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Leo wishes him a good night and continues up the stairs. Standing at his apartment door, Madara waves cheerily after him, grinning ear to ear.
Madara's smile vanishes along with Leo's feet on the stairs, and he drops his hand.
God, his head fucking hurts.
He rubs his hand across his face and enters his apartment, taking care to lock the door behind him. He's really not in the mood for any bullshit tonight.
He drops his bag off somewhere in the entryway. Who cares where. He'll get it tomorrow. Probably.
He heaves a sigh and heads to the bathroom, shakes two Tylenol out of the bottle by the sink. Debates swallowing them dry. Rolls his eyes. Heads back to the kitchen to grab a cup and run enough water in it to knock the pills back in order to not make this stupid fucking headache more of a hassle than it already is.
He sets the empty cup by the kitchen sink. He'll wash it tomorrow.
Probably.
Pulling his phone out of his back pocket, he falls heavily into the armchair next to the kitchen. No new messages on HoldHands. Thank fuck. After today, he needs a break from the bullshit at ES for the foreseeable future or he might really go off the deep end.
Madara clicks off his phone and leans his head back to rest it against the cool wall.
He's so fucking tired.
His head hurts.
The silence is agonizingly loud.
He should make something to eat. He's pretty sure he has some instant noodles in the cupboard. He could make those.
He doesn't really want to.
He unlocks his phone again.
Still nothing. He doesn’t even know what he's looking for.
Today was such a fucking drag. Hours of being poked and prodded and hours of signing autographs and shaking hands and hours of smiling and laughing and smiling and laughing. Stick a fork in him, he's done.
Maybe he should just call it a night and go the fuck to bed. Tomorrow is a new day, and all that bullshit.
He stands from the armchair and makes his way over to the sliding door to the balcony, leaving his phone on the seat. He'll grab it on the way to bed. He just needs a moment out of the silence.
Madara has his hand on the handle of the sliding door when he hears a knock on the door to the apartment.
He sighs. Of fucking course.
Whatever. If they need him, they'll message him. Or call him. Or come back tomorrow. Or they won't. Who cares.
He pulls the balcony door open and shuts it behind him. The air is cool on his cheeks and the sounds of the city invade the silence.
Madara takes a deep breath in, and lets it out.
He rests his arms on the balcony railing. Looks down at the city. Looks up at the sky.
It's still too early in the evening to see the stars, the sun still setting, but it doesn't matter. The stars are too faint, here, anyway.
He drops his forehead to his arms and sighs.
He loses track of time. When he raises his head back up, the sun has finally dipped below the buildings and the sky has begun to darken. No stars. He drops his head back on his arms.
The sliding door opens near-silently behind him.
“If you're here to kill me,” he says after a moment, not moving his head, “I hope you said goodbye to any loved ones beforehand, because I'm not one to fuck with.”
He hears a snort and feels another person lean up against the rail next to him.
“Nah,” says Kohaku. “Y'do need a better lock, though.”
Madara pulls his head up. Slaps a smile on his face. Laughs. “Hahaha! Well, no lock is a match for you, after all! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Kohaku isn't smiling. “Cut the bullshit, Madara-han. Leo-han called. Said he couldn't get through to ya. Knocked on your door, messaged ya, called ya, the works.”
Fuck. It was Leo at the door. Shit.
Madara laughs. “Yeah, I left my phone in there for some peace and quiet! I had a looooong day. I'll text Leo and let him know.”
Kohaku's eyes narrow. “Leo-han said you'd been actin’ off all fuckin’ day.”
Fuck.
“Honestly,” Madara chuckles. “I just had a reeeeally bad headache. I took some medicine when I got home and now I'm just right as rain.” He gives a thumbs up and a cheesy grin. “You and Leo don't need to worry about me!”
Kohaku's hand flashes out faster than Madara can react and grabs his wrist tightly. “Listen, you self-sacrificin’, mask-wearin’ prick, I told you to cut your bullshit with me. The only way I'm leavin’ this fuckin’ apartment without you doin’ that is if you fuckin’ kill me.” He squeezes Madara's wrist, just on this side of painful. “And you and I both know that'd never fuckin’ happen. So cut. Your. Bullshit.”
And fuck it. Madara's too fucking tired to give a shit anymore. Not like Kohaku wasn't dead on the money.
He huffs, the smile dropping from his face like it was made of lead. “Fine.” He yanks his wrist out of Kohaku's grip and turns back to the city. “I had a bitch of a headache, an even worse day, and I would really like to be left the fuck alone.” He sighs, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “That's fucking it, Kohaku, alright?”
Kohaku hums and settles back against the railing next to him. “Don't fully believe all'a that. But maybe that's just ‘cause I know ya too well.”
Madara laughs once, humorlessly. “Oh, yeah? What don’t you believe, exactly?”
“I don't think you wanna be left alone at all,” Kohaku says quietly. “I think y'may think ya do. But you ‘n I… I think we both fare way better when someone we care about’s got our back when we feel down.”
Madara makes a noncommittal noise. “I'm fine, Kohaku. Go home.”
“No, you're fuckin’ not.” Kohaku drops his arms on the railing in a mirror of his own. “And I ain't goin’ anywhere.”
Madara sighs. “Fine. Whatever. Don't expect me to be in the mood for a lively fucking conversation.”
He sees Kohaku fidget with his hands in his periphery, but keeps his eyes locked on the sky, growing ever darker.
He really wishes he could see the stars.
“You look exhausted, Madara-han.” Kohaku tilts his head. “I know you, alright? More than you think, and prob'ly more than you want. You look like hell frozen over.”
Madara huffs, dropping his head back on his arms. “And you look like a pain in the ass.”
“Takes one t'know one,” Kohaku shoots back without missing a beat. “I've barely ever seen you without that stupid fuckin’ fake grin on your face, and I'd like to say it's nice you're finally not bullshittin’ me anymore, but I'm gonna be fuckin’ real, it's just freakin’ me out more.”
Madara laughs sharply, standing up straight and whipping around to glare down at him. “Yeah, I'm fucking unnerving when I stop giving a damn, huh? Don't ask for shit and then chicken out when you get it.”
Kohaku doesn't even flinch. “Stop puttin’ words in my mouth, you fuckin’ asshole.” He jabs a finger into Madara's chest. “Y’go on and on about how glad y’were you met me, one'a the first fuckin’ genuine things I'd ever heard y'say – the only reason I fuckin’ agreed to put Double Face to rest, mindja – and yet y’still fuckin’ think I think the absolute worst of ya.” He scoffs. “I ain't unnerved, or whatever the fuck.” His brows furrow. “I'm fuckin’ worried aboutcha, dumbass.”
“Well, there's your mistake.”
Kohaku's eyes narrow and his shoulders tense. “‘Scuse me?”
Fuck, Madara's tired. He really hadn't meant to say that out loud.
“You don't need to worry about me,” he says, turning back around to look over the city. “I told you, I'm fine. Just had a bad day.”
He can feel Kohaku staring at him, and he knows without looking that Kohaku didn't buy it for a second.
“Y'know, Madara-han,” he says quietly after another few moments where the only noise is the bustle of the city below them, “when I said ‘cut the bullshit’, I meant ‘quit fuckin’ lyin’ to me’.”
Madara closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I'm not lying to you, Kohaku. I'm just tired.” He takes a deep breath. “I'll tell Leo I'm okay, I'll get some sleep, wake up bright and fucking early tomorrow refreshed and ready for anything.”
He can see the challenge in Kohaku's eyes before he even turns towards him, but for the life of him, he can't figure out what he's got cooking in his brain. Other people are usually so easy to predict, but Kohaku's always been deceptively hard to read.
Kohaku drives him fucking crazy like that, sometimes.
“Okay, so you're gonna sleep. Okay. ‘S, what, about 7? Whatcha gonna get to eat for dinner?”
Fucking dammit.
“Already had dinner,” Madara lies. He can't quite pull the smirk he wants onto his face.
“No you fuckin’ didn't. That's why Leo-han was knockin’ on your door, to see if y’wanted to get somethin’ with him. Try the fuck again, Madara-han.”
Fuck.
“Oh, and ‘fore you try again, I looked in your fridge when I saw the pile'a dishes in the sink. I know you’ve got jack and shit in there.” Kohaku crosses his arms and tilts his head, an unreadable expression on his face. Madara thinks it's probably pity, which is fucking annoying.
“If you're just going to judge me, Kohaku,” Madara says icily, “then you can get the fuck out.”
Kohaku's face twists into a scowl. “You are so fuckin’ obtuse!” In a flash, he grabs Madara by the lapels and shoves him against the railing. “I'm not judging you, you absolute fuckin’ dick! I came because Leo-han was worried aboutcha, and when I got here, I saw he had every fuckin’ right to be! Y'ain't just havin’ a bad day, Madara-han! You're havin’ a fuckton of bad days in a row, and I'm worried!”
Madara's hands are shaking. He opens his mouth.
“No, just shut up for a second. I don't give a single flyin’ fuck what y’say – You not wantin’ me to worry aboutcha means fuck all, because I decide who and what I get to fuckin’ worry about, and right now, that's fuckin’ you. So you’d better get the hell used to it, dipshit.” His hands finally relax in Madara's shirt, and he takes a breath. “Y’said it yourself, right? That just ‘cause we ain't unitmates anymore doesn’t mean we shouldn't matter to each other. I know you're fuckin’ dense, but I didn't think you'd forget that.”
Madara holds his gaze for a few more moments, then swallows past the lump in his throat and looks away.
“If you say ‘I'm fine’ to me one more fuckin’ time, Madara-han…”
Madara lets out a breath. Kohaku finally lets go of his shirt and takes a step back. Rubbing his hands down his face, Madara leans back against the railing. “I'm not fine, Kohaku. But it's… I'll fucking deal with it. I always fucking deal with it. Today's just been…” He sighs gustily, his forehead resting on his hand. “Draining.”
Kohaku settles back next to him. “Mm. Has anyone ever toldja that tryin’ to getcha to talk about yourself is like pullin’ teeth?”
Madara chuckles humorlessly. “Once or twice.”
Kohaku snorts. “For someone who never shuts the fuck up, you sure do play your cards real close t'your chest. That's annoyin’ as all shit, y'know?”
“Yeah, I'm good at that.”
“Playin’ your cards close, or bein’ annoyin’?”
“Take your pick.”
Kohaku nudges Madara's elbow with his own. “Look, Madara-han, I didn't mean to fuckin’ corner you. I'm not lookin’ to make you hate me, okay?”
Madara sighs. “I know, Kohaku. I don't hate you.” He takes in a breath and leans up. Debates for a second or two. Then decides, fuck it. Kohaku's always been one of the only people he can truly relate to.
“Probably needed to be cornered. All I ever fucking do is run. You probably know that more than anyone.”
Besides Kanata, maybe. He doesn’t say that part out loud. Talking about Kanata is always a ticking time bomb.
Kohaku is silent for a few seconds. “Right, so that was actually real fuckin’ upfront. D'you wanna talk about what the fuck y’mean by that?”
“Not really.”
Kohaku hums. “Yeah, ‘course you don't. Pullin’ teeth ‘n all that shit.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Howsabout I do all the talkin’ for once, then, huh? I say what I think y’mean, and tell you to your fuckin’ face how bullshit it is.”
Madara sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again. At this rate his headache is going to come back with a vengeance. “You're not my fucking therapist, Kohaku.”
“Yeah, no shit. That'd imply you had one'a those.”
Madara scowls at him.
“Am I fuckin’ wrong? Fuck knows I ain't got one, and I'm all sortsa fucked up.” He rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Kinda can't go up to any self-respectin’ shrink with my flavor of fucked-up childhood.”
On any other day, Madara thinks, that probably would have made him laugh. He forgets, sometimes, why he likes Kohaku as much as he does. “Hear, fucking, hear.”
“Point is,” Kohaku continues, “people like us, people who ain't got the choice… Sometimes the best we’ve got is having one motherfucker who'll put up with our bullshit long enough to help deal with our brain, y'know?”
Madara looks away and doesn't answer. Yeah, well. That would be nice, wouldn't it.
Kohaku rolls his eyes. “Madara-han, whatever stupid, self-hatin’ thought y’just had couldn't’a been louder if you shouted it directly in my fuckin’ ear.” He shoves off the railing, turning around to face Madara fully and crossing his arms. “Fine. Let's start right the fuck here, then. Y'think I resent ya. Y'think I hate ya. Y'think I'm just here to appease Leo-han, ‘cause surely I can't possibly care aboutcha still. After the bullshit you pulled with tryin’ to disband Double Face behind my back, ‘n all that.” He pauses. “Twice.”
Madara can't stop his shoulders from tensing. He can't look Kohaku in the eye. He really hates, sometimes, how Kohaku can see straight through him. How he knows the best way to cut right down to the bone.
Madara hates himself for giving him the opportunity to do so.
“Thought so. That's whatcha meant by ‘I'm familiar with that’, huh?”
Madara shrugs.
He hears Kohaku sigh. “You're really fuckin’ stupid, y'know that?”
Madara swallows. “I've been told.” He hates how thin his voice sounds. He will not cry in front of Kohaku. He has nothing to fucking cry about.
He's just so tired.
“Madara-han.” Kohaku sighs. “That was the part where I toldja what I thoughtcha meant. You remember what I said was gonna come after that?”
“There’s no fucking way you don't resent me for that,” Madara hisses, balling his hands into fists so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Now who's fucking lying? I tried to pull the rug out from under you twice. You absolutely ripped me a new one the first time and I still did it again.”
“And the second time made sense,” Kohaku says, a note of something Madara can't place in his tone. Exasperation, maybe. “I was pissed the fuck off the way y’did it, sure, because y'didn't fuckin’ explain shit to me at first, but once y'did, and I got over myself, I understood.” He takes a breath. “I wouldn'ta agreed to keep Double Face disbanded if I didn't think it'da been good for both of us.”
Madara scoffs.
Kohaku is silent for a moment. “Okay, so what exactly didja have a problem with in all'a that this time?”
“Nothing.”
“Fine. I'll say it the fuck out loud, then. I don't resent you, you fuckin’ dipshit. I love Crazy:B, even if they're all fuckin’ batshit insane in their own ways, and it's nice t'be able to spend more time focusin’ on doin’ lives ‘n shit with them. And honestly?” He sighs gustily. “It's really fuckin’ nice not havin’ to worry about when the next time I hafta wash blood outta my uniform'll be. I don't fuckin’ mind that we ain't Double Face anymore. I do mind that y'think I hate you for it.”
What the fuck is Madara supposed to say to that? He wouldn't fucking know how to answer that on a good day.
“...And look, I know there's a fuckton I don't know aboutcha. Cards close to your chest, ‘n all. But I can't help but feel like there's prob'ly somethin’ behind your hangups about Double Face. Why you're so fuckin’ sure that I resent you. Either something or someone.”
Madara's blood runs cold.
“I really ain't tryin’ to pry, Madara-han. I'm just offerin’ to be that motherfucker who puts up with your bullshit.”
He cannot talk about Kanata.
He cannot talk about Kanata.
Not today.
“I'm really not in a talking mood, Kohaku.”
Kohaku hums. “Yeah, I know. This is prob'ly the most lopsided conversation we've ever fuckin’ had. Gotta yap enough for the both of us. And considerin’ how you usually are, that means a whole fuckload'a talkin’ from me.”
You don't have to do anything except leave, Madara thinks, but keeps this particularly bitchy thought to himself.
“I mean, I know I don't gotta. But I think I might still need to get it through that thick skull'a yours that I wanna.”
Why is he so fucking perceptive. Madara really fucking hates him.
…No, he doesn't. And that's worse.
Kohaku falls quiet for a few moments. Madara can see him fidgeting with his hands, like he’s trying to think of what else to say.
Madara may very well ice him out of his business yet, and then he can finally just go to bed and reset for tomorrow.
Why is that not as satisfying as it should be?
“I was… talkin’ to Bon,” Kohaku says, hesitantly. “After y'kicked me off the parentin’ show, but just before J started pullin’ his li'l magic trick.” He links and unlinks his fingers together. “About how J ‘n I were similar in some aspects, but way different in others. Like, yeah, I had a fucked-up childhood. Locked in a room, taught the most efficient way t'sneak up on someone ‘n slit their throat by ten fuckin’ years old.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking away. “Not the kinda shit you'd expect from someone livin’ in today's world, y'know? But…” He sighs, dropping his hand and looking over at Madara.
Their eyes meet; Madara hadn't even realized he'd finally looked back over at him.
“But I at least knew my family loved me. They cared for me. Protected me. I was cooped up, but I was cooped up with people who made sure I knew I was loved. J didn't have that, and…”
Kohaku's brows furrow, his eyes full of something heavy that Madara can't place. He would think it’s pity, but he was wrong about that before.
“...from what I've gathered, Madara-han,” he continues quietly, “you didn't have that, either. I think that's why J was drawn t'ya, and you t'him. Y'all saw yourselves in each other, in some way. And…” His voice cracks, his fists clench, and he looks away.
“Kohaku…”
“And J pullin’ some elaborate scheme to sacrifice himself so that we didn't end up gettin’ hurt? Where've I heard that one before, huh?”
“Kohaku, stop.”
“No!” Kohaku whirls around, eyes glossy, and pokes Madara in the chest again. “Don't you fuckin’ get it? I see the similarities ‘tween you and that kid, and it makes me sad! The both'a ya deserved so much fuckin’ better, and I can't tell that kid anymore, so you'd better bet your sorry ass that I'm gonna say it to you.” He takes a shaky breath and blinks back tears for a few moments, shaking his head once. When he opens his eyes, they're narrowed and determined. “Y'may not think so, but there are people who love you now, you fuckin’ dipshit. Who worry aboutcha. Who care how you're doin’. Who wantcha to be happy. Leo-han's one'a them.”
“Leo loves everybody.”
“What, so he shouldn't count? Howsabout I dial him back up and y'can say that straight to ‘im?” Kohaku crosses his arms.
Madara grimaces.
“‘S what I thought.” He looks away. “‘Sides, I'm one'a them too. Wouldn't still be here if I wasn't. You're bein’ a pain in the ass.”
“Takes one to know one,” Madara murmurs.
Kohaku snorts. “Yeah, all right. I'll allow that one.” He cocks his head to the side. “I'm willin’ to put up with your bullshit, Madara-han.”
Madara takes in a breath.
Why doesn't he feel as awful as he did?
Why is he actually considering it?
No one can possibly be this patient with him without some form of ulterior motive.
…Right?
Somehow, Kohaku doesn't seem like the kind of guy to stab him in the back, despite his capabilities to do literally exactly that.
Kohaku's phone chimes, and their eye contact breaks as Kohaku pulls it out.
Right. Of course. His bullshit has taken Kohaku away from whatever he'd been doing. There are other people who need him.
Madara can handle himself. He always has.
Kohaku holds up a finger, eyes not moving from his phone. “Stop.”
Madara blinks. “What?”
“Whatever dumbass thought you're fuckin’ thinkin’.” His eyes flick up from his phone, and he smiles, just slightly. “I ain't goin’ anywhere, Madara-han.”
“I wasn't–”
“Yeah, y'were. C'mon.”
Kohaku pushes away from the railing, and Madara, stunned near-speechless for the second time in less than a minute, just says, “What?”
“I said, c'mon. ‘S gettin’ cold out here. I'm gonna make some tea.”
Madara blinks. Why does he feel like he's lost the train of the conversation entirely? “I don't have any tea, Kohaku.”
“I know,” says Kohaku, opening the sliding glass door. “Leo-han dropped some off.”
Madara shakes his head, brows furrowed. “Leo did what?” He takes a step towards the door, as Kohaku walks through like he owns the place. “Kohaku, what the fuck are you–”
He stops short. On the counter in the kitchen are two bags from the grocery store down the block, and one bag of takeout. Kohaku reaches into one of them and pulls out a package of boxed tea.
“Hadta wrangle Bon into goin’ with him, ‘cause, I mean, y'know Leo-han. He mighta never gotten back here otherwise, no matter the good intentions he started out with.”
“You… He…” Madara feels like his brain is lagging five minutes behind. “What?”
Kohaku rolls his eyes and raises the takeout bag. “Dinner. I ain't Niki-han, I can't cook for shit. And tea. And some food for prob'ly the next few days, too, in case y'feel up to cookin’. Leo-han asked if there was anythin’ I could think of that he could do to help ya out. I messaged him ‘n suggested this. Left the door unlocked so he could get in.”
It's by far the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him. And he doesn't deserve it in the slightest.
“I…” He croaks. “I…” He can feel his eyes pricking. He can't force any words past the lump in his throat.
Kohaku puts the bag back on the counter, eyes going wide. “Madara-han?”
Despite his best efforts, he can feel tears sliding down his face. “You…”
Why did you do this for me?
Why did you rope in Leo?
Why do you care?
Kohaku takes a step towards him, reaching his hand out.
Madara jerks away, clapping a hand over his mouth. His shoulders are shaking. The tears won't stop.
“Aw, fuck,” he hears Kohaku mutter. “Shit, Madara-han, I didn't mean t’make ya cry…”
When was the last time he cried? He can't remember. As a kid, his parents would beat the shit out of him every time he did. So he learned to keep it the fuck inside.
He needs to stop. He needs to shut the fuck up. He needs to get a fucking hold of himself.
He slides down to the floor, entire body shaking.
He can't breathe.
“I'm just having a really bad day,” Madara bites. “You didn't have to do all of this, I don't– I'm not–”
“Not what, Madara-han?” says Kohaku as he sits down on the floor in front of him, sounding more gentle than Madara's ever heard him. “Worth the time? The effort? Bullshit. Whoever's made ya think that is a fuckin’ asshole.” He nudges Madara's foot with his own. “And if it was your own brain, then it's a major fuckin’ asshole.”
Madara curls up, arms on his knees, and buries his face in them. He can't stop fucking crying.
He wants to tell Kohaku to go away.
He can't tell Kohaku to go away.
He wants Kohaku to leave.
He needs Kohaku to stay.
He's sobbing loudly now, chest heaving and shoulders quaking with each new wave of tears.
The sliding glass door closes behind him, and he can't help but flinch when he feels a hand on his back.
“‘S just me, promise,” Kohaku murmurs, sliding down next to him on the floor. “C'mon, you big doofus. When's the last time y'let yourself cry?”
He feels Kohaku wrap an arm around him. He doesn’t pull, he doesn't nudge. Just waits.
“Why are you doing all this for me?” Madara chokes out. “I've been nothing but a pain in the ass to you since we fucking met, but you… Why?”
“‘Cause I care aboutcha, Madara-han,” Kohaku says simply. “You're my friend, and I care aboutcha. Is that really so hard for y'to understand?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.” Kohaku rests his head on Madara's shoulder. “Guess I'll hafta keep tellin’ ya till y’believe me, then.”
How matter-of-fact he sounds, like it's the easiest fucking thing in the world, makes Madara dissolve into another bout of sobs. Kohaku doesn't say anything more, just keeps his head on Madara's shoulder and rubs his back every now and then.
When Madara's tears finally slow, he pats his back one more time and stands. “I'm gonna get some tea started. C'mon and join me at the table whenever you're ready, all right?”
It takes until Kohaku is pouring the boiling water over the tea for Madara to stand and make his way over. He sits silently at the table and puts his forehead in his hand.
He hears Kohaku rummage around in one of the bags for a moment and then the sound of a spoon against glass.
Kohaku sets a mug in front of him with a small clunk. “‘S hot, don't burn your face off.”
Madara hums noncommittally, raising his head.
Whatever it is, it's only slightly less pink than Kohaku's hair.
Kohaku sits across from him, setting his mug down with a second thunk. “Some sorta cherry blend, I think. Leo-han thinks he's funny. Smells good, at least.”
Madara nods. He can't meet Kohaku's eyes. He's sure, no matter the tone of his voice or his actions, that all he'll see there is judgment.
“Madara-han.”
He couldn't even hold it together for a fucking hour. He's fucking pathetic.
“Madara-han. Hey. Look at me.”
He drags his gaze up from the single grain on the table he's been focused on and lands somewhere around Kohaku's left shoulder.
“You're fuckin’ allowed to cry, Madara-han. ‘N if y'think I'm gonna judge ya for that, you should see me when I watch sad movies with Love-han. First time I watched Kimi no Na Wa? My ass was facedown on the rug bawlin’ my fuckin’ eyes out for like half a fuckin’ hour.”
Madara looks back down. Steam swirls above the mug in front of him, and he finds himself entranced by it.
“Go on ‘n try some.”
Madara reaches out to grab the mug. It's warm against his hands – he hadn’t realized how cold he'd gotten standing on the balcony for so long. He pulls it towards him and stares down into it.
It does smell good.
He takes a small sip. It's sweeter than he expected.
“I know y'like shit sweeter than me, so I snagged some honey ‘n put it in for ya.”
Madara finally looks up to meet Kohaku's eyes again. There's no judgment there. His gaze is as warm as the tea. “I don't get you,” he rasps.
“Been told that's part'a my charm,” says Kohaku wryly, lifting his own mug to take a sip. “You're gonna hafta be more specific.”
“This. I don't… Why are you… ”
Kohaku sighs and sets his mug back down. “I always had someone when I was lonely. I had my parents, or my sisters. Hell, I even had Love-han eventually, even though I'd never met him in person ‘til ALKALOID and Crazy:B were formed.” He taps his thumb against the side of his mug. “If I hadn'ta had them… I think I'd be way more fucked up than I am.”
He tilts his head to the side. “You've mentioned your parents are a whole other level'a fuckin’ awful, and I met your sister, and she seemed to really fuckin’ hate you. Like I said…” He looks off to the side, then back at Madara. “J reminded me'a you. You've always seemed so fuckin’ lonely, Madara-han. You're just good enough at hidin’ it that no one notices.” He takes another sip of his tea thoughtfully, then continues. “You've got a lotta people who can recognize your face, but almost no one who knows that face is less a face and more a facade.”
Madara puts his head back in his hand. “So… what?”
“So, that's hell on Earth. T'not have anyone y'can trust? No one to lean on when you're feelin’ down? I wouldn't wish that on my worst fuckin’ enemy, Madara-han. And you sure ain't that.”
Madara is silent for a few moments. He takes another sip of tea.
It's warm. It’s comforting.
It feels less comforting than the person sitting across the table from him, somehow.
“Kanata,” Madara says, finally. “Shinkai Kanata, from RYUSEITAI. I knew him when we were kids. I…” His voice breaks. “I couldn't save him. I tried over and over, and I couldn't. I failed him, and he hates me for it. Someone else had to save him. Because I failed.” He chances a look up. Kohaku's eyes are wide. He looks away again. “You asked. If there was something behind my hangups. If it were anything… it'd be him.”
“Mm. Shinkai-han… he's one'a those Eccentrics, ain't he? The floaty one. Think I've seen him splashin’ around in a fountain before? He roomed with Rinne-han at Seisoukan for a bit, I think.”
Madara snorts past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, that's him.”
Kohaku tilts his head. “He's always seemed super gentle to me. I ain't ever heard him raise his voice, even when he's on stage. He doesn’t seem the hatin’ type. I mean, hell, he took Rinne-han's shit for however long with a grace I didn't think possible. Fuck knows I almost killed him just roomin’ with him for a coupla months.”
“You’ve never seen him around me.”
Kohaku taps his fingers against his mug. “Don't know him well at all, if I'm honest with ya. Never had the chance t'interact with him one-on-one before.” He hums. “You said y'couldn't save him. You talkin’ about that war at Yumenosaki they're always talkin’ about?”
It would be easier to just say yes.
It would be smarter to just say yes.
“Partially,” Madara says.
Kohaku's brows furrow. “Somethin’ when you were kids, then?”
Madara's shoulders tense.
“Y'don't have to answer that,” Kohaku says, “if it's just bad memories.”
He should take the olive branch.
He should drop it for good.
“Yeah,” Madara says. “But… it… it's a long story. And I… can't. Not right now.”
Kohaku just nods. “All right. It really is fine if you ain't comfortable tellin’ me more. I got enough'a the puzzle. I'm really not here to drudge up shitty memories, Madara-han.” He stands up, grabbing the takeout bag from the counter behind him. “We should prob'ly eat this ‘fore it gets cold.”
He pulls a container out of the bag, looks inside it, and puts it in front of Madara.
Madara stares at it.
“‘S yakisoba.” Kohaku drops a pair of chopsticks in front of him and grabs another container out of the bag.
“Why did Leo drop this off?”
Kohaku snags a piece of paper out of the bag. Maybe the receipt. “‘Cause I asked him to.”
Madara shakes his head. “No, I mean – I know that. I don't get it, but I know that. I mean…”
“Oh, y'mean why didn't he stay?”
Madara nods.
“‘Cause he figured he's prob'ly a bit too much for ya right now. He could tell somethin’ was wrong from when he first saw ya today.” He slides the paper across the table to Madara. “He just told me to tell you t'let him know when you're doin’ all right again. Then he's gonna hug the shit outta you.”
Madara looks down. Scrawled on the back of the receipt is “Feel better, Mama!” followed by a frowny face with sad eyebrows and a drawing of two stick figures hugging.
Madara feels tears welling in his eyes again, and he drops his head to the table with a thump.
“He's cheesy as fuck, ain't he? I can see why you two're friends.”
“I love him,” Madara gurgles through a strangled half-laugh, half sob, “soooo much. He's such a good fucking guy.”
Kohaku laughs. “I won't tell him his note made ya cry if you won't.”
“Not crying,” Madara lies. “Done crying. For the next fifty years.”
Kohaku snorts. “Got it. No cryin’ from you.” He taps the table with his chopsticks. “Your soba's gettin’ cold, dumbass.”
Madara sniffs and raises his head, reaching out to snap his chopsticks apart and open his container of food.
It smells good.
“He got me some typa sweet chicken curry,” says Kohaku, startling Madara out of staring blankly down at his food. “This shit’s pretty good, I'll hafta remember that.” He holds out his container. “Try some.” When Madara looks up at him, confused, he flushes slightly and looks away. “Sometimes I gotta trick my brain into realizin’ I'm hungry by snackin’ on somethin’ that ain't a meal. ‘N that started from my sisters makin’ me try their food whenever I said I wasn't hungry.”
Madara laughs.
Actually laughs.
And snags a piece of chicken from Kohaku's plate.
Kohaku doesn't say anything as Madara tries it, but the small grin on his face betrays his thoughts.
The curry is bizarrely sweet, but tasty.
Madara is… really fucking hungry.
…Come to think of it, did he even have lunch today?
“I can't believe that's what finally gotcha to laugh,” Kohaku finally says. “Of all the shit I've said today.”
Madara tries his noodles. They're fantastic.
“Knew that'd work, though. You're pretty fuckin’ hungry, ain'tcha?”
Madara rolls his eyes, mouth quirking into half a smile. “Shut up.”
Kohaku grins. “Nah.”
They eat in relative silence. Madara's tea has gotten cool, but it's still good. His noodles are rich and flavorful, and when Kohaku pulls a box containing two little pastries from one of the grocery bags behind him and gives him one, it's fluffy and sweet.
He feels… all right. For the first time in a while.
He sighs. “I should pay Leo back for all this.”
Kohaku shakes his head. “Already did. Wasn't a big deal. You ain't payin’ me back, neither,” he adds, cutting off Madara before he can get a single word out. “Wasn't a big deal. I'd do it again.”
“You’re a pain.”
“You bet.”
“I'll find out how much it was and pay you back when you least expect it,” Madara mutters mutinously.
Kohaku snorts. “Okay, Madara-han. Whatever y'say.”
Madara taps the bottom of his container lightly with his chopsticks. He can't meet Kohaku's eyes. “Thanks. For… putting up with me.”
Kohaku knocks their knees together under the table. “Thanks for cuttin’ the bullshit.”