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It’s just dinner, Kurosawa says in earnest, grasping both of Haruta’s hands in his. Surely that’s alright?
Haruta agrees because he doesn’t know how to say no to his boss. Still doesn’t days later as they stroll along the waterfront, soaking in the last rays of sunshine as the setting sun slips below the city skyline. Haruta’s heart beats fast in his chest, but beside him Kurosawa is calm. Peaceful. The contentment he radiates is a balm to Haruta’s soul, soothing his nerves the way Kurosawa always does before an important client meeting or corporate event. Where Haruta is chaos personified, the chief is steadfast, an anchor to be depended on. Not only a boss, but a leader Haruta can look up to.
Only, right now they are no longer superior and subordinate. Right now they’re supposed to be on a date--or at least that’s what Kurosawa had written in his planner about this meeting, outlined with a heart in red ink. Haruta hadn’t meant to see the appointment when he’d stepped into the chief’s office to grab the client list, but his daily planner had been lying out in the open for anyone to see. Really, Haruta had done him a favor by slamming it shut and sprinting out of the office. And when he’d checked his folder that evening and seen a comment from the chief inviting him to meet at the park at 7pm? Well, it’s not as if he could refuse.
Besides, so far Kurosawa has adhered to the promise he made to Haruta. Whilst pursuing his divorce he hasn’t done anything untoward, though Haruta can tell from the way he holds himself that the distance between them is painful for Kurosawa, at times almost unbearably so.
I want to see you so much that I shiver.
Remembering these words now makes Haruta tremble a bit too. No one has ever said anything like that to him before, has ever treated him with such tenderness and care. It feels good in a selfish sort of way, which makes him feel guilty and confused.
“Harutan.”
Kurosawa pauses on their loop through the park to stare out over the railing. Haruta mimics him so that they’re standing side-by-side, elbows not quite close enough to touch. On the other side of the fence the ground veers sharply toward the riverbank, the water below glittering gold in the dying light.
“I want to say thank you for being patient with me these past few weeks,” Kurosawa begins after a steadying breath. “I know it can’t have been easy on you.”
Haruta twists his fingers around the metal railing until they hurt. “Please, Chief. Don’t apologize. Really, I can’t take it.”
“But I need you to hear it.” Kurosawa says as his hand comes up to cover Haruta’s own on the railing. His palm is warm and dry and halts Haruta’s efforts to rub blisters into his skin, his pathetic attempt at self-flagellation. “I must confess, I thought these past ten years had been difficult, wanting you from afar. But it’s been nothing compared to these past few weeks. My body aches for you so strongly I can neither eat nor sleep. But it’s important to me that we do this the right way.”
Kurosawa turns to him then, and Haruta feels his stomach twist into a million little knots. His gentle brown eyes are bright and shiny, but there’s a trace of worry in the lines around his mouth that makes Haruta want to burst into tears of apology. Kurosawa’s is a face that should never be in pain.
“Harutan…” The hand not currently holding Haruta’s comes up to cup his cheek. “I have asked so much of you already, and you have been so patient with me. Please wait for me just a little longer.”
Almost without his permission, Haruta finds himself jerking his head in a bow, voice cracking around his reply. “Understood.” He’s wretched. Utterly and completely wretched, a coward of the worst kind, but at least one of them is happy at this moment. At least Kurosawa is smiling.
Kurosawa’s fingertips tighten slightly on Haruta’s jaw. “Thank you. You are so good to me, you know. Better than I deserve.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“I’m not.” Haruta reaches up to try to remove the chief’s hand from his face, but somehow he just ends up cupping it closer. “I’m not good. I’m awful, actually. Horrible, in fact.”
“You aren’t,” Kurosawa says firmly, taking a step forward. The toes of their shoes are just barely brushing, yet Haruta can feel the heat emanating from the chief’s body as if they were locked in an embrace. “Harutan... You are so much better than you know. I’ve done my best over the years to show you, but clearly I haven’t done enough. I wasn’t able to without giving myself away. I promise you, once we are together I will do everything in my power to prove to you how good and perfect you are. I’ll let you know in a million little ways every day. Harutan…”
Haruta is crying silently now, though that’s not unusual for him, and it’s probably difficult for the chief to tell with his head still bowed.
“Harutan, look at me.”
Haruta obeys, raising his head the fraction necessary to make eye contact.
Kurosawa looks unspeakably fond as his thumb tilts Haruta’s chin further up. Haruta can feel the warmth of his tears smear across his cheek, and realizes the chief is wiping them for him at the last possible second. “Hush now. It pains me to see you cry like this. If I could, I would kiss these tears away. I would…” Kurosawa’s brow furrows, and he leans in a bit closer, so that Haruta can smell the spice of his cologne. “If you would allow me, I would kiss you right now. Can I.. can I kiss you?”
A slew of unintelligible noises leave Haruta’s mouth in a rush. “Here?” he squeaks, darting a glance around the empty greenspace. “Now?”
“There’s no one here but us.”
“You don’t know that.” The chief’s wife is a master spy. She could be watching, waiting to spring out from behind that bush, or that water fountain--not that Haruta can tell Kurosawa that. How could he even begin to explain without giving everything else away in the process? “Anyone could be lurking," he says instead, anxiously scanning their surroundings. "They could have a-a camera.”
“Then we’d better make it a quick one,” Kurosawa says, smoothing yet more tears from Haruta’s cheeks.
Haruta doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels frozen under Kurosawa’s gaze, those deep-set eyes filled to the brim with such pure, unabashed affection. Anyone’s heart would beat faster when faced with such a thing, Haruta thinks. After all, he’s only a man, and he’s never been kissed before either, let alone at sunset. In the past, it was always Haruta doing the kissing, pursuing others who merely tolerated his presence before tossing him aside. His heart has never been cherished before, cradled as if it were something precious. Until now.
Kurosawa takes such good care of him--has done so for ten years, loving him from afar so softly and so gently. Why shouldn’t Haruta give of himself in return? After all, he thinks, as he shuts his eyes and braces himself for contact, it’s just one kiss. Surely that’s alright?