Work Text:
“So a frog walks into a bank,” Rokaku declares. Internally, Adachi gives a sigh and a wry shake of the head. Their coworkers, bosses, and three employees from the small company they’re considering merging with are listening – or pretending to listen – to Rokaku with polite amusement. Meanwhile, the light chatter from other parties fills the restaurant, cigarette smoke fills the air, and chopsticks scrape against bowls and plates. The servers are so efficient that Adachi actually wonders if they have some of those go-unseen talents, like invisibility and movement through shadows, because somehow his glass always seems full even when he doesn’t see anyone refill it. As with all good restaurants, it’s a warm atmosphere replete with simple pleasures, though the business aspect of this occasion could be stifling for some....
Kurosawa is sitting next to him, and Adachi is glad of it. Having Kurosawa near always gives him increased fortitude to deal with these tedious company schmoozing shindigs that were clearly not designed for introverts like him. Subtly moving his arm, he gives Kurosawa a gentle nudge, just a private token for his boyfriend of a few months.
But as his arm brushes against Kurosawa’s side, the emotion he gets a slight flash of with his passive telepathy is not the business-like, calm focus he had expected, but something more like concern. Kurosawa does not return the gesture afterwards, as if he hasn’t even noticed it.
Adachi’s telepathy is his birth-gift. Many witches, although they have to hone their ability to cast spells, brew potions, engrave runes, and exercise other areas of their craft, were born with small, seemingly random gifts. Adachi has his touch telepathy; Fujisaki at the office has a gift for random insight; Tsuge has the ability to turn into a little black cat.
So it’s not the fact of receiving Kurosawa’s thoughts that surprises Adachi in that moment. It’s more that what he heard was unexpected, and that Kurosawa is so distracted. Turning his head, Adachi actually looks at him and sees that Kurosawa seems to be concentrating all his attention on the woman from the other company who is sitting across from him. It’s then that a strange, tense undercurrent enters into his attention. What is it?
It takes Adachi a moment to put his finger on it. Normally, whenever Kurosawa is around, any women they might meet are easily put into a good mood. But the woman he’s talking to seems... well. Her polite expression is a bit masklike, and there’s a set to the corner of her eyes.
Uh-oh.
This isn’t good. A merger with another company could really improve their reach as a business and provide a lot of new opportunities. If this woman isn’t having a good time, the merger could be in jeopardy, and Adachi knows that Kurosawa would absolutely beat himself up if that’s his fault in any way.
Adachi starts to sweat a little, toying with his napkin with one hand, but he knows what he has to do. This will be far from the first time he’s used his magic to help extract himself or someone he cares about from a perilous social situation. That horrible Mont Blanc incident some months ago, where they had to hastily cobble together a culinary summoning ritual, is the first that springs to mind.
But never mind that now. The woman – Ono-san – has her hands out of reach as she is actually eating between bouts of conversation, but of course her knees are very close by, right underneath the table.
Internally, Adachi sighs. If he is caught, he can say he had a leg cramp.
Slowly, gingerly, he reaches out with his leg, trying to make contact with her knee in a way so unobtrusive that she won’t even notice. A little scoot forward until the table is cutting into his stomach slightly, and he feels something brush against his leg.
Success! Thoughts begin to filter into his mind, thoughts in a haughty female voice that don’t match his own:
Of course they sent this guy to dinner with me, because he looks so hot. But I’m tired of these people who pretty up their faces and think that I won’t notice. This Kurosawa guy, they say his illusion magic is the best, but I’m not impressed. He’s made so many rookie mistakes. No one’s face is that symmetrical. I bet in reality he has probably has moles, zits, crooked teeth, and bushy eyebrows. I hate this. Why can’t he just be real?
Adachi is sent reeling in his mind, although outwardly he only shifts a bit to stop the touch link and relieve the pressure of the table. Someone asks him to pass something and he does, but a second later he couldn’t have said what it was.
So the woman thinks that Kurosawa is using illusion magic to make his face more attractive. Poor Kurosawa. If he’s not being hit on by people who think he’s an ikemen, apparently he’s being disparaged by someone on the other end of the spectrum who thinks he’s too perfect. In all the time they took to get to know each other and then get together, Adachi had never once suspected that Kurosawa would do such a thing. And he’s seen no evidence of it either, not even when they kiss or – or do anything else private. Kurosawa’s face is real!
But how can he possibly, possibly convince Ono-san of that when he has no idea how to bring it up in conversation? What if she suspects he read her mind and becomes even angrier?
If only his touch telepathy had a reverse button on it somewhere, but he can’t communicate to Kurosawa unless someone casts a telepathy spell. He’s on his own to solve this one.
Fortunately, he knows that Kurosawa trusts him to do whatever it takes to solve problems he uncovers with his telepathy. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know if the idea he’s just had is the worst idea of his life. Nevertheless, he excuses himself and goes to the men’s room.
Kurosawa has a competence in illusion magic, at which he truly is a master. But Adachi has his own competences, too. Every witch has at least one. Adachi’s are doodle magic and a slight green touch with plants.
Once in the privacy of a stall, he withdraws a piece of paper and a Toyokawa-branded erasable pen from his pocket. He puts the piece of paper to the stall wall and draws the rune for stealth magic, but then spends a few more moments agonizing about this decision. What would Kurosawa say if he knew beforehand?
“Darling, I have to make your face uglier so that our business partner will be more satisfied.”
“Uh, that’s weird but please go for it?”
Or so Adachi hopes, but with less sarcasm. At least if he totally messes this up, it will be easy to undo – just rip up the paper.
The woman was picturing Kurosawa with a lot of slight imperfections such as blackheads and crooked teeth. The feeling it gives Adachi to hold her picture of Kurosawa in his mind is strange, knowing that it isn’t quite right. His next obstacle is that he hates, oh, he hates the idea of changing a single hair on Kurosawa’s head. But nevertheless, he puts his pen to the paper.
Doodle magic can work in various different ways, but for Adachi in this moment, gliding his hand over the page is a way of focussing and amplifying his thoughts. Every stroke of ink from a simple, regular pen draws out the will he’s holding in his mind. Because it’s a visual medium, it’s perfect for illusion magic, even though Adachi doesn’t consider that a particular specialty of his. Usually, he uses doodle magic for other things and leaves the illusions to Kurosawa. But right now, it’s his responsibility to make an illusion that looks real enough to be mistaken for reality.
Magic tingles at the base of his spine. His eyes should be turning gold right now, and a cloud of golden light coalesces slowly around his hand, but he keeps his thoughts focussed. Crooked teeth on Kurosawa could be cute... so could moles and freckles... blackheads don’t look good on anybody, but Kurosawa is so perfect he could probably make them look good anyway... these are the thoughts that fill Adachi’s mind as he finishes his drawing.
It seems he’s created some kind of asymmetrical flower with many tiny petals, like a lopsided marigold. In a neat but hurried hand, Adachi labels it “Kurosawa face illusion.” Then, he puts it and his pen back into his pocket and hurries out of the stall to see the results of his handiwork.
Slipping back into his seat beside Kurosawa, his eyes are immediately drawn to his boyfriend’s face. Kurosawa doesn’t look exactly how Ono-san pictured him. He has all of the imperfections she envisioned – bushy eyebrows, skin flaws – but they are all somehow charming, as if a loving, glowing hand crafted them.
Adachi gulps. It’s hard to be subtle again as he presses the tip of his knee against Ono-san’s, but he forces himself to try not to look spastic.
As soon as he tastes the edge of her emotion, he knows he’s succeeded. Triumph colours her thoughts.
I knew it! she is thinking. She gives a little mental giggle. I bet he looks even worse when the illusion is completely gone. Ooh, should I tell him he’s slipping up? Of course not, it would be rude to embarrass him.
Feeling slightly disgusted at her glee, Adachi pulls his leg back. A slight brush against Kurosawa tells him that Kurosawa is cheered that Ono-san is responding better to him now. All Adachi has left to do is to monitor the rest of the table to make sure that no one from his office notices – at least, no one to whom he couldn’t explain after, like he can with Rokaku, for instance.
“Oi, Adachi,” the colleague in question says. “Is there something wrong with your food? You’ve hardly touched it.”
“Uh – I’d like some more soy sauce, that’s all,” he blurts out.
“No problem!” Rokaku declares, grabbing the soy sauce and dumping a veritable lake onto Adachi’s plate.
One brush of hands as Adachi reaches for his glass is all it takes for him to know that Rokaku hasn’t noticed the slightest thing different about Kurosawa. But it’s going to be a very long evening. Adachi’s pocket burns with the secret spell inside it.
⁂
Somehow, Adachi manages to choke down his food, all while monitoring as many people as he can, not just with touch telepathy but also by watching them look at Kurosawa. Their boss seems a little confused, looking at him – like hey, is something different about this junior’s face? but not enough for Adachi to take the spell off.
Now he and Kurosawa are gathering their things to leave the restaurant together. They will go back to Kurosawa’s flat for the night.
As soon as they are outside and away from the rest of the dining party, Adachi tears the paper from his pocket.
“Finally!” he groans. “I can tear up this stupid spell.”
“What spell?” Kurosawa asks. Adachi can hardly bear to look at him, see his beautiful face changed, all because of him –
“The lady across from you thought you use illusion magic to make your face so perfect. She was really angry about it. I made you look more like how she thought you should look,” Adachi confesses dismally, head hanging. He shows Kurosawa the spell.
Kurosawa’s eyebrows scrunch together. “What?”
“Ono-san. The lady from the delegation from the other company? I know you saw she wasn’t enjoying her dinner. She was mad at you for being too perfect.” Adachi waves the spell paper about as he speaks.
For a split second, Kurosawa looks a little sick. But then he swallows it down and schools his features into a neutral expression. “And you made me look ugly?”
“Uh – no. Not ugly.” Never ugly, not when it was Kurosawa. “But don’t worry, I’ll take it off, now,” Adachi says, making to shred the paper.
Kurosawa holds out his hand across Adachi’s wrist, stilling him. “I want to see it.” Kurosawa pauses, then manages his usual charming smile. “I’d like to see your masterpiece.”
Adachi hesitates. He really does not want Kurosawa to see what Adachi did to him, in case he hates it and it makes him angry with Adachi. But then again, he has the right to see, right? It’s his own face, after all...
“Well, okay...” he says, biting his lip.
From one of the small pockets inside his bag, Kurosawa retrieves a circular compact mirror. They walk for a few moments more until they turn onto a side-street with no one else around. Then, they stop, and Kurosawa holds up the mirror. Adachi watches anxiously as, tilting his head from side to side, Kurosawa examines Adachi’s magical handiwork. Finally, Kurosawa shuts the mirror with a snap, expression impenetrable.
“You did a good job with the illusion. I can tell it’s there, but it looks good.”
Adachi half wants to laugh. Ono-san’s whole problem with Kurosawa’s face was that she thought it was obvious Kurosawa was using an illusion spell. But an illusion spell others could see through fooled her. At this point, Adachi is kinda hoping that the deal will fall through and they’ll never have to see her again.
“Can I...?” Adachi holds up the paper.
Kurosawa hesitates, then sighs. “Save it, in case we have to see her again.”
This means removing the spell without destroying the original paper. That one is easy. Adachi digs out his pen, puts the paper up against a wall, and begins to trace, over and over, a circle shape on a blank part of the page. With every stroke, he focusses his thoughts and his will on ending and removing the spell. Gold light crackles along his hand and on the shaft of the pen, building and building until, finally, he draws a jagged slash through the circle. Gold light explodes like fire onto the paper and dances along the nullification symbol, there is a slight smell of burning paper, and then the light vanishes and Adachi knows that the spell has been broken.
With that, he turns to Kurosawa. There are the familiar warm eyes, the unblemished skin and carefully maintained eyebrows – the Kurosawa that Adachi knows and loves. Adachi can’t help but smile, and Kurosawa raises his eyebrows in uncertainty before smiling tentatively back. Adachi hands him the spell paper so he’ll have it for his records. Kurosawa pockets it in turn, and they fall back in step to reach their destination.
As they are close to Kurosawa’s place, it takes only a few minutes to get there. Once inside, they go about the usual business of removing shoes and jackets and putting on the kettle for some tea.
Soon, they are seated at Kurosawa’s table with ceramic cups at their hands. The silence is companionable at first, but Adachi sees a frown creep its way onto Kurosawa’s face. The spell-paper is on the table, and Kurosawa is absently tracing it with his fingers.
“I’m sorry!” Adachi blurts out.
Kurosawa looks up, his fingers stilling. “Huh?”
“I shouldn’t have done it without asking you. I changed your whole face,” Adachi says, bowing his head in apology.
“You did the right thing,” Kurosawa assures him, although he still doesn’t look happy about it. “If it gets us the merger...”
“I know, it’s just...” Adachi opens and closes his hands uselessly, unable to articulate why he feels so bad about what he did. That moment where Kurosawa looked sick with discomfort flashes through his mind. Is Kurosawa really okay with it, or is he just saying that because he’s putting the company’s needs before his own and pretending that it’s fine?
“It wasn’t that bad,” Kurosawa says, gently nudging Adachi’s hand with his own. “You were right, I didn’t look that ugly. You even made me look cute.”
Adachi reaches for Kurosawa’s hand and squeezes back once before taking up his tea again. “You’re always cute.” He blushes a little as he says it, but it’s true. Kurosawa chuckles.
Maybe things should have just gone back to normal, then, but Adachi still feels like something needs to be said. He wants Kurosawa to know that he always looked great and there’s nothing wrong with that, no matter what a (probably jealous) woman with no clue about real illusion magic thinks. So he speaks up again: “You always look great.”
He thinks of Kurosawa smiling and laughing, beautiful in his joy. He thinks of Kurosawa, devastated in the moment that Adachi asked to break up before coming to terms with the fact that his telepathy would always touch every relationship in his life, even this one. Kurosawa was beautiful then, too, in that he had been so vulnerable, and in how much he had loved Adachi. He thinks of Kurosawa with bedhead in the mornings, lovely in his dishevelment; Kurosawa glowing and contorting in intimate moments, so beautiful once again. Adachi smiles. “There’s no such thing as too perfect. You really are.”
At that, Kurosawa’s eyes widen. Abruptly, he stands, taking his tea mug and hurrying over to the kettle on the countertop to refill his hot water. Was that the wrong thing to say? Mentally, Adachi smacks his own forehead against the wooden table-top. Damn!
But what did he say that was so wrong? He opens his mouth, but then shuts it again. If he speaks further, he’ll probably only make it worse.
When Kurosawa sits back down with his cup in his hand, he just says modestly, “Thanks.”
It still doesn’t feel right. Adachi gives him a tentative, questioning gaze. Kurosawa smiles a smile that vanishes as he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks.
⁂
For the next few days, things seem to go back to normal. Adachi starts to think that he had just imagined how upset Kurosawa had seemed, or at least mentally exaggerated it. They fall into their regular routine of spending a few days at each other’s apartments and a few days apart each week.
From the sound of it at work, the negotiations were successful and the two companies really are going to merge. Adachi isn’t too pleased about that, but he can live with it as long as Kurosawa can stay far away from Ono-san.
The first weird thing that happens is that Adachi finds a stack of old magical textbooks on Kurosawa’s bedside table.
“Illusion Magic: A Primer,” he reads, nudging each book aside to read the title of the next. “Advanced Illusion Magic: 4th Edition. Realistic Illusions and Creative Illusions.”
These look like Kurosawa’s schoolbooks. In Japan, children take special classes at school to learn how to control general magic, and then take an exam to find out what their competences are. Then, they take another series of classes to refine their competences, culminating in the Magic Standardized Test. Because his green thumb is fairly limited, Adachi was tested only on doodle magic. But clearly, Kurosawa focussed on his illusion skill.
All that makes sense. But why is Kurosawa now hitting the books again to practice his specialty? Yesterday afternoon, he’d amused Adachi with a little illusion of one of the company pens as a bunraku puppet, which in hindsight sounded like something he would’ve learnt from the “Creative Illusions” textbook.
Replacing the books in their neat stack, Adachi wonders if he should say something to Kurosawa. But what would he say? ‘Saw you were reading some books, what’s the deal with that?’ Is there anything really suspicious about that? Well, okay, maybe not. It’s probably no big deal.
⁂
Adachi spies the doodle spell he’d made that night at the restaurant inside Kurosawa’s desk. Not the original copy – the paper bears the tell-tale marks of the photocopy machine. Maybe he needs it in case he has to see Ono-san again? Maybe Rokaku or someone else who was at the dinner noticed Kurosawa’s face changed back and forth, and Kurosawa has to give it in evidence?
It doesn’t sit well on Adachi’s mind to know that spell is always there, and to his knowledge, not going away.
⁂
One weekend morning, Adachi stumbles groggily out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. But when he gets there, he finds that it’s already occupied. Kurosawa is standing there, facing his own reflection in the mirror. The photocopy of the spell, now adorned with colourful lines and notes which spill onto a second sheet of paper, has been lightly taped to the corner of the mirror.
Adachi blinks and scrubs furiously at his sleepy eyes. His vision clears just in time for him to see gold light begin to surround Kurosawa’s hands like flames, trailing gold sparks. Even when he’s using his eyes or voice alone to cast a spell, Kurosawa’s hands always light like this, although it’s usually more controlled.
Staring intently at his reflection, Kurosawa lifts his hands and holds them out in front of him, palms flat, thumbs and fingers curved to make a rounded shape. Kurosawa takes a deep breath in. Adachi can see the subtle glow of gold around his eyes. Then, releasing his breath, he simultaneously tilts the oval of his hands to the left.
As he does this, his face begins to change. Starting from the bottom corner up, oh-so-subtle that Adachi wouldn’t see it if he didn’t know what Kurosawa was capable of, Kurosawa’s skin loses its velvet perfection. When the spell hits his cheek, its colour changes, becoming more varied and giving over to freckles. The wave of magic passes all the way up to his forehead, fluffing and thinning his eyebrows along the way, and even raising his hairline, before it seems to vanish.
Kurosawa brings his hands back to centre, smoothly flattening his palms together, and then the glow fades and the spell ends. For a moment, he simply blinks. Then, he must catch sight of Adachi staring open-mouthed behind him in the mirror, because he turns his head and looks straight at him.
“What do you think?” he says, trying for casual. Adachi can’t read him properly because his mind is whirling. Finally, he forces himself to look into Kurosawa’s face.
His stomach drops. Truly, the illusion is perfect. Where Adachi’s hand had marked Kurosawa’s imagined flaws with an aura of love, Kurosawa has marked his own face with the brutal neutrality of pure technical skill. Not a witch alive could tell that he’s wearing an illusion.
“I – uh – it’s –” Adachi stammers. He realises with a shock down his spine that he’s actually... afraid.
Kurosawa presses his lips together. Adachi knows he’s been read, but he pushes it down. He’s already somehow messed this situation up, so he needs to get it together and be supportive.
“It’s really good,” he finally says. “Amazing, just like all your illusions. It looks so... real.”
“Do you think it will pass Ono-san’s inspection?” Kurosawa says, tone trying for light even as he touches his own chin with one hand. His eyes flick to himself in the mirror, and he seems to have trouble looking away.
“Yes... of course,” Adachi says. There’s an awkward pause, in which Adachi greatly wishes he could touch Kurosawa and find out what the heck is going on. He reaches out, hand hovering over Kurosawa’s where it’s braced against the side of the sink. Usually he tries to just ask in situations where it would be really obvious to the other person that he’s using his touch telepathy.
Their hands brush.
Why is Adachi so uncomfortable? He looks like I’ve turned into a gorgon.
Adachi clears his throat. He will try and answer Kurosawa’s question. When his voice comes out, it’s small. “Do you have to use it?”
“You don’t like it?”
“I like you, Kurosawa. I mean, your normal face. It’s just so... different.”
Kurosawa breathes out. “Well, I have to. She thinks I look like this, now. I don’t want her to get angry with me again. At least not until the merger is over.”
In Adachi’s opinion, the only credentials of which are his lifetime of eavesdropping on people’s thoughts, now that Ono-san thinks she knows Kurosawa’s “secret”, she’ll derive enough clandestine pride from it to satisfy her for a while. But then again, what does he know?
“Well... I’m sure she’ll believe it,” Adachi manages to get out, before his gaze finally drops and Kurosawa turns away.
⁂
After that, Adachi sees the evidence of Kurosawa practicing the spell on a regular basis: the tape he uses to hold up the doodle spell and his notes leaves a sticky residue on the corner of the mirror. He catches himself checking Kurosawa’s face frequently to see if he looks like him. If Kurosawa starts to wear his illusion face every day, will Adachi forget what his real face looks like? Will he start to believe in this uncomfortable fiction as if it were real?
Things can’t stand. At this point, it’s exceedingly clear that something is going on in Kurosawa’s brain. Something, dare Adachi think it, bad. Kurosawa’s thoughts about the situation have been frustratingly elusive, no matter how many hugs and kisses Adachi gives him. But then again, real communication has nothing to do with mind reading.
But how to approach the situation? It always takes Adachi some time to gather and understand his own thoughts when it comes to things that are important. So it is a few days later when Adachi finally feels ready to talk.
It’s been a normal Friday workday, and now they’re at Adachi’s apartment together for the weekend. Kurosawa had a meeting with the colleagues organising the merger, so Adachi had watched him remove the face illusion earlier. Now, to his relief, Kurosawa is wearing his normal, beloved face once more.
They’ve just about finished eating. Just low key takeout, because it’s the weekend. Adachi lays his chopsticks down, neatly clustered together.
“Say, Kurosawa...” he starts.
“Mm?”
Kurosawa looks up. When he sees that Adachi is serious, he immediately straightens and focusses all of his attention on him.
Out with it, Adachi tells himself. “It makes me uncomfortable to see you using that illusion spell on your face all the time. It’s – it’s not that it’s not good, or anything. You always do a good job. It’s just that it, um... it scares me a little.”
Kurosawa listens patiently. Then, he sighs. “I’m sorry. I knew that you didn’t like it. But I kept doing it anyway because I felt like I needed to. But it scares you? Why?”
“Well just,” Adachi mumbles to the table-top, “it’s like talking to a stranger... or like a Frankenstein I created that isn’t even real... I know, it’s dumb.”
“No, not at all, if those are your true feelings.”
Adachi flashes Kurosawa a grateful smile for his understanding. “But why do you feel like you need to?”
Kurosawa frowns. He thinks for a moment, leaning away in his chair. “Well, for the company, of course. But... to be honest, I know that it’s more than that.”
Adachi patiently waits, completely focussed on what Kurosawa will say next. His heart is pounding a little bit faster than it should. He clenches and unclenches his fist under the table.
“All my life, I’ve been able to use my face to my advantage. But at the same time, it makes people think less of me. I always tried to perform outstandingly so that they would see that I’m more than just a pretty face. You know this.”
They’ve had this conversation before, so Adachi nods.
“At first I was uncomfortable because I only know how to deal with people loving my looks too much, not hating them.” That certainly explains Kurosawa’s initial, panicked look. Kurosawa continues, “But then I began to feel... free.” A look of peace flashes over his face. “I wouldn’t want to be like this forever, but... just for a little while. She reverse judged me, but... now someone at work expects me to not be perfect, and likes me better that way. In fact...” Kurosawa stops. He fiddles with the edge of the table-cloth with uncharacteristic hesitancy as if to straighten it.
“Go on,” Adachi encourages him.
“A part of me wishes I had just been born like that. Just the way your spell made me. Things would have been so different if my whole life was like that. If I wasn’t perfect but just good enough. But in the end, I know I’ll have to stop casting the spell.”
There’s real longing in Kurosawa’s voice. Hearing it, Adachi wishes that the face illusion didn’t freak him out so much and he could just say No, go ahead and cast it all the time, forever.
“Well, uh...” he says slowly. “Hey, wait, I know. What about when you get older? You’ll have wrinkles naturally then.”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Adachi wants to starts hitting his head against the table. It must show on his face, because Kurosawa takes one look at him and bursts out into laughter.
He can’t help it. Adachi starts giggling and then breaks into gales of laughter alongside Kurosawa.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Kurosawa says as their laughter dies down. He wipes his eyes daintily with one knuckle. “But, are you sure you are?”
They’ve been over this part of the conversation before, too, but Adachi is pretty sure this is the kind of thing it will take time for Kurosawa to overcome.
“I always look forward to being with you,” Adachi says, and smiles.
“Me too. But are you sure you wouldn’t mind? It’s just that the other day you said ‘there’s no such thing as too perfect’,” Kurosawa quoted. Adachi does remember saying that, and realises now that perhaps he should have worded it better.
“You called me a “shy little angel” one time, isn’t it the same thing?” Adachi says, a little indignantly.
Kurosawa’s mouth falls open. “Wait, you heard that?”
“You mean ‘My Boyfriend: a poem by Kurosawa Yuichi’?” Adachi’s smile grows and the corners of his eyes turn up with mischief.
“No,” Kurosawa groans, closing his eyes. “Don’t recite it. Fine. So you meant that kind of perfect.”
Of course. Adachi had meant that to him, Kurosawa had the kind of perfect that comes when you see a person for what they are, and love all their flaws because they belong to that person. Where quirks become cute instead of annoying and increase one’s love rather than detracting from it. The only kind of perfection it’s truly possible to achieve. The perfection of being exactly whom and what you are, but beloved in the eyes of another.
“You thought I meant the other kind,” Adachi surmises.
“Yes, I thought you meant that sort of... inhuman flawlessness. That’s what we usually mean when we talk about this.”
“I’ve seen you burn hamburgers now. And I’ve heard your snoring,” Adachi teases.
“You’ve even seen my nose hairs before I trim them in the morning.”
“Yup,” Adachi says, smirking wide but with fondness. “And I’ve seen you mess up spells and get stardust on your face and sneeze glitter everywhere. And I like all those things about you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, they’re just who you are. I love you, so I love them. You’re human.”
Standing from the table, Kurosawa comes around to where Adachi is still sitting. When Adachi turns towards him, Kurosawa hugs him. Adachi buries his smile in Kurosawa’s shoulder as he hugs him back. There’s nothing in the world like Kurosawa’s reassuring warm weight in his arms.
Don’t worry, Adachi. I’ll stop changing my face. I’m sorry for scaring you, Kurosawa thinks, and Adachi hears.
“I’m sorry for my clumsy words, and making you feel like you can’t be yourself,” Adachi replies aloud.
I should’ve known better, and had more faith in you.
Adachi doesn’t really think that Kurosawa needs to apologise for anything, but he accepts it anyway with a slight tightening of his hold. After a moment, Kurosawa draws back and gives Adachi a chaste kiss on the lips.
“No more face illusions,” Kurosawa promises. “I’ll get rid of the spell. You can have it for your gallery.”
Adachi keeps a binder full of old doodle spells he’s cast. Many mages keep spell diaries, even the ones who don’t use art or writing to cast. Kurosawa’s photocopy of the spell that’s covered in notes is probably destined to retire to Kurosawa’s own spell diary. Adachi is more than happy to relegate this spell’s various forms to relics in their respective magical galleries.
“Thanks.” Adachi says. “And Kurosawa?”
“Mm?”
“I love you.”
⁂
True to his word, Kurosawa hands over the original copy of the spell and Adachi stores it in his binder full of old spells. He files it under “DEACTIVATED, DO NOT RE-USE”. As Adachi had predicted, Ono-san doesn’t need to see Kurosawa’s fake imperfect face any more to continue feeling full of herself about him. Adachi has personally checked this with a light brush against her shoulder when he passed by her and Kurosawa having a conversation in the hallway. There are no repercussions for Kurosawa continuing to turn up to work au naturel every day.
On the day the merger is officially completed, there is a company celebration, of course. But when all the fanfare is over, Kurosawa and Adachi return to Adachi’s apartment together and pop a few corks of their own.
“No more Ono-san,” Adachi comments with perhaps a bit too much glee. Kurosawa toasts him.
“In hindsight, it was really very weird to be judged for the opposite of what I’m usually judged for,” Kurosawa muses. “I hope it doesn’t happen again.”
Adachi is momentarily startled at the idea of going through this whole rigmarole again.
“Next time let’s just draw some moles on your forehead and leave it at that,” he says. Kurosawa laughs, knocking their glasses together.
“Deal.”
He tilts his head back and downs the rest of his drink. Adachi admires the long line of his throat. It looks like a good place to put kisses. When it comes to Kurosawa, there’s a lot more than just the face to admire.
“I’ve got something to show you, by the way,” Kurosawa says, setting his glass down.
“Really? Me too,” Adachi says, half getting up.
“You first,” Kurosawa offers, and Adachi goes to his room to retrieve his gift, glad that they decided to stop at his place that night instead of Kurosawa’s. He emerges from his room a few moments later with a little terracotta pot in his hands. If Kurosawa had been the one to make it, he would’ve remembered to go to the store to get a ribbon to put on the pot. Instead, Adachi just used a bit of string to tie a bow. He holds the pot out for Kurosawa’s inspection.
“What’s this?”
Kurosawa takes the pot and examines the contents. Adachi doesn’t use his green touch as often as his other competence, but this was the best gift he could think of for his boyfriend.
The plant in the pot is a short, round green cactus. It has golden stripes down its sides which are lined with small golden needles. But more importantly, the inside of the cactus is filled with living, slightly glowing purple crystals. Only a magical gardener could create and keep one of these alive.
“It’s a geode cactus. I picked it because it reminded me of you. Good-looking on the outside, but the inside is more important.”
Kurosawa’s smile widens as he tilts the pot this way and that.
“Thank you.” He sets the cactus down on the table. “You have to tell me how you made this. In a minute. It’s my turn now.”
As he cups his hands together they begin to glow gold. In the air above them, colourful images begin to coalesce. Adachi sees a familiar, lopsided marigold-type flower appear. Other images are also familiar to him. Kurosawa has gone through Adachi’s gallery and created moving illusions of some of Adachi’s drawings.
“I used to be really good at illustrative illusions,” Kurosawa explains as Adachi watches his own drawings dance above Kurosawa’s hands. “I stopped doing it when I became an adult but I thought it would be fun to learn to do it again so I could show you how much I appreciate your spellcasting.”
In all honesty, Adachi is quite mesmerised.
“It’s amazing,” he breathes. His drawings come to life as spells all the time, but that’s not the same thing as this. He also hadn’t known that Kurosawa liked his doodles. They seemed like something that should’ve been too childish for him. But here he is, making those doodles dance so Adachi can see.
“I can add more. Want to see?”
Adachi enthusiastically exclaims a yes.