Chapter Text
As the leaves turn red and the new year peers around the corner, Fukuzawa finds himself in a predicament.
Or, more accurately, a mood, one that hinders his usual level of productivity and passion. Perhaps he’s been working too hard and is suffering from burnout. His conference last weekend drained his desire to be around people, and yet his job requires him to continue enduring human company. His backyard, splattered in autumn yellows and reds, becomes his refuge. A certain stray cat comes to see him while he’s there one day. Oddly, the cat reminds him a little of Natsume: regal, confident… the resemblance is almost too uncanny. Even the way the cat moves seems similar.
Oddly, he feels lonely even when surrounded by people. Sometimes, he imagines he hears a familiar voice: Atsushi’s, Dazai’s, one of the other countless students he has had over his almost two full decades of teaching. Or Ranpo, who hasn’t been around since his own good mood abandoned him.
Sometimes, that voice is Mori or Elise. It seems the riskiest to envision either of them calling out for all the implications people might read. At the conference, during the long conversations between panels, he consistently refrained from mentioning Mori by name, and the handful of times Mori came up as a topic of conversation, he simply nodded as if he were any other person, more for the sake of Mori’s secret than his own.
He half wonders if his mood has something to do with the sudden reduction in workload. His time as department chair is coming to an end soon, and while he won’t stop working entirely, he plans to take a bit of a break from responsibilities outside of teaching and research.
It’s hard to notice unhappiness while busy, he tells himself, rising and creeping inside.
He wanted to be alone, but now, he just feels lonely again.
Fukuzawa endures that state for a couple of days, but eventually, he feels he should reach out to someone. He just knows how dangerous it can be to contact Mori, especially considering the man is in the middle of a business deal while raising Elise as a single father. He shuts his eyes to enjoy the breeze blowing towards him, then caves and sends Mori a message. Can I call you soon?
He would say nothing is wrong, but that would be a lie. He’s not entirely sure what it is, so he mentally retraces his routine. He has worked out plenty, had enough tea, eaten the correct amount of food… he enjoys his current class. Right now, he’s in the sunlight. But there's still a lingering sense of emptiness or incompleteness…
Fukuzawa feels his phone vibrate in his hand and lifts it. The message is from Mori. Give me ten minutes. Is everything alright?
He knows it’s not, but the answer to that question feels complicated, or at least too complicated to properly explain at the moment.
Over the past few days, Fukuzawa has spent hours trying to thumb through books about philosophy in search of an answer or justification for how he’s feeling. He finds none in their pages, nor in his latest cup of tea. When the mood doesn’t abate, he wonders if he has simply hit an age where the somber sentiment lingers.
Something about it reminds him of Ranpo. The handful of times he has come to Fukuzawa’s house in a low, Fukuzawa imagines this is how Ranpo feels beneath the desolate expression.
His phone rings, drawing him out of his reverie, and he answers. “Mori-dono.”
“My apologies for the delay.”
Fukuzawa swallows his sigh.
“My head of international sales had some questions about a client. Now, what can I do for you?”
The sigh he has been holding back slips out.
“Fukuzawa-dono?”
“Nothing. Only… I had hoped just hearing your voice would solve the issue.”
“What issue?” Mori pauses. “Don’t tell me you’re calling me while—”
“I would never dream of such a thing,” Fukuzawa answers, contemplating the amusement in More tone. Eventually, he says, “Why do I get the feeling that was your secret hope?”
“Have I at least annoyed you?”
“Perhaps a bit. What you’re imagining is dangerous.”
Mori chuckles. “I suppose I prefer such things more in thought than in actuality.”
He says that, Fukuzawa tells himself, yet he’s the one who initiated our intimacy in his Audi. Clearing his throat, he admits, “I feel… off.”
“Off,” Mori echoes. “Like you’re catching a cold?”
“No, nothing like that. Physically, I feel healthy. It’s more a mood than a physical condition.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean…”
While he’s thinking, Mori chuckles. “Fukuzawa-dono, you’re struggling with your words. That’s quite rare.”
“I confess, I can’t recall a time I’ve ever felt like this.” Fukuzawa stares at the bottom of his cup. “It is… difficult to explain.”
“Would it be easier over dinner?”
Fukuzawa lifts his head.
“I make that offer not to pressure you, but to extend an invitation. Elise-chan keeps telling me she misses you.”
He ponders over that piece of information. Part of him wonders if Mori is just saying that to raise his spirits.
“And I admit, you’ve been on my mind recently.”
If he goes, it’s possible Mori will do something to jeopardize their secret. To Elise. She’d likely be the only one there. Even so, he doesn't feel like being exposed to anyone, especially not a child who would likely find some joy in the situation.
There is a saying that three people can keep a secret if two are dead, and while Hirotsu is still alive, still working as Mori’s vice president, and still protecting that secret with his usual level of commitment, Fukuzawa doesn’t think a child would have quite the same level of tact, especially if she found it as thrilling as he imagines she would.
“Yukichi…”
Fukuzawa inhales.
“Come over for dinner. I’d like to see you.”
“Okay,” he finally sighs, even though he’s not sure why he’s saying yes. “Okay.”
“Then… 7:30?”
“Yes,” Fukuzawa answers. “That is fine.”
“Shall I pick you up?”
“I can manage to get there,” Fukuzawa answers, studying his teacup and trying to figure out what he’s doing. “I’ll bring dessert.”
“Elise-chan will be thrilled, I’m sure.”
He can hear the smile in Mori’s voice.
“So will I, but not just for dessert.”
They disconnect soon after. Setting his phone down, Fukuzawa refocuses his attention on the tea. Even like this… He wraps his hands around the ceramic. Even when I’m like this, he makes me feel special with such a simple gesture…
For the rest of the afternoon, Fukuzawa drinks his tea and wanders from room to room, seeking out something to clean. He spends an hour in his garden swinging his sword. Even if it’s difficult, he’s glad he does it in the end.
When he arrives at Mori’s estate at 7:26 sharp with a plastic bag on his arm, he actually hesitates to knock. The sound of his knuckles against Mori’s front door cuts through him, deafeningly loud and mirroring the pounding of his heart.
Mori doesn’t answer the door. It’s Elise instead, who ushers him inside while rapidly chattering in German or English—he’s not sure which—and talks the whole time he’s removing his shoes. Besides that, her only assistance is holding the bag with the cake. The instant he rises, she grabs his hand and drags him through the house.
The first thing she says that he can understand is, “Rintaro is cooking.”
“And you,” Mori states without turning around, “should be doing your homework.”
Fukuzawa covers his mouth before he can snicker. He’s wearing the same cat apron he wore all those years ago.
“Elise-chan, could you put the cake in the fridge?”
“No way.”
Mori winces. “So harsh…”
Clearing his throat, Fukuzawa lowers his hand. “Elise.”
She whirls to him, still wearing a petulant frown.
“I’d like a moment alone with Mori-dono so we can talk about the sorts of things old men do.”
“The only old one is—” Mori begins.
“In the meantime,” Fukuzawa cuts in. “You should finish your homework.”
“Okay.”
Mori chokes. “And now, she’s listening to you… Elise-chan…”
Elise hands him the cake and sets her hands on her hips. “What is it?”
“You should know,” Elise begins, “Rintaro wore that apron because he knows you like cats.”
Mori whips around, a little flushed, but he doesn’t deny it.
“He says it’s to make you feel better, but I think it’s because he likes you.”
“Elise-chan, please… my heart can’t take your—”
Fukuzawa lowers his head. “I suspect he does, considering how long we have been friends.”
Elise looks up at him expectantly.
“What is it?”
“You’re supposed to pat my head now.”
“Ah. My apologies.” Once he does, Elise sends him a smile before darting out of the room. Fukuzawa watches her shadow disappear. “She has quite the energy,” Fukuzawa notes, approaching Mori’s refrigerator.
Mori’s face is still flushed. Quietly, he murmurs, “She about gave me a heart attack.”
Fukuzawa joins Mori at the chopping board.
“I hope nothing she said bothered you.”
“It was a bit surprising, but I don’t believe it did.” Fukuzawa gently takes the knife, and Mori relinquishes his position to stir the pot. “What are you making?”
Whatever Mori says is unintelligible. “Ah, sorry. It’s a kind of soup I’ve had in Germany. Light, but comforting.”
Fukuzawa stops chopping for a minute and sets the knife down. Mori continues to stir.
“I picked up a loaf of bread from a bakery. It’s not as good as German bread, but it will—”
Without knowing why, Fukuzawa sets his hand on Mori’s hips and rests his nose against the back of Mori’s neck. What he’s doing can only be defined as risky. Considering they’ve had sex in the front seat of Mori’s car, it’s not even the riskiest thing they’ve done.
Or perhaps it is, considering Elise is in the next room.
With a long sigh, he slides his fingers along Mori’s stomach and embraces him.
“Yukichi…”
“I can let go.”
“Don’t,” Mori continues to stir the pot. “I’ll just tell Elise-chan you were interested in dinner.”
Fukuzawa squeezes a little tighter, then relaxes his grasp. “I have no clue what’s wrong with me.”
“Who’s to say something is?”
“I am not myself,” Fukuzawa murmurs. “I am more tired than usual.”
“As I said, it’s because you’re o—”
“Mori-dono,” Fukuzawa retorts. “Are you really insulting me while I’m holding you like this?”
Mori instantly falls silent.
“Besides, you said thirty was old. Now that you are forty, what does that make you?”
Mori huffs. “I prefer the term well-seasoned.”
Fukuzawa parts his lips and sighs against the back of Mori’s neck. Mori definitely shudders, but it was less a conscious effort to rile him up and more a reflex he didn’t consider. Mindful of his breathing, Fukuzawa continues, “In truth, the mood I am in is… strange. I desire to be around people, yet when I am, I feel lonely and exhausted. When I am alone, I feel empty and idle. When I search for something to do, I just get tired again.” Squeezing Mori closer, he stares at the steaming pot. “So many things have lost their joy. I… didn’t know who else to reach out to.” He shuts his eyes. “I feel terrible for inconveniencing you this—”
“Fukuzawa-dono.” Mori shifts, and he opens his eyes to see Mori spooning a little of the soup into a dish. “If your presence here is an inconvenience, which it isn’t, it would be a most welcome one.”
To Fukuzawa’s surprise, Mori offers him the dish.
“Try this and see if it needs anything besides the fresh parsley you were chopping.”
The soup is simple, light, and a little salty. Lowering the dish, he stares down into Mori’s face and fights the urge to kiss him. Instead, he lowers his head, smiles, and says, “It’s perfect. Just what I needed.”
“Really?” Mori asks, beaming.
It’s so similar to the way Elise was that Fukuzawa pats Mori’s head without thinking. Mori throws him a startled look and tips his head. “Well done.”
He’s pretty sure Mori is still smiling about their moment in the kitchen while Elise harangues him relentlessly. The one thing she doesn’t complain about is the soup. Kicking her legs, she happily eats two bowls before finally asking, “So how come Yukichi is here?”
“Elise-chan, Fukuzawa-dono deserves a little more respect than that.”
Elise passes him a look, then swivels back to Mori and repeats the question word for word.
Mori lets out a sigh that sounds more lamenting than Fukuzawa’s entire mood and answers, “He’s just struggling a little.”
Elise tips her head and swivels to Fukuzawa. “With what?”
Mori just smiles and says something in German he can’t understand.
“What’s that?”
“A kind of sadness, but more intense,” he states, lifting his spoon. “What was it you said earlier? You felt lonely when you were with people?”
“Ah,” Fukuzawa murmurs, nodding. “I did.” He’s not really sure if Mori should be explaining that concept to a child, but he doesn’t think it’s his place to question it.
Elise stares at him for an unsettlingly long time before whirling to Mori and raising her fists, clenched in determination. “You have to fix it.”
Mori sets his spoon down. Fukuzawa can tell he’s exercising restraint.
“Rintaro, it’s your job.”
“I’m afraid it can’t be fixed,” Fukuzawa admits.
Elise whirls to him, her loose hair swaying, and puffs up. “He has to! If anyone can do it, Rintaro can, right? Because you came here to see him, you knew that.”
I see what he means by unsettling, Fukuzawa tells himself. Clearing his throat, he murmurs, “Mori-dono has already done a great deal to help. The food is exquisite, and as always, I take great peace in the familiarity of Mori-dono’s presence.”
“How come?”
Fukuzawa hums and considers his answer. He glances up to Mori, who smiles and shrugs.
“Philia?” Mori offers.
“Definitely philia,” Fukuzawa states, nodding. “Perhaps a bit of xenia on my part.”
Elise processes those words, turns to Mori, and asks something in German. Or English. He still can’t tell which. With a fond smile, Mori answers. He can only guess by the way Elise listens that she’s interested.
Oddly, those moments don’t make him feel like an outsider in a conversation he shouldn’t be listening to. Rather, he takes the opportunity to appreciate the food by honing his focus. The language always drifts back to Japanese eventually, though this time, before it does, Elise hops up and scampers away into the kitchen.
“Ah, I was just explaining Aristotle to Elise-chan. She went off to get the cake, declaring it the most supreme form of self-love.”
“I see,” Fukuzawa answers, biting back his smile before it emerges.
“She also tasked me with washing the dishes.”
“I can lend a hand if you like.”
Mori rises and chuckles. “That is quite a fond memory, washing dishes with you.”
Fukuzawa thinks back to their first kiss and rises. “I suppose it is.”
Partly due to Elise’s presence, neither Fukuzawa nor Mori initiate a repeat performance. The young child hums while cutting the cake, clearly thrilled at the prospect of sweets. Mori smiles into the sink, so Fukuzawa remains silent, wrapped in the domestic situation he has unexpectedly found himself in.
It could be like this every day. That realization, soft as it is, hurts. Because Mori is a man, and so is he, this will likely be a rare occurrence if it even happens again.
“Fukuzawa-dono.”
“Ah.” He reaches for the dish Mori hands him. Before taking it, their fingers touch briefly, almost as if Mori knows he needs some reassurance. He pulls the dish closer and dries it without remark.
After cake, Mori ushers Elise upstairs, insisting that she go to bed. “Fukuzawa-dono, you’re welcome to stay a bit longer.” He touches Elise’s back as she yawns. “Make yourself at home. I shouldn’t be long.”
It takes exactly eleven minutes. Fukuzawa washes the dessert dishes while his partner is gone. As he finishes up, he turns to find Mori leaning against the archway in, arms folded. “I didn’t realize you were there.”
“You know, when I said to make yourself at home, this isn’t exactly what I meant.”
“I saw no point in delaying the dishes.”
“Still…” Mori stops directly in front of him. “I thought perhaps you’d make some tea.”
Fukuzawa considers the offer. “Do you have something stronger?”
That question ends with them in Mori’s study upstairs with a bottle of whiskey between them. They start on opposite sofas, but before long, Mori coaxes Fukuzawa onto his. He has no idea where this is going, and with the alcohol, he cares just a little less. “Yukichi…” Mori’s fingers walk up his arm, and Fukuzawa finds himself captivated by Mori’s supernatural gaze. “I know you are struggling, but I think I would appreciate it if you read a little to me.”
Fukuzawa nods. “What would you prefer?”
“As amusing as it would be to hear you fight your way through something related to game theory, Nicomachean Ethics, book eight.”
Fukuzawa rises and searches for the volume on Mori’s shelf. He winds up pulling the German version first. Swapping it for one in a language he can read, Fukuzawa returns to the sofa and flips through the pages. Finding his spot, Fukuzawa clears his throat and prepares to read.
Before he starts, Mori hugs his arm and rests against it, passing him the most beguiling look. “I’m listening, Fukuzawa-dono.”
Fukuzawa lets out a breath and hopes the whiskey hasn’t made his tongue clumsy. “After what we have said,” he begins, “a discussion of friendship would naturally follow, since it is a virtue or implies virtue, and is besides most necessary with a view to living. For without friends, no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods; even rich men and those in possession of office and of dominating power are thought to need friends most of all…”
Despite the alcohol, he reads with confidence in a steady voice. He only stops when Mori squeezes his arm tighter.
“Mori-dono?”
“I understand the feeling you mentioned earlier well. Better than perhaps you realize.”
He glances down to see Mori frowning.
“I am only sorry I selfishly asked for something when I’m the one who should be doing everything in my power to allay that feeling.”
Fukuzawa stares into the pages. His mouth has stopped moving, but his eyes still are.
“Forgive me.”
“What for?”
“My selfishness.”
Fukuzawa hums. “I hardly call this selfish.”
“My inadequacy, then.”
Fukuzawa sets the book down for a moment and slips a finger under Mori’s chin. The instant their eyes meet, Fukuzawa inhales. “Ougai, you have been so many things in the nearly two decades we have known each other, but you have never once been inadequate.”
“Even when I’m a mess because it’s nearly March.”
“Not then.”
Mori swallows. “Not when I get clingy because of sake.”
“Not even then,” Fukuzawa reassures him.
Mori thinks for a moment before saying, “Not even when my plans for the front seat of my car—”
Fukuzawa stops Mori with his lips. Somehow, that feels less risky than letting Mori talk about sex. Because if he talks about it, Fukuzawa knows he’ll likely end up wanting it. Mori’s eyes widen until he worries he’ll fall into them, but then, they sink shut, and Mori kisses back. It never goes further than a few gentle pecks. Mori’s hand winds up in his hair for once, but they just stare at each other. Lifting his hand, Fukuzawa brushes that piece of hair out of Mori’s face, the one with the mind of its own.
“I wish time would stand still.”
Fukuzawa blinks at the statement. It’s a simple one, but so beautiful, it makes him ache a little.
“I wish you never had to leave,” Mori continues. His hands leave Fukuzawa’s hair and press against his face instead. “And I wish above all else that every time you needed comfort, I could be there for you.”
He nearly loses his breath as Mori’s eyes drift shut. Their foreheads and noses touch. They could kiss again, but they don’t. And they don’t need to.
“I know those wishes are pointless. Still, I… can’t pretend they don’t exist. No happiness ever came from me ignoring my wishes before.” Mori smiles. “I imagine you consider me learning that your greatest moment as a teacher.”
“No,” he answers, smoothing Mori’s face. “But it is my proudest moment as your partner.”
He didn’t think Mori’s smile could get any brighter, but it does for a moment before he slumps into Fukuzawa’s arms and hugs him.
This, too, is love in a way: holding Mori while he nurses his own hurt. It’s possible Mori feels hurt of his own, but they’re holding each other. That doesn’t take the pain away. It does, however, make it more bearable.
Eventually, Fukuzawa realizes they both nodded off at some point. Blinking, Fukuzawa glances down to find Mori snoring on his chest. His neck hurts a bit, but once he stretches, he wakes up enough. “Mori-dono,” he murmurs, shaking Mori’s shoulder.
The man continues to doze.
Biting back a sigh, Fukuzawa glances at his partner. Careful not to bump against the coffee table, Fukuzawa gathers Mori in his arms and paces down the hall. He still remembers where Mori’s bedroom is. Once there, he uses the hallway light to locate Mori’s bed and lay him down. He removes Mori’s tie, mostly for comfort, and softly brushes Mori’s hair out of his face. After a moment, he turns to leave.
He’s stopped. By a grip on the sleeve of his haori, by the soft sound of his given name. “Yukichi.”
Swallowing, he turns around to see Mori clutching his clothing.
“Stay.”
What will one night hurt? he asks himself, nodding his silent agreement.
In the morning, Mori is still with him under the covers, studying him. He knows he should go, but he doesn’t feel ready.
“You should go,” Mori murmurs.
“I should go,” Fukuzawa agrees, but instead of rising to leave, he holds Mori tighter.
He leaves before Elise wakes up. Mori sees him off at the door. It takes him until he gets all the way home to realize his yukata is still in Mori’s bed.
I’ll retrieve it at a later date, he tells himself, shutting his front door.
Fukuzawa makes himself a cup of tea, then grabs his sword and sits alone at his dining room table. Well, not totally alone. His desire to return to Mori’s arms and his inability to both sit with him. Eventually, he finds a way forward through his day just like always.
He doesn’t expect a knock at his door in the evening. He especially doesn’t expect Mori to be standing there with a bag in his hand or the shyness with which he offers it. Reluctantly, Fukuzawa reaches out to take it, his fingers brushing against Mori’s gloved ones.
Out of nowhere, Mori announces, “I asked Hirotsu-san to watch Elise tonight.”
Fukuzawa jolts, and his eyes fly to Mori’s face. As always, the businessman is smiling, and his eyes are the same enticing, borderline supernatural blend of violet and red. As deep in his disbelief as he is, his hand moves on its own, first skimming Mori’s glove. When his fingers reach Mori’s wrist, he grasps it softly and delivers a gentle tug, a silent invitation that Mori takes as he steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind them.
It's a shame, Fukuzawa thinks, wrestling Mori’s tie off as they kiss. It’s such a shame… that our love is the sort that must be shut away like this. He stops to exchange looks with Mori, then finds himself being pulled back down.
He tells himself the hope that things will change one day is a vain one. At the same time, as the paper bag hits the floor and Mori pushes his yukata open, he finds himself more than capable of enjoying Mori despite all the obstacles that could prevent them from doing so.