Chapter Text
Ryousuke threw aside his apartment door, stripping off his bomber jacket as he headed straight for his bedroom. Before tossing the garment on his bed, he fished out his cell phone from its pocket.
He looked down at its screen as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. Two missed calls from K. Sudou. Timestamped 5:38pm and 7:24pm.
It was nearly 9:45pm now. Ryousuke sighed and pressed the callback button, pinching the bridge of his nose as he held it to his ear. His hand fell to his collar again, working his pencil tie loose as he waited.
On the third ring, he was greeted: “Sudou.”
“Hey, Sudou,” Ryousuke said. “Sorry for getting back to you so late.”
Sudou cleared his throat, sniffled, then let out a short huff. “You always say that.”
He sounded rough. Rougher than usual. Gravelly, as though he were just waking up.
Ryousuke replied, “I was observing in a surgery, and the surgeon didn’t close up until almost quarter to eight.”
“Doesn’t really explain why you didn’t call me back sooner.”
“Well,” Ryousuke started, bristling.
He didn’t enjoy the prospect of having to endure yet another interrogation session from Sudou. Their exchanges were never overly cordial, but lately they felt more like a debriefing rather than a casual human conversation. It was never oh, how did that go? Or, wow, how are you holding up?
Ryousuke could never decide whether it was the lack of concern or the lack of curiosity that annoyed him the most. Nonetheless, he explained cooly: “I had to finish up my notes, change clothes, and get home first.”
“You had to. Right. Who cares if had been in trouble. Or dyin’.”
Ryousuke’s expression fell flat. “Are you in trouble or dying?”
“Shut up. I hate that.”
“Hate what?”
“When you get all sarcastic like that.”
Sudou was a pitbull at times; he wouldn’t let go once provoked. Ryousuke had admired that doggedness about him since college, but lately, that side of him had been hair-trigger and relentless. Always humorless, too. Sudou always did seem to get some perverse entertainment out of trying to put him on the defensive, but something had spoiled even that dynamic in the time since Ryousuke moved further away for school.
Whatever that something was, their bouts of verbal sparring since then felt more strained than usual. Like tonight.
And like most nights, Ryousuke just wasn’t in the fucking mood. “Look, I’ve been on my feet all day, and have had nothing on my stomach but crackers and sports drinks. Cut me some slack.”
“Oh, well boo hoo,” was Sudou’s tender reply to his plight.
Meanwhile, fatigue blurred Ryousuke’s mind, sharp aches were shooting up his legs from the soles of his feet, and he could really, really use a hot shower. The last thing he wanted to do right now was get through another exhausting battle of wits before he could even sit down and eat.
Hunger rumbled in his belly. The combination of Sudou’s onslaught and his thinning patience made the air feel dangerous, like all the ingredients of their particular unstable mixture were coming into contact. All it needed was an ignition source to blow up, and despite his better judgment, these volatile situations with Sudou just made Ryousuke feel all the more reckless.
It was just their thing. Maybe he had his own perverse sources of entertainment, too.
He told Sudou rather bluntly: “I’m also not fond of when you call me, not to ask how I’m doing or catch up, but to just rake me over the coals and complain. So I think we’re even.”
“I ain’t fuckin’ complaining, man. I’m rightfully pissed. Sometimes it’s like you’re too cool to give a shit, and it’s not cool. It’s cold.”
There was an odd forcefulness in Sudou’s words, as well as a subtle yet telltale slurring of his speech. Ryousuke asked, “Have you been drinking?”
The sudden silence on the other end only added weight to his hunch.
Sudou said, “No. Not really. Don’t sidestep the topic, neither. I hate that shit, too.”
Ryousuke rolled his eyes. He stripped off the rest of his tie and tossed it to join his jacket on the bed. “Then what do you want me to say?”
“Say you’re sorry, for one.”
“I already said it earlier, but fine. I’ll say it again: I’m sorry. I’ll try to call back sooner next time. So? What’s up? What did you need to talk about?”
Sudou sighed. “Shit, damn. Just where did you learn how to sweet talk? At least you didn’t even try to pretend you were sincere just then.”
Ryousuke began to pace, yanking the buttons of his shirt collar loose. He suddenly felt way too constricted in his button-up shirt and slacks, and the tightness in his back and shoulders made him feel desperate for the quiet refuge of a hot shower. He said, “Look, did you want to talk about this weekend? You’re still coming into town, right? Or were you wanting to meet up sooner?”
“Damn, seriously. Just listen to yourself. It’s like you’re goin’ through some checklist to see what gets me to chill out.”
“I just want you to get to the point of this, okay? Please?”
“The point is I’m sick of being ignored until it’s convenient for you. Or until I complain. Makes me feel fucking stupid.”
“Kyouchi, you know that’s not-”
“No. Don’t call me that. You know what? I did want to talk to you about this weekend, but now I’m just tired, man. I’m tired of waiting around only to have this same damn conversation.”
Ryousuke lurched to a stop. This was new. In all their arguments that came before, Sudou never uttered anything as ominous as that.
The thoughts behind them, however, sounded strangely familiar. Like an echo, but the voice reflected back wasn’t his own. The irony was doing nothing at all for his oncoming headache.
He asked, “What exactly are you trying to tell me?”
“That I’m done.”
“Done? You’re done, as in…”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while. The other night we talked, too. It’s been a pain in my ass to plan hook ups around your schedule. Because it’s always about your schedule.” Sudou clicked his tongue. “Fuck that shit. I know for a fact that I can get my rocks off closer to home and for a lot less hassle.”
Despite himself, Ryousuke was baffled at what he was hearing. “Hey, I warned you things wouldn’t be as easy after I moved. You were confident that you could handle it for a few years. All I’m hearing right now is that you couldn’t even deal with it for three months. Is this really how it’s going to be?”
“Yeah, I suppose it is. I mean, I didn’t really expect to fall to, let’s see-- fourth place behind changing clothes."
Ryousuke took a deep breath. His head was pounding. It was a little staggering to hear Sudou sounding so wounded. Confusing, too.
“Sudou, I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, alright? School’s been hell, but I promise I’ll do better. No matter what I’m doing, I’ll do better about getting in touch with you as soon as humanly possible. Alright?”
“No, man. I’m serious. I’m done. You don’t even sound all that upset about it. Have a nice night.”
“Kyouich-, Sudou!”
Beep-beep. The line fell silent. Ryousuke ripped the phone away from his ear, scowling at the call ended message. A furious urge to call him back gripped him, but pride - or something like it - held his thumb back. He rode out the crest of that compulsive feeling without moving an inch, and once it passed over, he threw the offending device onto the bed.
He then dragged his nails through his hair, pulling at his scalp in aggravation.
Kyouchi Sudou. A man who had trouble letting go…just threw him away.
It could only have been a careless mistake. A lapse in judgment.
As hot water cascaded down his back, it was as heavenly as Ryousuke imagined it. It momentarily quelled the nausea in his gut. He took his time shampooing, needing the chance to cool his head, and let his racing thoughts settle down. Kyouchi-, Sudou probably needed time to do the same.
He had been in his cups, and the lack of inhibition might have led him to make impulsive decisions, and say uninhibited things that he didn’t mean. Ryousuke thought this, despite the idea conflicting with what he knew about Sudou— that he was not the sort of person to say things he didn’t mean.
After his shower - and his first half-decent bite to eat in ten hours - Ryousuke should have gone straight to bed. Instead, he went out to his balcony and lit up a smoke, even though it was freezing, and even though he was dressed in little more than sweatpants and an unbuttoned shirt.
The sharp breeze on his damp hair made him shiver even worse, but the discomfort was a welcome distraction. The night sky was clear, but the light pollution prevented him from seeing any stars. Only a half moon was out and visible.
As stood there, looking up into the void and trying to mirror that emptiness in his mind, it was doing nothing but inviting in more thoughts, like matter rushing in to fill a vacuum. Not a whole lot unlike the smoke filling his lungs. He flicked off ash, thinking about the first time he and Sudou hooked up.
It was on a Saturday night when they were out drinking with acquaintances from class. Or maybe it was a Friday night, he couldn’t really be sure anymore. But they had both been as good as drunk, having split off from the main herd of their classmates to deliver themselves home, propping each other up as they staggered back to Sudou’s matchbox apartment. They must have walked at least six blocks, but Ryousuke couldn’t remember a single step of it.
It must have been the start of summer, too. He had a vague recollection of hot and muggy weather, and of a heated, but friendly debate that began at the bar, but had then degraded into something more vicious and slanderous by the time they arrived at Sudou’s front door.
Which then led to Ryousuke being dragged inside the apartment, and finally concluded with him coming down Sudou’s throat.
In the present time, as he chewed on the filter of his smoke on his balcony, he’d be damned trying to remember what the argument had been about now.
Something to do with cars probably. Beyond that, all he had were blurred, disconnected memories of the careless insults, the pushing, and the murderous look in Sudou’s eye that promised he would either slug him across the jaw, or kiss him. The latter, as it turned out. Very much the latter, although the former never stopped being a distinct possibility.
After that first hook up, though, with heads clear as bells, neither of them really gave a shit about who had been right or wrong. Ryousuke could recall that outcome in vivid detail, and knowing the two of them, that was saying something.
Since that pivot in their relationship, a combustible habit between them had formed– and since evolved into routine. Some people might have just called it dating, but that term implied pleasant things like nice dinners and bouquets. Instead, they’d just be civil - almost to the point of getting along - until one of them sparked the other with a challenge, always about something forgettable and meaningless. Next came the explosion and ensuing firestorm, the pressure and heat rising until one of them finally put the other’s tongue - or cock - in his mouth.
Once their heads were cool, they put away swords - figuratively speaking - and it was back to being civil until the next time.
Maybe it was something like dating, he supposed. Well, not anymore. A grim laugh bubbled up under his breath, and he coughed on the smoke exiting his lungs.
He stubbed his smoke, throwing away the butt in the wall-mounted receptacle as he went back inside. As he pulled the glass door shut behind him, he pulled out his cellphone from the pocket of his sweatpants, and gave into the urge to call Sudou back.
It went straight to voicemail.
He tried again an hour later. Same result. Even then, Ryousuke still wondered - or perhaps hoped - that this was just one of their temporary blowouts.
Hell, he was ready to laugh about it, brush it off and move onto firming up plans for the weekend. Sudou probably had his own stresses he was dealing with, and subsequently misfired in his frustrations. It was good odds that, once sobered and through with his hangover, he’d blow up Ryousuke’s phone in the morning.
The scenario played out in his mind, dulling the doubt that plucked incessantly at him. Nonetheless, Ryousuke struggled to fall asleep– and despite having been on his feet for over twelve hours straight. He spun and shifted, unable to get comfortable as he turned for an innumerable time and buried his face into his pillow.
He was too cool to give a shit? Cold?
Maybe he dozed once or twice, but each time he opened his eyes and stared up at his ceiling in the dark, he wondered if the night might last forever. After what seemed like a thousand years, the blue dawn began to seep in through his blinds.
On his nightstand, his phone remained silent as a gravestone. He sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, snatching up the device. He opened his list of contacts, his thumb scrolling until it paused to hover over K. Sudou. His pulse thrashed in his dry throat. His stomach twisted with indignation.
He scowled and tossed his phone back on the nightstand.
Giving up on sleep, Ryousuke hauled himself out of bed and slouched toward the washroom. He needed to get on fixing his hair and shaving off his five o’clock shadow. After that, and after doing the best he could for the bags under his eyes with dabs of concealer, he flipped through his contacts and tapped on K. Takahashi instead.
They met for drinks later that evening, hitting up a dive bar near Keisuke’s apartment. It was tucked away in a crumbling basement, but it was one of the few places in town that allowed smoking at the bar, which felt like a godsend on an evening where the weather was even chillier than the night before.
With hands buried in his pockets, Ryousuke had headed straight there from the hospital after pulling another twelve hours— and after there had been no word from Sudou throughout that entire span of time.
Reality pressed in on his mind. It pulled apart the last tatters of his denial.
“Seems like he actually meant it,” Ryousuke said to Keisuke. He took a long drag off his cigarette, blowing it out through his nose. The fucker actually meant it.
They each ordered two fingers of whiskey. Keisuke on the rocks, his neat.
“That sucks, I guess,” Keisuke said, rotating his glass between his hands, his gaze searching over the bar counter. “I mean, being dumped in general.”
Ryousuke inwardly cringed. It had been something like dating, but he still hated thinking about it in those terms. Terms like breakup, or dumped.
He scorched his mouth with another sip of his drink before glancing over to his brother. “What?” he prompted, sensing some unspoken thought in Keisuke’s demeanor.
“Can I be honest, though?” Keisuke began, rotating on his stool to face him.
“It’s not really like you to ask, but go ahead.”
“Well, it’s just…can you really say he didn’t do you a favor?”
Ryousuke made a face as the question failed to compute. “Explain.”
Keisuke’s knee began to bounce, a sure sign he was uneasy about what he was saying. “That Sudou guy…I never really understood what you liked about him.”
Ryousuke pursed his lips, ashing his smoke in a nearby ashtray. He thought back on the passionate, albeit stormy relationship he had with Sudou, from when he first met him as an undergrad. Keisuke never liked him from the beginning, but Keisuke had always been a bit finicky about other people.
“I’ve told you before, haven’t I? I admire his intellect,” Ryousuke told him. “He’s also very driven, yet very deliberate and practical about his methods.”
“Okay, well, admiration isn’t exactly the same as actually liking him, bro. Or enjoying his company.”
“I enjoy his company,” Ryousuke insisted. In doses, his mutinous mind added. He silenced it with another swig of whiskey— gods, maybe he had been a colossal asshole after all.
Keisuke said, “Uh-huh. Well, I always thought he was kind of a prick. He never really seemed to care about you, and I think a part of you also thinks the same, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it. You’ve always been at each other’s throats more than you’ve been friends.”
Ryousuke made another face, exasperated. That wasn’t true. It definitely wasn’t. “So you say.”
“Oh, come on. In all the years he’s been around, you never really seemed all that jazzed about him. So I’m just letting you know, right now, that I’m drinking to his good riddance!” Keisuke raised his glass in a mock toast.
“Jazzed? What’s that supposed to mean?” Maybe it was telling, too, that Ryousuke was more interested in that observation than the mention of Sudou being a prick.
“You know. Like you were never all that into him. Or you’ve just moved on without realizing it.”
Ryousuke blinked, staring down into the amber liquid in his glass, horror lancing through him at the suggestion. Was this why things felt off since he had moved closer to the city? It wasn’t just the horror at that possibility, but horror that he had been blind while his brother had been seeing everything.
He quickly drowned his discomfort with another sip of whiskey. He probably needed to slow down; he was really hitting his glass hard. “And since when did you suddenly become a psychologist, dear brother?”
A wry look spread across Keisuke’s expression, but he shrugged. “I won’t claim to be an expert on other people’s minds, but I think I’ve known you long enough to be an expert on your mind, at least.”
Ryousuke huffed. He wasn’t about to argue. He was sick of arguing with people.
Keisuke sipped his drink. He exhaled and said, “Anyway, hear me out. I think I have a solution to help you get over him.”
“Do tell.”
“Me, Kenta, and Tomiguchi were thinking of hitting up the Starlight Cabaret this Friday.”
Starlight Cabaret. The name rang a bell; Keisuke had probably mentioned the establishment in passing once or twice. Other than that, Ryousuke knew precious little about the place except that it was an exotic dance club, but now Keisuke was looking at him expectantly as though his statement had been a question.
“And?” Ryousuke prompted, wanting to be sure he wasn’t misunderstanding him.
Helpfully, Keisuke said, “What do you mean, and? What do you say? You gonna come with us, right?”
Ryousuke huffed, setting his drink down to run his hand over his face. The idea was a bit fucking cliche. Get quote-unquote dumped? Apply strip club! Inwardly, he was revolted; a place like that was little more than a flashy, noisy, overpriced emotional bandaid. Side effects may include: glitter you can never wash off, painful boredom, and going home to feel even more depressed and lonely than when you first arrived. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
“I’d say that buying overpriced drinks isn’t really my idea of a good time. Present activity excluded,” Ryousuke finally replied.
Keisuke set down his glass, leaning in closer. “Bro, I know it’s not your usual scene and all, but trust me. The Cabaret’s the only place in town that caters to everyone’s tastes. You’d enjoy the scenery, if nothing else. Come on, I promise.”
A spark of curiosity flashed, and Ryousuke couldn’t help but start to flush at his brother’s remark. He was also struck by the realization that now, with his weekend schedule opening up, he had little reason to crush his brother’s sincere hopes. Nonetheless, he said, “Define ‘enjoy the scenery’.”
Keisuke rolled his eyes at him. “I mean that at the very least, you won’t be bored and alone with your misery for a while.”
Doubtful. “What a ringing endorsement.”
“Whatever. I’m obviously not an aspiring physician like you, but I’m fairly confident that it’s bad for your health if you don’t cut loose every once in a while.”
“Try convincing my instructors of that.”
Keisuke huffed. “Don’t tempt me. So? It’s official, then? This Friday, with a cab dropping us off around 7:30.”
Ryousuke shot him a look. “I haven’t yet agreed.”
Keisuke grimaced, sighing, as if his older brother were a stalled car he had to push out of a ditch. He took a sip of whiskey - to fortify himself, apparently - clapped himself on the thighs and turned back to face Ryousuke dead on.
He said, “Look. Give it an hour. Stay for one stupid hour. If you truly hate it after that, then we can leave and you can go back to wallowing in your nest of textbooks. Okay?”
Ryousuke eyed him for a moment, then took another smoke and a sip as he deliberated. He did not wallow in his textbooks. Meanwhile, Keisuke was unnervingly quiet as he awaited the decision - he always knew never to push a sale.
Even so, Ryousuke could tell his brother was bubbling under his skin with anticipation. Hope, even. It was the same energy as whenever he had begged Ryousuke to be on his team to play kickball when they were kids.
Damn it.
“Alright.” Ryousuke muttered. He was fairly confident that an hour wouldn’t cure him of anything, but it also couldn’t very well add to his hurt. As a bonus, it was also nice to be rewarded with the sight of Keisuke’s face lighting up the bar like a supernova.
Alright, he could try. He could try to be a decent big brother, and manage one hour.