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The first time Shunsuke kissed Kikuo, it was clearly a joke.
Kikuo had been helping the other boy with his math homework (neither of them were particularly skilled at it, but together they made it work.) Their heads were bent over their notebooks, knees brushing against each other under the kotatsu as a cold winter wind battered the windows.
“I don’t think that’s… Something still isn’t right here,” Kikuo said, eyes flickering over the page. They had been at this particular problem for a while, and their collective frustration was mounting slowly but steadily. Shunsuke snorted, tapping the end of his pencil in a rhythm that Kikuo recognized but couldn’t place. Was it from a play?
“No shit! That’s why I’m asking you,” Shunsuke grumbled. Kikuo just hummed, running a hand through his hair.
“Are you sure you’re using the right formula? Because the problem is about surface area, not volume.” Shunsuke’s brows furrowed as he stared at his own paper for a second before something evidently clicked.
“Oh! Yes!” Before he could even respond, Kikuo felt his head being grabbed, Shunsuke’s lips smacking rather unglamorously against his cheek. “You’re a genius, Kiku-chan!” Kikuo couldn’t help but laugh even as he wiped at his face.
“You know damn well I’m not!”
“Not about this, no,” Shunsuke said, already starting to scribble down the solution, “But you are when you dance.” Kikuo shoved at Shunsuke’s shoulder.
“Now I really know you’re bullshitting me. I still have the bruises from our lesson two days ago!” Shunsuke chuckled and shoved him back.
“Who said geniuses never got bruises, huh? Don’t you think Isaac Newton got a bruise when the apple hit him on the head?” Kikuo laughed, full-bodied, falling back onto the tatami mat. When he looked up at Shunsuke’s grinning face, he couldn’t help but wish that they could always be like this.
Together, and happy.
The second time Shunsuke kissed Kikuo, it was clearly a mistake.
They had both been drinking, the geishas at the teahouse doing their job of refilling their cup over and over again. Now they were both slouched over the windowsill in the hallway, cooling their faces with the damp midnight air
“Kiku-chan…” Shunsuke whined, his arm slung around Kikuo’s waist, “Why are you ignoring me?” Kikuo blinked heavily.
“What? I’m not ignoring you.” It was impossible to ignore Shunsuke, everybody knew that.
“Yes you are! You left with that girl, that geiko…” Shunsuke frowned, “I missed you.” Kikuo shook his head in bewilderment, which unfortunately made him quite dizzy.
“What are you even talking about? I came back, didn’t I?” He asked. “I came back, and then you said ‘I’m gonna vomit,’ so I brought you to the toilet and then you didn’t vomit and now we’re here!”
“I know but it’s… It’s not enough.” Shunsuke murmured. Kikuo looked at Shunsuke, at his flushed face and his mussed hair, the bead of sweat resting precariously on his browbone.
How could Mangiku-san call him beautiful, when people like Shunsuke existed? He was the beautiful one, the one who shone like the sun, dragging everyone towards him with the intensity of a gravitational pull. Kikuo was just his shadow, the moon desperately trying to circle closer and closer to Shunsuke only for his orbit to pull him out and away again.
“What’s not enough?” Kikuo asked.
“You’re… You’re not here enough, Kiku-chan. You’re here, but you’re never with me,” Shunsuke said, his face starting to contort with sorrow, his eyes wet with tears, “Your eyes… They’re so far away…” Kikuo shifted, clumsily pulling Shunsuke into a hug.
“You’re drunk, Shunbon.”
“So are you, idiot,” Shunsuke mumbled as he shuffled in closer, burying his face in Kikuo’s neck. It reminded Kikuo of Harue, how she would cling to him and kiss the hollows of his collarbone, sweet and gentle.
“We should go home,” He said, rubbing Shunsuke’s back. Then he felt it: the unmistakable press of lips against his throat. Shunsuke’s lips.
“Take me home, Kiku-chan,” He whispered, soft enough to be a prayer, or a wish upon a falling star.
When they woke up the next morning, neither of them said anything about what had happened.
Much to Kikuo’s disappointment.
The third time Shunsuke kissed Kikuo, it wasn’t a mistake.
They had stayed up late practicing for Wisteria Maiden, going over every step over and over again until their bodies started to shake and their eyes couldn’t focus properly.
“No more, Kiku-chan…” Shunsuke groaned, his limbs sprawled haphazardly all over the floor of the studio stage, “Please, have mercy on me.” Kikuo snorted, setting down his pole.
“We’re only a week away from the performance, you know.” Shunsuke waved a hand dismissively.
“I know, I know. I’m just trying to make it there in one piece, sue me.” Kikuo laughed, dragging their towels over and tossing one to Shunsuke.
It was so easy, to talk to Shunsuke. Many times the other man would just know Kikuo’s thoughts before Kikuo even said them out loud. Which was a blessing, really, especially during interviews with the press. There was something about journalists that made Kikuo clam up, turning him into some kind of bumbling (albeit polite) fool who defaulted to the same trite sayings over and over again.
Not Shunsuke though, he had more than enough charm and charisma for both of them. Maybe it was the Hanai blood, all those previous generations of actors and artists shaping Shunsuke’s personality into something warm and lovable. Kikuo stood up, tossing his towel over his shoulder as he grabbed a glass of water from the small table near the prop closet.
“Did it hurt?” Shunsuke suddenly asked.
“Did what hurt?”
“Don’t be an idiot, you know what I’m talking about.” Kikuo gulped down his water before turning back around. Why was Shunsuke asking about his irezumi now, of all times?
“Yeah, it did.” He had cried a little, towards the end of it. Harue hadn’t, but he did. He remembered how odd it had been to him at the time, how the pain had made them switch like that. How the sensitive Harue had turned into a stone the moment the needle touched her skin while the yakuza’s son had wept like a child. Maybe all women were like that, though.
Shunsuke’s mouth quirked to the side in a grimace.
“I just don’t really get it, you know? Why someone would go through all of that?” Kikuo walked back over, sitting down next to his partner.
“It’s about loyalty,” He explained, “You commit yourself to the pain to show that you have the strength to stand up for your family and what you believe in.” Shunsuke pushed himself upright.
“I suppose…” He glanced down at his toes. “What d’you think I would get, if I had an irezumi? A tiger? A samurai?” Kikuo chuckled.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“A koi.” Shunsuke blinked.
“Koi?” Kikuo nodded.
“For your perseverance. Just like the koi swims upstream against the current, so you’ve been training all your life to be a proper kabuki actor. It suits you.” Shunsuke smiled, and something about the softness of it and the way the overhead light made his skin glow like polished gold made Kikuo want to curl up against him.
“Am I gonna turn into a dragon then, is that what you’re saying?”
“Maybe. A dragon is kind of a beautiful monster, isn’t it?” Shunsuke leaned in, their faces close enough for Kikuo to count the spots on his cheekbone.
“Do you really think dragons are beautiful?” Shunsuke asked. I think you’re beautiful, Kikuo thought.
“They can be,” He said.
“But koi are more beautiful.” Kikuo nodded.
“Yeah.” Suddenly his vision was flooded with nothing but Shunsuke, the man closing the distance between them and kissing Kikuo directly on the mouth. It both lasted forever and also was gone in a second, a barely-there brush of dry lips. Shunsuke pulled back quickly like he’d been electrocuted.
“Sorry… Sorry, Kiku-chan.”
“Shunbon-”
“No. Don’t.” Kikuo reached out a hand but Shunsuke just drew further away. “I’m going to bed.” Kikuo heard the sounds of him walking away, the rattling of the shoji screen, but he couldn’t do anything about it. There was this deep ache in his chest like he’d swallowed a stone. Was he crying? He felt like he needed to, for some reason.
In a sudden burst of cruel humor, rain started to clink against the tiles of the roof.
Kikuo didn’t fall asleep until the final drop.
Rehearsals started for Ninin Dojoji, and Shunsuke still hadn’t spoken to him. Not a single word outside of work.
Kikuo didn’t know what to do, and the bewildered and often pitying looks of the people around him weren’t helping. He tried to focus on the play, but his mind was untethered. Hanjiro-san called his performances ‘empty’ and ‘stiff’ and it made him want to throw himself off a bridge. Why couldn’t he just be normal anymore?
It also wasn’t helped by the fact that Shunsuke fell back into his old habits, going out and drinking until the early hours of the morning, stumbling back smelling like beer and women’s perfume.
“Kiku-chan…” Harue said, her voice soft as they both sat in her apartment one night, “Did you and Shun-chan have a fight? I’m worried about you both.” Kikuo shook his head.
“I don’t… I don’t know.” It hadn’t really been a fight, it had been something different. Something worse. Something that seemed to hold everything in the balance. Harue placed a hand on his face, and suddenly Kikuo was fifteen again, small and weak and fresh off failing to avenge the death of his father.
How Harue had ever seen anything in that boy was a mystery to him.
“Go talk to him,” She said, “I think Shun-chan cares about you, you know. In his own way. He’s probably just as unhappy as you are. Your souls have always reflected each other’s like that.” Kikuo just nodded, swallowing as he leaned into her touch.
“Yeah.” The walk back home felt like it was a million miles long, but Kikuo arrived eventually. He went directly to Shunsuke’s room, knocking silently.
“Come in!” When he opened the door, he saw Shunsuke sitting on the floor, writing something in a journal. “Ah, Kiku-chan…”
“Please don’t leave again,” Kikuo said, shifting to stand in front of the doorway, “I need to tell you something.” Shunsuke set down his pencil.
“Okay. What is it?” Kikuo kneeled down. He had been thinking for a while about what he would say, but suddenly all those nice, well-thought-out phrases left his head in a flash.
“I… I miss you.” Shunsuke’s brows furrowed and he looked away.
“No you don’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well… You have Haru-chan don’t you?” Kikuo blinked in confusion.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You love her,” Shunsuke said, like an accusation. Love… Did Kikuo love Harue?
Love seemed like such a weighty word to use for what they had. Love was the indomitable thing that made characters kill themselves in kabuki plays, the force that transformed a beast into a beautiful woman. Love made the flowers dance, the breeze sing. He had never felt like that about Harue.
“No I don’t. I don’t love her.” Shunsuke clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“So you’re just leading her on, then? Jeez, I knew you were a piece of shit but I didn’t know it went that far.” Kikuo felt his blood start to boil.
“Like you have any room to talk. How many broken hearts are out there in Osaka, because of you? How many little Hanai Hanjiro the Fourths have you made with your carelessness?” Shunsuke launched himself forward, grabbing onto his collar.
“Say that again,” He said, his voice low and threatening. Yet all Kikuo could think about was how grateful he was that Shunsuke was touching him again. How relieved he was, to finally be close like they used to be. He reached out, putting his hand against Shunsuke’s chest.
“You know… I don’t have anyone, Shunbon. I’m an orphan. I live off your father’s misplaced generosity and your mother’s neverending patience.” He stared directly into Sunsuke’s eyes, those deep pools of a brown so dark they were practically black. “All I have is my art.”
“So what?” Shunsuke asked, “What does that-”
“And you. Because…” Kikuo swallowed, “Because you are a part of my art. You are a part of me. Without you I’m… I’m nothing. Can’t you see?” He grabbed Shunsuke’s shirt, fingers digging into the fabric. Shunsuke looked like he’d been shot.
“Kiku-chan…” Kikuo didn’t let him finish, surging forward and capturing his mouth in a desperate kiss. It was messy, and used far too much teeth, but it was perfect. Perfect because it was Shunsuke. His mouth, the scrape of his stubble against Kikuo’s chin.
“Come back to me. Please,” Kikuo begged, “I missed you so fucking much, please Shunbon. I don’t…” And then Shunsuke wrapped his arms around him, one hand resting on the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Shhh… It’s okay,” He whispered, “You have me, Kiku-chan. You always have me.” And then he’s kissing Kikuo, just like he had before, but more. Ever so delightfully more. And Kikuo is like clay in his hands, a bottomless pit that accepts everything Shunsuke pours into it.
He loves him. He loves Shunsuke. He loves Shunsuke more than anything. He would die for Shunsuke, he would live for him. He would move an entire mountain if it meant they could spend the rest of their lives like this, so utterly intertwined that he couldn’t tell where Shunsuke ended and he began.
They ended up sharing Shunsuke’s futon that night, the warm skin of his chest pressed against Kikuo’s owl. Two bodies, two souls, draped around each other.
“You’re beautiful, Kiku-chan,” Shunsuke whispered. Kikuo took Shunsuke’s hand and pressed a kiss to the soft inside of his wrist.
“So are you, Shunbon.”