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norihisahyuga-archived · 7 years

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In Awe.

Numai Mitsuru/Kiriyama Kazuo Battle Royale 2000~ words. Sfw.

Mitsuru leaves Kazuo at home with his nephew so he can go to work. Coming home makes him nervous as to what he might find. Foolish, of course, as if Kazuo is anything but perfect at everything. Non-Program, modern AU, all grown up.

He would like to believe they’ve grown up enough to make this work, one way or another, even if it strains them a little and pushes them to limits they did not know they had. Mitsuru understands responsibility now, more so than when he was younger and simply following in Kazuo’s footsteps, eager to please and determined to prove his worth. Kazuo is still quiet and poised and sometimes too perfect to seem human, has gained an elegance with age. He’s still as blank as ever, impossible to read, sometimes impossibly shallow and other times too deep for human eyes.

Kazuo has always been mature, of course, had carried himself differently even at the age of fifteen with eyes as seemingly old as the earth even though they rarely flickered in anything beyond a spectrum of “interest” and “disinterest.” His ability to consider logic and fact above emotion had made him even more mysterious to Mitsuru when they were kids.

At least, Mitsuru tells himself all of this on the ride home, tapping the steering wheel nervously.

He has a job outside of the house, unlike Kazuo, who works from home. That meant leaving his nephew at home with his husband, and while he knows Kazuo can handle himself around children just fine, he’s never had to handle himself around a child like Sora. The very real fear that something could have easily gone wrong between the two of them has gnawed at Mitsuru all day.

And if something did go wrong, it would be his fault. He had been the one who insisted to Kazuo they had to keep the boy, that he had no one else and Mitsuru couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go. He was the last piece of Kimiko left in this world, after all.

The thought of his younger sister makes Mitsuru’s gut twist. Losing her had been harder than he would have ever believed. She had left home determined to never come back, to never contact them, and now there is no way for any of them to make things right with her.

His eyes sting as he pulls into the driveway of the home he and Kazuo share, and he squeezes his eyes shut, telling himself to calm down so that he doesn’t risk upsetting Sora. The house is nothing like the spacious mansion Kazuo had lived in practically alone, so cold and impersonal Mitsuru doesn’t understand how he didn’t go mad within those quiet walls. This house is warm and full of the life the two of them have been able to make together, and he can only hope they have room here for Sora, that the warmth here will be enough to help him feel better.

The walk to the front door seems longer than usual, and he chalks that up to nerves and fatigue. Nothing seems out of place as he unlocks the front door, startled by the quiet melody of music as he steps into the living room. The room itself is empty, as if no one has been here all day.

It takes him little time to realize that there has been life downstairs today, though there is none presently. There are dishes in the sink waiting to be loaded into the dishwasher, and pictures he doesn’t recognize taped to the front of the refrigerator; he pauses to kneel down and examine them, smiling softly to himself. The music isn’t coming from downstairs and as he walks upstairs, searching for the two he knows have to be here, he quickly realizes the music is coming from the master bedroom, the room he and Kazuo have shared since they chose this house together. On the way, he peeks into Sora’s bedroom, finding it neatly in order, though the stuffed bear he had brought with him from home is missing.

The bedroom door is cracked open, and he knocks quietly on the frame before pushing it open, surprised at what he finds. The bed, usually made, is a rumpled mess. Kazuo sits leaning against the pillows, his arms folded around Sora, his chin resting on top of the boy’s head. Sora has Kazuo’s lap desk, is quietly drawing away, a box of crayons on top of the comforter, his bear next to him.

“Hello, Mitsuru,” Kazuo says, his voice as even and calm as ever; Sora peeks up and smiles, wiggling his fingers in Mitsuru’s direction. “How was work?”

“It was the usual, I guess.” Mitsuru tries not to let this sight boggle him too much. Kazuo has always kept a casual distance from most people, had learned intimacy from their relationship more than from actually seeking it himself. He would never have thought Kazuo could be capable of this, whatever this is. “Did you two have a good day, then?”

“I suppose you could call it that. It has been fairly quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Mitsuru is shocked to hear this, to say the least, because he has learned how Kazuo speaks, and he knows what this phrase means. Ever since coming to stay with them, Sora has had bouts of PTSD, flashbacks to horrible things Mitsuru wished he’d never had to see. Kazuo must have been careful to make sure nothing would trigger him; the thought makes Mitsuru’s stomach jump. “Sora is quite an artist, did you know? He’s been drawing for most of the day and is very talented.”

“You would know.” Mitsuru shrugs out of his suit jacket, folds it neatly and lays it at the foot of the bed before coming around to kiss Kazuo’s temple. “You’ve always been very artistic.”

Kazuo merely shrugs a shoulder at the compliment. “Look at this picture. He’s drawing us.”

For someone who is only six years old, Sora does have talent, there is no denying that, and Mitsuru sits on the edge of the bed to get a better look. He’s been careful to capture as much detail as possible, something Mitsuru would not have thought possible for someone so young.

“That is very good.” Mitsuru stretches out a hand, carefully ruffling what hair he can reach without making Kazuo move his head. “You’re doing a really great job, kiddo.”

Sora beams at him before returning to his work, and Mitsuru wonders if he’s ever going to hear his nephew’s voice beyond the screams that his flashbacks and nightmares bring.

“When he’s a bit older, I’ll teach him how to paint,” Kazuo says, and Mitsuru blinks at him, more than a little shocked now. Who is this Kazuo, so willing to show affection to a child?

Sora draws for a bit longer before Mitsuru convinces him to come downstairs so they can make dinner. It’s only after he’s been bathed and tucked into bed, his bear hugged tight against his chest and lulled into slumber by a bedtime story Kazuo volunteers to read him, that Mitsuru can process.

He knows what Kazuo is and is not capable of, knows that Kazuo has been living with brain damage for most of his natural born life and that not even the most extreme and risky surgery can change him. And Mitsuru has always been fine with that, can love Kazuo with all of his heart and can understand that Kazuo isn’t capable of loving back, that him being here is as good as it gets.

To see Kazuo able to show tenderness and care to Sora like this… Is eye-opening in more ways than one, because Mitsuru knows he’s making the effort. It isn’t as if being around a child is calling up some otherwise hidden paternal instincts, because Kazuo just is not capable of that level of emotion. He’s going out of his way to do this for Sora instead, and that’s… Mitsuru is in awe.

He’s always in awe of Kazuo, of course, has been since the moment they met when Kazuo saved him from being further brutalized. He’s been in awe of Kazuo’s beauty, his grace, his skill in combat and his ability to master any and every subject that comes his way. Some of them he keeps; he paints when he isn’t busy with work, and while he never keeps the paintings, Mitsuru has convinced him over time to sell them so that the work will be kept alive and vibrant.

That awe was what led to him chasing Kazuo all through college, a university they attended together. It led to him asking Kazuo to marry him before either of them graduated, and the fact Kazuo said yes, and has stayed, has kept him in perpetual awe. But seeing Kazuo being gentle and warm with a child— Nothing is going to top that. He’s certain of it.

It’s only when they’re in their bedroom with the door almost shut that he can wrap a hand around the back of Kazuo’s neck and pull him closer. “You amaze me, you know that?”

“I believe that was in your wedding vows, yes,” Kazuo says.

“Awful.” Mitsuru presses his nose against Kazuo’s cheek. “You’re already an amazing father.”

Kazuo hums and leans against him, and Mitsuru takes the offering, wrapping his arms around Kazuo and holding him close, drinking him in. Though various people had insisted throughout the years that they would not work out because Kazuo would never be able to love as hard and as deep as Mitsuru always had, they’ve lasted this long. And maybe it isn’t the relationship anyone else would have wanted, but it works for them. It works for Mitsuru, because even if Kazuo doesn’t, even if Kazuo can’t return his feelings, he’s here. He’s still here, and he sees Mitsuru as someone worthy of his time, and his future, and that says enough for Mitsuru.

“I merely did what I thought was appropriate given the situation.” Kazuo’s hand wraps around the back of his neck, keeping him there, and Mitsuru chuckles, nuzzling his cheek a bit more. “Sora is your nephew and he means a lot to you. It was only right that I do my best to care for him.”

“I wish you knew how above and beyond your best is. Sometimes I don’t think you realize just how amazing you are.” Mitsuru murmurs the words into his skin.

Kazuo is quiet for a moment before he turns his head, his nose brushing against Mitsuru’s. “Well, then it is lucky you are here to put it into perspective for me.”

Mitsuru kisses him. Arms as tight around Kazuo as he dares, their lips mere inches apart, he closes the slight distance between them and kisses his husband. Kazuo’s lips are as soft as they’ve ever been and their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. No one has ever fit so perfectly in Mitsuru’s embrace, not like Kazuo does, and he doubts anyone else ever will. Other than the few people who had come before Kazuo, he’s never had the opportunity to test his theory out by holding anyone else. God, once Kazuo came along, there had been no one else who mattered…

When Kazuo’s arms settle around his shoulders, a light weight but a firm reminder that Kazuo is here, and warm, and kissing him back, and his… Mitsuru pulls him just a little bit closer, kisses him just a bit more firmly. Kazuo doesn’t have to feel for him, love him, because Mitsuru can love more than enough for the both of them. He’s always been able to.

“Had I known you were this moved by excellent parenting, perhaps I would have suggested adoption prior to now,” Kazuo murmurs, and Mitsuru would almost say that’s a joke, but Kazuo has never been anything more than factual in his life, and so he has to laugh, because it’s just so Kazuo. “You need not worry, Mitsuru. I believe Sora has come to like me.”

“How could he not?” Mitsuru asks, brushing long black strands out of Kazuo’s eyes.

“What a question.” Kazuo shakes his head. “Come, I’m tired. Let’s get some rest.”

They know each other well enough that Kazuo doesn’t make a noise when Mitsuru picks him up off of the floor and carries him to bed, arms looped easy around his neck.

#battle royale #kazuo kiriyama #mitsuru numai #*f: mine #f: br #f: kazuru #otp: bad together

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