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“This is a stupid idea.”
Kojiro looks up from where he’s been nudging a hole in the ground with his foot. “This was your idea!”
Kaoru sniffs and looks away. “Well, you were stupid to agree to it.”
Kojiro lifts his foot from the now somewhat sizable hole and gives Kaoru a pointed look. “Kind of late to say that now, asshole.”
Kaoru ignores him in favor of crouching down to stare at the hole. “I guess this is big enough.” He holds his hand out. “Box?”
With an exasperated sigh, Kojiro hands him the box they had prepared earlier in the day. It’s not very large, and it only contains a few things—two polaroids, one chosen by each of them, a bracelet from Kojiro, a ring from Kaoru, and two letters. Kojiro watches with no small amount of trepidation as Kaoru inspects the box.
“You put your letter in here?”
Kojiro nods.
“It’s… for you, actually,” he blurts out before he can think too much about it. “The letter. It’s for you, ten years from now.”
Kaoru blinks. “You addressed it to me?” He squints at Kojiro for a moment before scowling. “You should have told me. I could have done the same.”
Kojiro shrugs as casually as he can. “It was a spur of the moment decision.”
“Didn’t know you were capable of those.”
Kojiro groans. “Will you just bury it already?”
After another unimpressed glance at Kojiro, Kaoru puts the box in the hole and fills the empty space with dirt. After a final pat, he stands, before glancing at Kojiro again.
“You’re not going to tell me what you wrote?”
“Well,” Kojiro says with a shrug. “You’ll find out in ten years, anyway, right?”
“Heading out now, boss.”
“Sounds good,” Kojiro calls out to his employee as he finishes wiping down the bar counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow!”
Kojiro only lets his exhausted sigh slip out of him once the door is fully shut. His shoulders drop, and he rubs a hand over his face. It’s been a long, long day. It wasn’t like anything out of the ordinary had happened, but Kojiro had woken up in the morning already feeling a bit wrung out, and the busy day that had followed definitely hadn’t helped. He always looks forward to Kaoru’s late night visits to Sia la Luce, but especially so tonight—he could really use an evening of quietly listening to Kaoru complain about his most annoying clients.
Kojiro rubs at a spot on the bar for no reason. He covers a yawn with the back of his hand.
It usually doesn’t take Kaoru very long to visit after closing hours. Typically, he’s already here by now. Kojiro scrubs a little harder at the spot on the bar.
After a few final moments of not-so-subtly staring at the door and willing Kaoru to come in, Kojiro accepts defeat with a quiet sigh. He folds the towel in his hands and places it to the side before heading to the back to grab his items and go home. He hesitates for a bit before grabbing his phone, debating whether it would make him look desperate if he sent Kaoru a text asking him to come over. In the end, he decides against it, but he taps the screen anyway to make sure he hasn’t missed any important notifications during his shift.
from Kaoru 7:00 P.M.
10 P.M., my apartment.
Don’t be late.
Kojiro stares at his phone. It’s 9:50. He’s definitely going to be late.
For what exactly, he’s not sure.
to Kaoru 9:50 P.M.
???
It only takes a few moments for the typing bubble on Kaoru’s end to pop up. It appears and disappears a few times before a message finally sends.
from Kaoru 9:51 P.M.
Seriously?
Kojiro almost snickers. He can all but hear the disdain through the screen. He’s about to send Kaoru another message asking what the occasion was, but Kaoru beats him to it.
from Kaoru 9:51 P.M.
It’s been ten years.
You forgot, didn’t you?
Kojiro frowns at his screen. forgot what?, he begins to type, but his fingers still on the screen before he can get the full message out.
Ten years. Ten years… it rings recognition in Kojiro’s mind, but only very faintly. It’s been ten years since… what? Ten years ago, they were both 17. It couldn’t be anything like a friendship anniversary; they’d known each other far longer than ten years. Then, was it something they’d done at 17?
Ten years. Kojiro remembers something like a box, something like a—
from Kaoru 9:53 P.M.
You definitely forgot.
You’re definitely going to be late.
I’m opening it at 10, anyway.
Better hurry.
—something like a letter.
“Oh,” Kojiro says out loud. “Oh, fuck.”
Ten years ago, at 17—before Adam, before Italy, before—
“Fuuuuck.”
Ten years ago, at 17, an optimistic, foolish, idiotic Kojiro had written Kaoru a love letter.
A love letter that Kaoru was now going to open.
“God damn it,” Kojiro mutters, grabbing his keys and sprinting outside while desperately tapping out a message to Kaoru.
to Kaoru 9:55 P.M.
Wait
I’m on the way
Don’t open it yet
from Kaoru 9:53 P.M.
Guess you should have remembered.
“God damn it!” Kojiro says before shoving his phone in his pocket and sticking his keys in his motorcycle. All his weariness from the day has evaporated into a frenzied sense of panic. Kojiro can’t believe he’d let something like this slip his mind—especially when that something was so important, especially when that something had the potential to ruin everything.
Because at 17, Kojiro had been idiotic, Kojiro had been foolish, but worst of all, Kojiro had been optimistic. He’d been blinded by the warmth in his chest every time he spent time with Kaoru, and he’d thought Kaoru’s smiles meant something. He’d thought the way Kaoru looked at him meant something.
Now, at 27, Kojiro knows better. Now, at 27, Kojiro would really desperately like to grab his younger self by the shoulders and give him a hard shake. A reality check, if you would. You idiot, he’d yell. It’s not like that. It was never like that. He’s not looking at you. He’s not yours, and you certainly aren’t his.
But it’s a bit too late for that. Ten years too late, to be specific. And now it is Kojiro, at 27, who has to pay the price.
And what a price it will be—this doesn’t just ruin every future interaction Kojiro has with Kaoru, it also colors their interactions for the past ten years in a shade Kojiro cannot let Kaoru see. Kojiro cannot help but feel that this innocuous letter will retroactively do irreparable damage to their relationship, and the thought makes him sick.
But Kaoru doesn’t know. Not yet. And maybe, just maybe, if Kojiro is quick enough, he never has to.
He almost falls over himself getting off of his motorcycle and sprinting to Kaoru’s door. He tries not to be too frantic when he pounds on the door, but he’s fairly certain he fails at this.
Luckily, it doesn’t take Kaoru too long to answer the door. Unluckily, he has Kojiro’s letter in his hand.
“Nice timing,” Kaoru says wryly. “I was just about to open this.”
Kojiro’s eyes widen. He might still be able to salvage this.
Kaoru squints at him. “Have you been running?”
“Uh, no,” Kojiro says breathlessly. “Can I, uh, have the letter?”
Kaoru narrows his eyes. “It’s addressed to me.”
Kojiro knows that very well. That’s exactly the reason he can’t let Kaoru read it.
“Yeah,” Kojiro says lamely. “But, you know. It’s my letter. So—I should probably read it first, right?”
Kojiro doesn’t need to read it to remember exactly what’s in that letter. But he can’t tell Kaoru as much, even though the other already looks wholly unconvinced at his weak excuse. Kojiro takes a step forward to try and snatch the letter out of Kaoru’s hands, but Kaoru dodges neatly with a step back.
“You’re being weird.”
Don’t I know it, Kojiro thinks miserably.
“Kaoru, listen—”
“You don’t want me reading this.” Kaoru’s grip on the letter tightens. “Why?”
Kojiro opens his mouth. He closes his mouth. Kaoru’s eyes narrow.
To Kojiro’s horror, he begins unfolding the letter. Kojiro makes another desperate grab for the paper, but Kaoru turns away so it’s out of his reach. He clutches the paper close to his chest, pinning Kojiro with a confused glare.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Kaoru, don’t—please don’t read that,” Kojiro says weakly. “Please.”
Kaoru’s brows furrow. “Why not?”
All that’s left for Kojiro to say is the truth.
“I think,” he admits quietly, “it might ruin everything.”
Kaoru watches him for a moment before sighing. “You’re so dramatic,” he murmurs. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
He opens the letter. Kojiro’s heart sinks.
It’s odd. Kojiro had forgotten about the very existence of the letter for so long, but now, the exact words that he’d written ten years ago rise easily in his memory.
Kaoru,
I’m writing this the day after you got your third piercing. It looks really good on you. I spent all of yesterday staring at it, but I don’t think you noticed. That’s probably for the best.
I wonder if you still have your piercings ten years from now.
I don’t think it matters. I don’t think I could stop myself from staring at you either way.
I’m writing this because I think a part of you has noticed. I think you do notice the way I look at you, and if you don’t yet, you will at some point in the next ten years. I’ve been told I’m not very subtle.
I’m sorry if I’ve read this wrong. But I don’t think I have, because I’ve noticed the way you look at me, too. I’m assuming at some point in the next ten years, we’ll talk about it. Hopefully soon. I think I’m going to tell you how I feel very soon. That’s why I’m writing this letter. I guess it might make things awkward if I chicken out of it. But that’s a problem for future me.
I’m in love with you. I have been for a while, and I think I always will be.
I hope I’ve told you that by now.
Kojiro had chickened out. Of course he’d chickened out. Because he’d thought he recognized the look in Kaoru’s eyes when he looked at him, and then he saw the way Kaoru looked at Adam, and—
How arrogant he had been, thinking Kaoru felt the same. It is the price of this pride he has to pay for now, ten years after the fact.
“Sorry,” Kojiro blurts out when he sees Kaoru finish reading. “I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking. When I wrote that. I wasn’t thinking straight when I wrote that.” He lets out a weak laugh. “I don’t—I don’t even know why I wrote that. Clearly, I…” His words falter. He clears his throat. “Misunderstood.”
Honestly. It was laughable to think that Kojiro even stood a chance.
Kaoru is silent. He still hasn’t looked up from the letter. He seems to be rereading one line in particular, and Kojiro is terrified to learn which.
“So it’s not true?” he asks eventually. Kojiro blinks.
“What?”
Kaoru looks up with something unreadable behind his eyes. “It’s not true?” He turns the paper to Kojiro and points at one of the lines.
I’m in love with you. I have been for a while, and I think I always will be.
Kojiro bites the inside of his cheek. How is he supposed to tell Kaoru that it’s the truest thing he’s ever put to paper?
“Um,” is all he manages to say before trailing off into an uncomfortable silence.
Kaoru must understand something in Kojiro’s non-answer, because his gaze returns to the letter before he folds it back up.
“Okay,” Kaoru says, and Kojiro blinks.
“...that’s it?”
Kaoru gives him a blank look. “What else do you want me to say?”
Kojiro doesn’t have a great answer to this. He watches silently as Kaoru slips the letter back into the envelope.
“...you’re going to keep it?”
Kaoru gives him a half-hearted shrug. “The letter was addressed to me.”
He falls silent again. Kojiro feels like he’s walking a very thin tightrope. Was that it? Were they not going to discuss it at all? Kojiro guesses he probably shouldn’t be complaining about it, but he can’t help but feel like he’s missing something.
“Um…” He brings a hand to the back of his neck. “You wrote a letter to yourself ten years ago, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d it say?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kaoru responds too quickly. “It’s not important.”
Kojiro’s eyebrows raise. “Really?”
Kaoru doesn’t respond. Kojiro shifts awkwardly in place.
“Do I… get to read it?”
“No.”
“...okay.”
Kojiro can only take the silence for so long. After a few moments of willing Kaoru to say anything to break the tension, he lets out a weak laugh. “Okay! Um, I guess I’ll—I’ll go home, then.” He begins to head for the door. “See you at… uh, see you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Kojiro stops with his hand on the door. He turns.
“What?”
Kaoru’s facing away from him. “You chickened out ten years ago.” He turns to Kojiro. “Why?”
Kojiro presses his lips together. “Like I said,” he says quietly. “I misunderstood.”
“How?” Kaoru asks suddenly, insistently. “How did you know? What—what did I do?”
Kojiro blinks, a little taken aback. “What? I mean—I don’t know. It’s not like you did anything, I just—you know. I could tell from the way you were looking at—” He cuts himself off and looks at the ground. He doesn’t want to say Adam’s name. “Yeah. Um. It’s not your fault or anything.”
When he looks up, he finds almost a stricken expression on Kaoru’s face. Kojiro’s eyes widen.
“I don’t understand,” Kaoru says, his voice a bit shaky. “What did I do wrong?”
Kojiro feels like he’s made a horrible misstep. He takes a step forward. “Nothing! Nothing, what—you didn’t do anything, why would you think—?”
“Because it’s not true,” Kaoru blurts out. “You said it’s not true, so it must be something I’ve done, some way I’ve changed, and I just—I need to know what it is.”
Kojiro gets the distinct impression that he and Kaoru have been having two entirely separate conversations this entire time.
“Because what’s not true?”
“You wrote you were in love with me, you wrote you’d always be in love with me, but you’re not, so what did I do wrong?” Kaoru says in a sudden rush, taking a step forward.
“What?” Kojiro says. “What? Is that what you’ve been—no, Kaoru, god, I wasn’t—I’m—this isn’t—” He splutters for a few moments before shaking his head. “Kaoru, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m still—” He cuts himself off. He hesitates. He’s going to ruin everything again, but he’d rather ruin what they had a hundred times over than let Kaoru sit with this terrible assumption. “I’m still in love with you. Of course I am.”
Kaoru blinks at him. “No, you aren’t.”
Kojiro blinks back. “What?”
Kaoru shakes his head. “You aren’t. You said you misunderstood.”
“What… do you think I misunderstood?”
“Your feelings for me,” Kaoru pushes out. “You thought it was—love, but you realized it wasn’t, after all—and you thought it would ruin everything if I knew—”
“No.” Kojiro grabs Kaoru’s hands. “That’s not it at all. It’s always been—it’s always been the same for me. I just misunderstood how you felt about me.” He squeezes Kaoru’s hands once before letting go. “I’m sorry. I read everything wrong ten years ago, and now…” He gives Kaoru a helpless smile. “Here we are.”
“...so it was true.”
Kojiro sighs. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Kaoru turns away abruptly. Kojiro bites the inside of his cheek.
“Right,” he says eventually. “So, I guess I’ll leave—”
Before he can make a move at all, though, Kaoru shoves a letter into his hands. Immediately, Kojiro thinks it must be his own and has to swallow down the disappointment that Kaoru doesn’t even want to keep it any more, but when he dares to take a glance, he finds that the handwriting is different. In fact, it looks an awful lot like Kaoru’s.
“What—”
“Read it,” Kaoru interrupts in a tone leaving no room for argument.
“Are you sure—”
“Read it.”
Kojiro’s gaze flickers between Kaoru and the letter in his hand a few times. He can’t especially understand why Kaoru seems so adamant on this, and he doesn’t know what Kaoru hopes to accomplish with this. Still, Kaoru’s gaze doesn’t leave him much room to protest, so he slowly opens the paper.
It’s much shorter than Kojiro’s letter. In fact, it’s only a single line.
Please tell me you’ve confessed to that idiot gorilla by now.
Kojiro reads it once. Kojiro reads it twice. The words don’t change.
“Um,” Kojiro says after a long pause. “Confessed… what?”
“You—” Kaoru cuts himself off with a frustrated noise. He gestures wildly between the two of them. “This!”
“...what?”
“That I’m in love with you, too, you idiot!”
Kojiro stares at Kaoru. He stares at the letter. He stares at Kaoru.
“Oh,” he says. “What?”
Kaoru rubs a hand over his face with a groan. “Ten years,” he mutters into his hand. “If you weren’t such an absolute fool, we could have—” He cuts himself off. “Honestly, Kojiro.”
“Wait,” Kojiro says. “Wait, but I thought… Adam…?”
“Is that why you never said anything?” Kaoru shakes his head. “No, god, it was only—it was only ever you.” His voice quietens. “I was looking at you.”
“The whole time?”
“The whole time,” Kaoru agrees quietly. “And… you were, too, weren’t you?”
Kojiro nods. A slight smile traces Kaoru’s lips.
“I think I knew,” Kaoru murmurs. “But I was scared.”
“So was I.”
“Better… late than never, right?”
Kojiro lets out a surprised laugh at that, and Kaoru’s expression relaxes. Kojiro reaches for Kaoru’s hand, and this time, he doesn’t pull away.
“Better late than never.”