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Rei knows about dogs.
He had one when he was young — in a way. It was technically his father’s, who kept it in a metal cage most of the time. Rei was only allowed to feed it sometimes — just often enough that his little fingertips grew familiar with the feeling of all that thick, hulking fur. It wasn’t a kind dog by any means, but it was warm and would sometimes lick at Rei’s wrist if he scratched the right spot behind its ears. No one ever touched Rei if they could help it.
Sometimes, Kazuki reminds him of that dog. Rei’s partner is all tilted head and shaggy hair and loyalty — loyalty to a fault. Heart bigger than Rei knows what to do with. On the days where Rei finds himself less grouchy than usual (they’ve been coming more and more since Miri careened slapdash and perfect into their lives), he almost feels like reaching out to rub his smiley head — almost.
But Rei knows what happens when you pet a dog too much.
One humid night (his birthday, he remembers, consistent with his father’s particular brand of spectacular cruelty), he was dragged outside, deposited directly in front of the metal bars of the cage as a knife was pressed into his hand. You know what to do, Rei, whispered coldly, impersonally into his ear. His heart sank as the door swung open, removing the barrier that had always been between him and the dog.
Its brown eyes narrowed and its hackles raised as Rei stood there helplessly, knife in hand, tears spilling over his cheeks and onto his neck. He shook his head frantically as he looked back at his father. Please, please, please, Papa. Don’t. Don’t make me do it, please, please —
Always those four words. I’m not your father. And always that steely set jaw, the impassive eyes glaring down at him, daring him to disobey. Rei never did.
Rei turned back around (he always turned back around) and clutched the knife’s handle tighter with his tear-slick knuckles. I’m sorry were the next words out of his mouth, over and over, constant as he hit flesh and bone with the blade, unceasing as the dog began to fight back.
He was supposed to kick it while it was down, to finish the job — instead, he found himself sprawled out on the concrete, bony and bleeding and unable to raise his arm one final time. Weak, as his father so profusely spat before pulling out his gun, butter-smooth and falcon-quick, and discharging it between those floppy, floppy ears. Rei couldn’t stop shivering as he stared at the oozing hole in the thick fur right where he used to scratch. If I made a mistake, Papa wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to me, he realized. Had it always been this cold outside?
This was what Rei had been taught about dogs: underneath all that fur was teeth and flesh and blood, no better than himself. All the good things — the sparkle in the eyes, the panting stretchy smile, the soft head curving into his palm — could be taken away in an instant. Like it never existed. That’s why he preferred cats, high-and-mighty, independent cats — a choice more default than he cared to admit.
As Rei pads hazily through the newly-silent hallway to the bathtub, he hears a soft, kicked-puppy sniffling from Miri’s room. Something unignorable tugs at him despite the words don’t ask, don’t tell ringing familiar and worn through his head. Exhaling wearily, he makes his way to the doorframe of Miri’s room and peers in.
Kazuki’s sitting in a cross-legged ball on the colorful little bed, hunched back towards Rei. His broad shoulders shake as he heaves a sob, and his bright blonde head dips as he attempts to muffle his crying. Rei had expected this to happen sometime tonight — the drive back home from the Ferris wheel had been utterly silent aside from Kazuki’s barely-controlled, tear-heavy whimpers. For once, Rei hadn’t razzed him about his driving skills (especially since something leaden and pitch-black was swallowing him whole and making it impossible to do anything other than sit there in silence).
Rei clears his throat awkwardly after a few seconds, knowing his well-trained feet are too quiet for Kazuki to register. His partner starts but doesn’t turn around.
“Guess you got me,” he sniffles. His voice is watery and choked, like he’s trying hard to up the saturation on something hopelessly pale. He sounds weak, spent. Rei doesn’t like it. It’s not his Kazuki.
“Mm,” he offers, unhelpfully.
“God, I just — it’s so fucking quiet,” Kazuki says, a joyless laugh heaving its way past his lips. “I don’t know what to do without —” He trails off again, breath catching with a pathetic hiccupping sound.
Rei walks the few short steps to the bed and sits down next to Kazuki, leaving as much room as possible between them. The older man looks an absolute mess — eyes and cheeks red and puffy from crying, golden bangs damp and messy as they fall lifelessly against his brow. He’s clearly been at it a while, if the soaked stuffed shark in his arms is any indication. Rei’s seen Kazuki cry before, but never like this. Like he’s going to crumble apart. Rei stares down at the colorful carpet for a long, silent moment, lost in thought.
Kazuki is like a dog. He is warm and soft and loyal and hurting. Rei thinks back to the dog his father killed when he was little, remembers sneaking out the next night to scratch at an utterly inconsequential patch of dirt near the spot where its dried blood still pooled. He remembers the back of his father’s hand across his face just as he was finishing writing I’m sorry in the dust with his finger, recalls the heated-iron sting in his cheeks that cooled into something crooked. Rei is not about to let his Kazuki-dog get taken away from him too, because for the first time Rei has felt what it is like to belong, to love someone — and it’s something worth fighting to protect. So he fights.
He fights with a gentleness he barely knows he’s capable of — thighs repositioning closer, torso tilting slightly, fingertips reaching slowly (so slowly) up to rest on Kazuki’s tear-stained cheeks. Kazuki’s umber eyes go wide, darting to Rei’s in surprise. Rei holds his gaze for a long moment before flickering it down as he collects some of the wetness from Kazuki’s soft, flushed skin. He brings his thumbs up to gain more ground, sweeping them awkwardly but gently over his partner’s cheekbones and rubbing out the moisture into his sleeves.
His eyes meet Kazuki’s again. “I don’t know either. I miss her too.” Kazuki’s brow furrows and he takes half of his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it as another round of tears set in. Rei blinks helplessly. Do something, he chides himself.
He recognizes that, although they are very different people, he and Kazuki are experiencing the same loss — the same four-year-old-shaped hole in their chests and home. Both of them have been touched by her light and are chasing the bright, glowing afterimage ebbing too quickly away. What can I do right now? Rei thinks. How can I try-and-ultimately-fail to make it hurt a little less? What would Kazuki do?
Steadying himself with a quiet inhale, he reaches hesitantly out again. He thinks of Kazuki laughing, smiling, winking, larger-than-life; cooking and running and scolding and sobbing in the car. And then he seizes upon a still-too-raw moment: Kazuki winding his treasured scarf around Miri’s little frame, a last-ditch farewell. He holds onto that image, reaches his hands out further, and wraps his arms around Kazuki’s neck. A scarf. Please let me give it to you. I don’t know what else to do.
Kazuki is blessedly free of quips about the gesture, instantly returning the hug and sobbing softly into Rei’s sweatshirt. Rei finds he doesn’t mind as much as he normally would, likely because his own lashes are heavy with tears, spilling onto Kazuki’s wide shoulder. Rei tucks his face ever-so-slightly to brush against the crook of Kazuki’s neck, chases his warmth and breathes in his vanilla-and-sandalwood scent.
“Thanks, Rei,” Kazuki murmurs low and sweet before pulling back, cupping Rei’s head for a glowing, aching moment.
“I’m glad it happened at all,” Rei answers after a long moment, nearly struck down again by how much he means it. “We’ll find a way.” He believes in that less.
“We always do,” Kazuki grins, a little stronger than before but still smudged around the edges. Unconvincing. “We make a great team.”
Rei hums again, dropping his hands down into his lap. He feels Kazuki’s solid warmth against his thigh and shoulder and doesn’t dare pull away. Please don’t leave too.
After a long moment, Kazuki speaks again. “Wanna hand me my ass again in Morio Kart?”
“Not without her.” The thought of saying Miri's name hurts too much.
“Yeah,” Kazuki sighs, then: “Shit. Want a drink instead?”
“Yeah.”
Kazuki unfolds himself, offering his hand to help up Rei. He looks down a little bashfully at the stuffed shark still in his grasp, a tiny, embarrassed smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
“Think it’s silly if I bring him with us?”
“Nah,” Rei says. “I’ll bring the zebra.” He bends down and picks up the black-and-white plushie from the ground, the one he’s always secretly coveted just a little.
Kazuki smiles, a little more genuine this time as they head out into the kitchen. They’re silent for the most part as they sip their beer and hug their plushies, and despite knowing that Kazuki is in fact very present on the couch next to him, he still can’t stop the constant brain-echo of please don’t leave too.
They say good night a few hours later, and Rei finds himself staring miserably at the achingly familiar bathroom ceiling as he lays in the bathtub. The porcelain is too cold against his back as his mind cycles through the same images over and over again — dog, Miri, Kazuki crying, dog, Miri, Kazuki crying.
“Think, Rei,” he mouths, despite knowing he in fact does not want to think. Today has been too much already, and it’s absolutely nothing compared to the endless weeks stretching darkly, hopelessly ahead. Sighing, he realizes tiredly that he can only do something about one of the thoughts weighing him down. Clambering out of the tub, he draws himself slowly upright and makes his way out of the bathroom.
“Hey.” Kazuki’s voice is exhausted as it floats through his oddly-open bedroom door.
“Bathtub’s cold,” Rei says lamely.
“Yeah,” Kazuki says. “Come lay down already.” And so he does.
They lie silently awake for a long hour, back-to-back, breaths ever-so-slightly unsynced. Kazuki finally stirs and whispers hoarsely. “You awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you turn around? Please?”
Rei does so with a grunt, trying to trace Kazuki’s barely-discernible features in the dark. “You okay?”
Kazuki’s voice is so very quiet. “Just needed to make sure you’re still here.”
Something in Rei shatters and sparks and softens all at once. “I’m here.” Wordlessly, miraculously, they both tilt forward at the same time, warm skin and soft bangs meshing between them as their foreheads meet. It’s easier to breathe this way — almost, at least. But almost is okay for now.
Rei dips in and out of nightmare-riddled sleep, surfacing from his subconscious to feel the warmth of Kazuki’s forehead or hand on his, to hear his breath and feel it fan against his cheek as they both stir in whichever direction allows them to keep touching, to keep knowing that the other is present and solid and real. Eventually, a faint, cold light begins to peer through the curtains — they’ve made it through the night.
Rei looks over at a dozing Kazuki, takes in the planes of his face and the wrinkles of his sleep shirt, committing them to memory. I am lucky to have you, he thinks — lucky to have a partner to fall back on, a person to sit beside and maybe-more-than-frequently disagree with, someone fashioned full of puppy-like devotion and enthusiasm and love. He never stays with his tail between his legs for long — ever since Miri, he’s always back up and fighting fast, faster than Rei gives him credit for. Always powering through because he knows what he wants, knows that the people and things he loves are always worth fighting for.
From now on, Rei vows to himself as he quietly extends his pinkie to rest under Kazuki’s, no matter what happens, I’ll try to be the same.