect Amagi's renewed energy away from his personal life for now.
If the light in his eyes at the question is anything to go by, it's working.
"Good! I went to see my mom and siblings. It was the youngest's birthday. Well, it's this weekend, but I will be working, so I passed by while I could."
It's easy to forget, when watching Amagi following him around everywhere and drinking his every word with attention and admiration, that he is the oldest of many siblings who he must have certainly half-raised given that a father was never mentioned at any point of the few months they've spent together so far. But, on second thought, it may be exactly why he is like that with him, Kankurou realises. Catching up on a time of learning and being the youngling that he hasn't had the opportunity to get yet.
This knowledge is not helping Kankurou's severe endearment for the boy, but it's probably a lost cause to hope it will ever fade at this point. (And he doesn't really hope that anyway.)
He's met Amagi's mother once. She came to the theatre before a performance, profusely apologising for not being able to come and see it, because of the kids, the distance, and the everything you have to handle as a single mom of four, but assuring Amagi was very happy to be here, that she was very proud of him, and most importantly, very thankful that he got this opportunity. She was basically tearing up by the end of her speech and Kankurou hadn't really known what to tell her but had made sure she'd go home with the knowledge that her son was appreciated and good, and certainly happy to have such a supportive mom.
"How old are they again?"
"Nine! She will start middle school next year."
Kankurou nods.
"Great."
He needs to stop thinking about all that, now. He is certainly feeling a bit more alive and saner than he did twenty-four hours ago, but today is still not yet a good day to be thinking about flocks of children and loving parents.
Today is not, either, yet a good day to be thinking about siblings and the reminder that he has carefully avoided being around his for the past month.
Kiba has probed a bit on the matter before. Suggested maybe it would be good to talk to them and seek their support. And maybe it would have been. Reason would certainly suggest so, at least, but Kankurou is not sure that it's true.
He thinks he will tell them, eventually. (Temari at least.) A lot of things have been hard and painful in this adventure, and some of them, yes, he thinks he can talk through with them. Grieve for a bit and cry on a known shoulder. It needs to happen, and it will.
But the one that has been challenging his sanity the most is the feeling of violation and loss of control. The raw exposure of his body and its weakness and pains and limits. The impossibility of hiding. Of taking his time. Of choosing what shows and what doesn't. What is his own and what is to share.
Until now, and probably for another little while, the idea of having another set of eyes on him was unbearable. There were too many already, ones that he couldn't get off there, ones that were picking at his flesh like vultures on a corpse and he couldn't possibly imagine adding more to them, no matter how kind, else he would rip to shreds under their teeth entirely.
He slaps his hand on the counter.
"Alright. You've used all of your small talk permission for today. Back to work."
...
The pads take a bit over two weeks to come back clean. When they do, Kankurou throws out the entire pack.
...
Kankurou winces at the ultrasound withdrawing from his body and hastily pulls his underwear back on.
The doctor smiles.
"You're good to go."
...
"That one's on me," Kankurou says, picking the bill out of Amagi's fingers and back into the kid's pocket. "For your graduation. Congrats."
...
"I love you," Kiba says, his lips still tasting of Kankurou when he kisses him.
"Me too."
...
..
.
"I had an abortion six months ago."
It's a vaguely sunny day. Temari and he are sitting outside a coffee shop with pastries and a drink. He debated ordering a beer but went for an espresso for now. He can always have one later, when she will judge him less for it because the reason will be more obvious.
"I don't- know what to say about it," he admits after a few seconds when she doesn't answer but her big green eyes are wide open on him. "But I figured I should still try."
He's whined about it to Kiba all week since they've settled to meet today and he was out of things to tell himself to justify that he won't tell her this time, but the next, he promises, as he's been doing for the past couple months already. This one is the one. He can't stall forever.
"Are you ok?"
He shrugs, then nods, then shrugs again.
"It's been rough. But yeah, I think I am. It's getting there at least." He smiles. "And Kiba's great, so."
She smiles a little, too.
"You know you could have called, right?"
She's not blaming him for not doing it, but she wants to make sure he knows this, at least.
"Of course." He's never doubted it. "But I wasn't ready. And I think it was important for it to be just the two of us."
He pauses and she reaches for his hand on the table, stroking the back of it with the pad of her thumb.
"I was ashamed, too. I should have known better. But…"
She doesn't say anything. He should have. And he didn't. But it happens. It's too late and it doesn't matter now. She understands. Or maybe she doesn't. But she doesn't judge him either way. There is only one side of the story she can be on. It's his. It will always be.
He turns his hand over to catch hers and fidget with her fingers.
"Do you think I'll be a good father?"
"Do you want to be one?"
He doesn't shrug this time, just nods, slowly first, then more clearly as a knot forms in his throat.
"Yes. I really do. I just-"
He is interrupted by a hiccup.
"You don't need to explain to me of all people that pregnancy is scary," she assures. They are haunted by the same ghosts after all. "I'm just glad you had a choice when you needed it."
A single tear rolls on his cheek and falls into his coffee.
He withdraws his hand to wipe his face and nose.
"Thank you."
Silence settles between them for the time of finishing their drink and food. It's heavy, but warm. Like a blanket too thick to get out of because he's sick and his muscles are weak, but that he appreciates still.
"Can I light one up?" she asks, putting a cigarette between her red-painted lips.
He chuckles.
"I'm not pregnant anymore so, have fun."
Her face freezes for a second before his seems to be open enough to give her permission to laugh along.
"You're stupid."
"So, I've heard."
He raises a hand to grab a waiter's attention.
"Can I have a pint, please? Whatever blond you have is good. Thank you."
If she's going to indulge, he has no reason to hold himself back.
"Kiba and I have been looking into our options a bit," he says once he's downed enough of his glass for the cold of the liquid to transform into heat under his skin. "To have kids, I mean."
"Oh."
"I haven't fully drawn a line on the idea of carrying one. But it's going to be a lot of change. I'd have to go off T. Come out at work. Face whatever the thought of being pregnant has instilled in me thus far, and I'm really not sure what it is yet but- not easy, evidently. I was not ready for that."
"Of course."
"And I don't know if I'll be eventually, so maybe it just won't happen like that. But at least this settled that we both did want to be parents, together, so. It's a thing that's happening. I'll keep you updated."
She nods.
"Good, cause I also need the time to get used to the idea of being an auntie. Between you and Gaara, I didn't think it would happen."
"You think I'm making a mistake?"
She chokes on the smoke she just inhaled and coughs.
"No, that's not what I meant!"
"You haven't answered my question," he notes and she looks a bit confused at him for a couple of seconds.
"Oh! Oh, of course you'll be a good father. Shikadai loves you."
"As an uncle. That's easy."
He's just been bribing the kid with sweets for a decade. He has to assume parenting takes more than that.
"Well, we'll see how I do as an aunt, then. The competition is on," she retorts, her gaze on him defying him to question whether it will happen. She doesn't care when or how they make it happen. She simply trusts the good things will come as they want them.
Kankurou is not sure he has the same optimism in him, but he's all the gladder that she does.
"Deal."