Time doesn’t pass, it drags.
Bound to the hospital bed, Ron can do nothing more than look through the window and attempt to determine the hour based on the position of the sun or the moon. Each time he opens his eyes, too heavily drugged to form much thought, he counts the second for as long as he can before he’s pulled under all over again. He thinks he hears the tick of the clock haunting the edges of his consciousness, only to realize that’s the beep of his heart.
Hours may have passed; weeks, months even. The drag of it is heavy on his chest. Ron thinks of all the cases he could be solving instead, thinks of the dead bodies piling up, and the culprits still at large.
He thinks about the bullet that could have gone through Toto’s heart, thinks about the one that did pierce his stomach. The sound of it echoes.
The symphony that lulls him to sleep each night: the clock, the heart monitor, the gunshots.
He often wakes up in a cold sweat. He might call Toto’s name, but he can’t make a sound, and his muscles are so heavy he’s not sure they move at all. Still, he spends long, sleepless nights like this, simply mouthing the soft syllables of his partner’s name. It’s somewhat of a ritual, a prayer, a supplication.
His memories replay like a movie, a private exhibition of Toto’s smile. I will always believe in you, he says; If you’re not sure, then I am, he says. It all overlaps, a dozen moments that all say the same thing, that Isshiki Totomaru would stay by Kamonohashi Ron’s side even if it cost him his life. Eventually, the words disappear entirely, and all he’s left are expressions. Rueful grins and fierce glares, clear eyes, looking straight at Ron, into him. Cracking him open.
At first, he considers his fixation to be simple boredom. Going over the events that took place aboard the cruise ship is one of his only pastimes, and it’s important that he commit that hellish trip to memory, so that he can stop similar incidents from ever occurring again. However, no other faces come to him in his dreams. Not Mylo Moriarty nor Shachi act out their lines like a grainy, faded film. It’s only Toto: his scrunched up nose when he’s dissatisfied with Ron, his sheepish grin, the arch of his eyebrows. Every detail is as clear as if he were standing right in front of Ron.
Then, he concludes, it must be worry eating at him. The knot of choked up emotions won’t leave him until he can be sure that Toto is alright, that he made it out of this without anything other than a few scars.
He’s satisfied with considering that little mystery to be solved when he’s discharged from the hospital and Toto is right there, waiting for him, as if it’s the most obvious thing. Something in his chest loosens, and he can breathe right again, without the rattle of needles in his lungs. Part of him wants to draw Toto into a hug, to feel his body against his own, just to be sure he’s not a hallucination after all.
Life goes on—as much as it can, when Ron is still recovering from his surgery and Toto has developed a habit of clutching at his stomach. From what he can tell, the action is compulsive, something Toto himself doesn’t realize he’s doing.
He wonders if it hurts, or maybe if it itches. He wonders if Toto would flinch away, if Ron traced the edges of his scar with his fingertips. He’s no Fin Fennec, but Ron is sure he would understand something greater, if he could just memorize the feeling of Toto’s wounded skin against the palm of his hands.
That particular conundrum assails him in the afternoons, when the sun is setting and he starts to wonder what Toto is up to, if he’ll be off work soon. He has been visiting religiously every evening. He always helps with dinner, sometimes he redoes Ron’s bandages, and more rarely he sits there without saying a single word for hours, until Ron starts to fall asleep. His figure is like a guardian deity, always at the corner of Ron’s eyes.
“You should just stay here,” Ron whines. “What’s the point of going home so late?”
“You don’t have a guest bedroom, Ron. Or a spare futon.”
“The entire floor is a futon, just sleep there.”
Toto cruelly ignores him.
In his absence, Ron’s fixation grows worse. If he sits down to read a book, he pauses every ten minutes to check if he has any texts from Toto. When he watches TV, he expects to hear Toto’s inane commentary. Ron fills his day with puzzles and mystery novels, only to lose focus as he imagines how difficult it would be for Toto to solve it by himself.
Any attempts to rein his focus back into control are fruitless. Before long, his mind has gone blank and his eyes stray to the door, almost unblinking for who knows how long. Ron tries and fails not to feel like a dog waiting for his master to come home.
Then, at the end of the day, there comes Toto. The persistent weight in his chest lifts, but the itch just beneath his skin worsens. Ron’s restless, like his body is compelling him to do something, but he can’t figure out what that something is. Toto pads around the apartment with familiarity, like he owns the place—and he might as well do, with how often he has referred to it as home—and Ron’s turmoil grows worse. He curses Toto for doing this to him, although all he has done is exist in Ron’s general vicinity, completely clueless to the fact that Ron’s eyes always latch onto the back of his neck without his permission.
This isn’t mere worry, and there’s more to it than excessive attachment. Ron looks at the evidence, but the pieces don’t fit together. The solution is just beyond his grasp; he’s missing a critical piece to this puzzle.
Maybe he’d be able to find out what that is, if he wasn’t entranced by the way Toto’s fingers wrap around a spoon, his mouth moving soundlessly as he talks to himself.
Ron flops to the ground in despair. At this rate, he’s never regaining control over his own mind with Toto around, which will be a disaster once Ron is back to working cases with him.
“Toto, I need you to get out of my sight,” Ron murmurs sullenly.
“What?”
Toto looks up to frown at him. Ron can’t feel too bad about the genuine irritation in his expression, just relieved that the new position means Ron is no longer pulled towards the nape of Toto’s neck like a magnet. Toto is pouting a little as he pads his way to Ron’s side. His foot nudges into Ron’s side sharply, drawing a sharp breath from him. Ron supposes he deserved that one.
“Don’t be rude, Ron,” Toto admonishes. “Here, I made you coffee. I don’t know if there’s enough black sugar syrup in it, but you can get up and put more in yourself if you don’t like it.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Ron sits up and takes the mug into his hands; it’s the perfect temperature for his cold fingers, and the coffee itself is done just the way he likes. His fingers twitch, eager to grasp at something insubstantial—Toto’s attention, maybe. His care. It settles warmly within his breastbone. Ron feels a little hazy around the edges. He stares up at the source of all his problems, dismayed. “Now, shoo shoo, out of here.”
Toto opens and closes his mouth a few times. Then, the irritation melts away for a quieter, more subtle emotion. He looks upset.
“What are you talking about? You’re starting to hurt my feelings with that, I don’t remember doing anything that would make you want me to go away.”
“Don’t be stupid, Toto, as if anything you do could ever make me wish for that,” he says sincerely as an apology. It’s disconcerting, the enormity of his relief when Toto’s face clears, and a smile breaks through the clouds of his temporary distress. “The problem isn’t anything specific you’ve done. You’re just— distracting me.”
“I don’t think I’m being loud though?” Toto immediately rebuts thoughtfully. “Unless I’ve been rambling out loud again…”
“Not like that, you’re surprisingly quiet today. The issue is with your general existence.”
“Seriously, don’t you have a kinder way of saying that?”
Ron laughs—he can’t help it, not with the scrunched up nose, bunny-like expression Toto makes. The action is infectious, and soon enough, they’re both giggling over nothing in particular. For a moment, Ron forgets all about his little issue. That is, until he loses himself in the laugh lines around Toto’s squinting eyes.
“Listen to me, Toto!” Ron exclaims. “I’m at my wit’s end. First, I can’t come with you to work because I’m still recovering from surgery and Dr. Mofu will scold me for an hour straight if I don’t obey the doctor’s orders. Her time is precious, she can’t spend it on telling me something I won’t even listen to! I’ve been trying my best to stay put and distract myself with other things, but it’s really difficult when I always end up thinking about you instead.” He grabs Toto by the shoulders, shaking him a little. “If you’re not here, I get antsy and I keep checking the time until you’re off work. But even when you are here, I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t figure out why that is, which is even more frustrating! That reminds me— I like your outfit today, it suits you. But why am I wasting time paying attention to what you wear?! This is all your fault, Toto!”
All he expects to get from his tirade is some relief to his mounting frustration. Ron isn’t really looking for a solution to come out of it. He can tell that whatever is triggering his fixation on Toto, it sparked after their encounter with Mylo—based on that, Ron judged it to be something that would be resolved naturally with time, as they returned to their routine and the worst of the psychological wounds scabbed over.
It’s increasingly obvious, however, that he underestimated Toto. That wide-eyed expression on his face is one of realization. Ron marvels at the prospect that Toto might have figured out this mystery before Ron could, but before he can congratulate him for it, Toto quickly looks to the side and his face goes bright red.
“Toto?”
“Uhm, I’m gonna ask you something and you can laugh if I’m wrong, but…” Toto can’t quite meet his eyes, and Ron can see his pulse jumping rapidly at his neck. “Ron, are you in love with me?”
Ron can’t quite parse out that question. He has to backtrack on their conversation to scrutinize his own words, to put every thought and feeling under the microscope to even begin to associate it all to the concept of romantic interest.
“This is what it feels like to be in love…?” He wonders dazedly. “How does anyone function while feeling like that, what an inconvenient thing to live with.”
“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Toto chuckles sheepishly. He takes a deep breath, like he often does just before presenting one of Ron’s deductions. “Even I have moments when I think it’s kind of a pain. I’m barely home these days because I just have to be here, like it’s really a necessity? And if I don’t come over, I spend all night thinking whether you’re alright, if you’re lonely. But then I wonder if being here all the time doesn’t annoy you, and I’m just acting conceited for assuming you need me around as much as I do. And during cases, you’re always so cool when you really get into solving a mystery. It’s really distracting, you know! How am I supposed to explain it when someone notices I’ve been staring at you for way too long?”
His voice goes a few notes higher at the end, a breathless squeak as the words are squeezed out of him. Toto is breathing hard, as if it took great physical effort to get through his speech. He brushes his bangs aside—a habit he picked up from watching Ron, another nervous tic he’s not yet aware of. His eyes are, as always, brilliant. And hopeful. A nervous smile twists his lips, which he licks compulsively. With his soft cheeks and his honest, affectionate gaze, Toto looks for all the world like he would shatter oh so easily in Ron’s grasp. Like his heart is for Ron to either keep or crush.
Ron has never known anything more terrifying.
“Hey, say something,” Toto pleads. “You’ve already figured out what I’m trying to tell you, right? If I tell you more than this, I don’t think I’ll survive the embarrassment.”
“W-Wait, Toto,” Ron cuts in. His fingers shake on Toto’s shoulders. “Hear me out.”
“Okay?”
“Listen, I don’t have any experience with this. Literally zero. I can’t even say for certain that I’m in love with you because I’ve never fallen for anyone before, I don’t know what that’s supposed to feel like—” He trails off as Toto’s reaction registers. “Why are you making that lovestruck face at me…?”
“You just said I might be your first love, I think anyone would be flattered to hear that,” Toto argues. “Are you nervous, Ron?”
Toto raises himself to his knees so he can crawl closer to Ron. He sets his palms on each side of Ron’s neck, eyes carefully gauging his reaction as he drags his palms up to catch a fistful of Ron’s jacket.
There are a billion poetic things that could be said about the touch of his hand—if he were someone else, Ron is sure he would write a few sonnets dedicated solely to it. All he can say, however, is that Toto is warm, and he’s real, and he’s a force of nature like none other. Ron can do little more than hang on, fingertips grasping at Toto’s wrist.
“I can’t tell you how to feel, and I really don’t want to force you into anything, but I’m sure we’ll be fine! When have I ever been wrong about that?”
“Toto…”
“If you don’t like this, just punch me in the face or something. But, uhm, go easy on me.”
There’s just enough time to register a few little details: Toto’s scent is mostly neutral, but with a hint of citrus to it; there are light specks in the inner ring of his eyes, gray melting into brown and into amber; his hair, as it brushes against Ron’s cheek, is as soft and Ron always imagined it to be. Then, finally: Toto tastes like coffee. His lips are a little chapped. His hands twitch nervously around the lapels of Ron’s jacket.
Ron is suspended in a kaleidoscope of sensations, but most of it takes a backseat to the thunderous pound of his own heart in his ears. He’s sure he’s burning inside out.
Nothing he has experienced in his life so far has ever felt like this. If he’s sure of one thing, it’s that if he’s to go out by Isshiki Totomaru’s hands, then so be it.
(It is somehow that simple.)
*
In true London fashion, they’re welcomed into the city by a downpour. He and Toto stand under the ledge of the hotel’s entrance, peering over the edge just to confirm that the rain isn’t stopping any time soon. Toto sticks one hand out, water pooling at the center of his palm. He glances at Ron in question, and he shrugs in response.
Spitz joins them after a minute, breaking the peaceful lull to ask: “What are you guys doing after this, Tototo?”
“Hm?” Toto blinks, his eyes straying away from Ron. He startles a little, like he hadn’t noticed Spitz was right next to them until he spoke up. “Oh, we were planning to go sightseeing and visit some cafés on the way. Ron won’t stop talking about the brown sugar syrup in London, so I don’t have much choice there. We’ll probably have lunch together too. Do you want to come with us, Spitz?”
Spitz considers it for a moment, but then he glances between Toto and Ron, and raises an eyebrow. His grin is playful, if only a little sheepish.
“It’s okay, I don’t want to get in the way of your date,” he decides, waving a hand when Toto starts to protest. “We can go somewhere later with the three of us. I’ll go ahead to Blue first, I’ll see you guys there.”
“Sure, it’s a promise,” Toto acquiesces. “See you later, Spitz.”
Spitz lingers for another beat. He looks at Ron and mouths at him, so Toto can’t easily tell what he’s saying. Take good care of him. Ron huffs and tips his head, smiling in a way that he hopes conveys his message: as if anyone needs to ask him to do that—Ron has been set on treasuring Toto long before they started dating. Spitz chuckles into his fist and makes a run for the car parked in wait for him.
“What was that about?” Toto asks as soon as the car has driven away.
“It’s nothing,” he dismisses quickly. “More importantly, Toto. Is this a date?”
“I didn’t plan on making it one! But, I mean, we’re sightseeing in a foreign country, it’s hard not to think it’s a little romantic,” his voice lowers with each word, until it’s nothing but a barely coherent mumble. Ron watches with amusem*nt as Toto’s ears become red. “When I say that out loud, it sounds stupid.”
“I don’t think it is,” Ron reassures him. “You make a good point, Toto. We should make the most out of our honeymoon.”
“It’s way too soon for a honeymoon!” He heaves an enormous sigh as he stares at the pattering rain. “If only we had better luck with the weather…”
Ron hums in acknowledgement. The sentiment behind his words was sincere: they wouldn’t get many chances to travel, especially not overseas. Toto is often busy, and it’s rare for him to take a day off. He can’t just drop all his responsibilities on a whim. When Ron thinks of it that way, it really is a waste to let their plans go to ruins over a little rain.
“Come on, Toto, let’s do something romantic to match your vision.”
He grabs Toto by the hand.
“Huh? Wait, Ron—!”
Despite his protests, Toto runs all the same, following after Ron as he’s pulled along into the cold rain. They both hold an arm above their heads, though it’s of little help in their situation. Ron laughs as they speed through the London streets, Toto frantically holding on to him as he skids on the wet pavement. The locals stare at them as they pass by, but Ron barely sees them in comparison to the indignant look Toto is throwing his way.
There’s a perfectly good café nearby, so they can’t have been out in the rain for longer than five minutes. Even then, Toto’s hair is drenched, plastered to his forehead and cheeks. Their jackets are insulated, so their inner clothes survived the onslaught. Ron takes Toto’s jacket off his shoulders and pushes him down onto a chair in one of the outdoor tables.
“You look like a drenched chick,” Ron comments. He runs a hand through Toto’s wet hair, ruffling it as he goes so the strands aren’t clumped together so heavily. It gives him a messy sort of look that surprisingly doesn’t look bad on him.
“Oh, shut up. Ugh, my fingers are so cold…”
“I’ll warm them up for you.”
Ron drags the second chair from the opposite end of the table so he can sit right next to Toto instead. He cups his palms around Toto’s knuckles. Then, he pulls them closer to blow a warm breath over his fingers. Toto twitches, and he’s gaping at Ron. He doesn’t pull away, but maybe he’s just frozen, not sure what to do with himself.
“...You’re way more romantic than I thought, Ron,” he manages to say after a moment.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I wasn’t trying to insult you or anything, I swear!” Toto squawks. “It’s just not what I pictured. It’s… nice.”
“Eloquent as always, Toto,” he teases lightly, content when it makes Toto narrow his eyes in irritation.
They’re interrupted from continuing the topic when the server comes to take their order. Ron waits for their drinks to arrive before posing the question that’s been burning in the back of his mind: “Did you tell Spitz about us?”
Toto seems to choke on nothing but air. “Kinda,” he coughs. “I told him about, uh, my feelings for you. I’m pretty sure he figured the rest out on his own. I forget it sometimes, but he is a Blue instructor, so I shouldn’t be surprised by that.” He pauses in his ramble to gauge Ron’s reaction, his expression growing uncertain. “Does it bother you that he knows? I didn’t think it mattered, since he’s our friend.”
There’s a thin line of latte on Toto’s upper lip. Ron watches him lick it off, while Toto seems none the wiser about his momentary distraction. He hasn’t grown accustomed yet, to his own inattentiveness, to the ease with which his attention is thoroughly grabbed by every little thing Toto does.
Ron shakes his head—both as an answer to Toto, and as a way to clear his head.
“Don’t worry, Toto, I was just surprised. You don’t talk about yourself often, so I didn’t think you would go to someone to talk about our relationship.”
“I couldn’t help it, I didn’t know what to do at the time. I felt a little awkward bringing it up with one of the girls, and I sure as hell couldn’t tell Amamiya-senpai.” They wince in unison. That’s a conversation they would need to have, eventually. “Kawasemi-san would probably try his best to help, but can you imagine discussing romance with him? I trust Spitz, and he knows both of us well, so it was a pretty obvious choice.”
There’s a meaningful pause in his speech. Toto pulls his coffee cup closer, cradling in his hands and tapping his finger on the side of it. He suddenly seems fascinated by the smudged latte art swirling inside his coffee.
“If you have something to say, just say it,” Ron demands.
“Can’t you be a little more gentle?” Toto complains, but there’s no real heat behind it. After one more moment of hesitation, he says all in one breath: “You’re my best friend, I didn’t want to be a burden to you.”
“’Burden’…?”
“You say you don’t concern yourself with other people’s feelings, but that was in the past, right? Knowing you, you’d agonize over how to let me down easily or something silly like that. It’d probably make our friendship awkward, I was afraid it’d drive a wedge between us. More than being rejected, that would be the worst possible outcome.”
Ron’s first instinct is to refute it, but when he really thinks about it, he can picture that scenario perfectly. In truth, dread grows in the pit of his stomach at the mere thought of disappointing Toto, let alone hurting him, regardless of his own intentions. If Ron had noticed Toto’s growing affection before his own could bloom, there’s no telling just what kind of disaster that would’ve wrought on their friendship.
“As expected of you, Toto. You know me better than anyone else, that’s a fine deduction.” He smiles gently. Ron allows the words to linger, for Toto to revel in the praise, before clicking his tongue as he hisses, “Knowing I somehow missed something this big, though… And Spitz knew before I did!”
“You’re looking way too murderous over this, Ron,” Toto laughs. “But it was actually a big shock that you never suspected a thing! I can’t believe you were so oblivious this whole time.”
“I won’t make the same mistake again,” Ron mutters darkly. “Next time, I’ll be ready.”
“And when would ’next time’ be?!”
In the back of his mind, Toto’s words come together to make an unpleasant picture. He didn’t imagine Ron would have romantic inclinations, he said. He was at a loss, and he didn’t want to burden Ron. The thought of it haunts him in a way he can’t quite put his finger on. Selfishly, he loathes that there could be something of Toto that was kept from him for so long. The fact that he was worrying over this all on his own doesn’t sit right with Ron either.
“Did it not bother you?” He prods. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, it probably wasn’t easy to keep your emotions to yourself. Forced to keep quiet, afraid it’d destroy our friendship if I caught on…” Ron bites on the inside of his cheek. “If anything, I was just passively hurting you for months.”
Toto nudges his shoulder, a mocking smile on his lips.
“Don’t make me sound like a forlorn, lovesick maiden. Yeah, I panicked at the beginning, but after a bit I got used to it, and then it didn’t matter all that much? Wait, that sounds bad—” He hurries to interject before Ron can think to question his choice of words. “I like you a lot, Ron, but I would stay with you regardless of what we are to each other. Being your friend wasn’t a consolation prize. Honestly, considering how you were in the past, it’s a huge deal you let me in at all. I was really happy to be with you, so it was never painful.”
What Toto seems to imply is that, while his love for Ron includes an attraction to him, the feeling is completely non-reliant on it. There are many people who would be horrified over the very idea, who need to be needed in the most ardent and carnal way possible. That isn’t the case for Ron. He has never felt this thoroughly embraced by someone’s heart, to the point he feels like a fake next to Toto. He doesn’t know yet how to return the sentiment, so he reaches for Toto, clutching hard at his shirt, hands shaking.
Without seeming to realize it, Toto leans into him, until their arms are pressed together from shoulder to wrist.
Toto gets that vacant look in his eyes when he’s thinking something to himself, unaware that he’s still speaking: “Except that time with Elmer—” He catches himself at the last second, slapping a hand over his mouth.
“What about Elmer?” Ron asks, thrown off by the sudden mention of his mother’s assistant. The confusion is momentary; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out this particular mystery. “You were jealous.”
“No, I wasn’t!”
“You hated that he stole your place as my first friend and only partner, Toto,” he reminds Toto. “You couldn’t even bring yourself to call him that, I remember you hesitating back at the hospital.”
“Forget all about that!”
Ron isn’t blind. Even back then, he noticed Toto’s distaste towards Elmer. He didn’t bother acknowledging it, allowing Toto to see the obvious truth with his own eyes: if Ron had wanted just any smart person at his side, there were many others like Elmer. From the crowd of faces that had seeked his assistance over the years, Ron could’ve picked any of them.
But there is no one like Toto. No one could ever replace him, nor could they so easily drive Ron away from him.
“It’s okay, Toto.” He leans forward, letting his lips hover over the shell of Toto’s ear. “You’re still my first friend, and my first love, and my first and only lover. There’s no one but you.”
Toto has the audacity to stare at him with wide eyes, as if this is new information to him. Perhaps he just didn’t feel what Ron did back in the ship, as he pressed his palm to Toto’s pierced stomach, sure it wasn’t just blood clinging to his fingers, but Toto’s very life, slipping away from him. He wasn’t privy to Ron’s rapidly running thoughts, a billion curses and an abyss of despair:
It’s all my fault that you’re here, it’s all my fault that you’re in danger.
I’m nothing without you, don’t you dare leave me here all by myself.
If you die, then I’d rather go with you.
Don’t go, Toto.
“Ron?” Toto searches Ron’s eyes, his brows knitting in concern. “Where did you go? You look like you’re lost in thought.”
If Toto doesn’t understand, then it’s okay.
“Just thinking I’m glad that you’re here.”
Ron would just have to love him harder, love him fiercer, spoil him rotten so Ron could bite into his soft insides and leave a mark. Until Toto could no longer remember what it’s like to live and not be adored for the simple miracle of his existence.
*
Insecure is not an adjective anyone would use to describe Kamonohashi Ron, but he finds himself hesitating in the face of his own inexperience. For most of his life, Ron has regarded romance with utter indifference. He doesn’t scorn couples, or condemn others for simply loving each other. But all of that was separate from himself; in his younger years, it made perfect sense. He’s no ordinary human being, therefore his needs and desires are incompatible with others.
His mother’s education, which emphasized his self-reliance, only reaffirmed that philosophy—in a way, it may even be what brought it into being. Ron didn’t need to be close to anyone, his interest in others began and ended at what they could offer either as a source of knowledge or the cause of mystery. Relationships were so far out of his radar, Ron never once pondered what it might be like to be in love with someone.
He holds a hand above his eyes, squinting into the warm afternoon sun. In the distance, he can see Toto’s running form growing closer. Almost to prove that Ron is not above romantic cliches, his heart skips a beat, and he’s smiling before he can take notice of it.
“There you are, Ron!” Toto calls out. He leans on his knees as he wheezes. “I came… as fast as I could…”
Ron often forgets how to carry himself around Toto. It’s easier when given a specific scenario to play up, like the "honeymoon" in England. This, however, is only their sometimes eventful routine. It leaves him fumbling for words at the strangest of moments.
For now, he settles for teasing, if only because it’s familiar territory. “Did you miss me that badly, Toto?”
“What? No!" Toto protests. "This is about a case, I need your help.”
“A murder? I would’ve come to you if you had sent me the address.”
“I thought I’d give you the details while we walked to the scene. Amamiya-senpai is handling things for now, we have two suspects—a couple—in our hands. She’s been trying to get a proper statement from them, but it’s not going so well.”
“I can’t imagine Amamiya-kun having trouble getting suspects to speak. Her methods certainly seem to work on you, Toto.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m a criminal." His shoulders slump. "You’ll get what I mean when you see them.”
Ron hums in acknowledgement as Toto speaks. There’s nothing new about Toto’s appearance, but Ron has long since learned that the context of it has changed. There’s a particular air to him—round cheeks, round eyes, round nose. Like it’s made to be kissed. He presses his knuckles under Toto’s jaw, dragging them down the path of the bone to the chin, until his finger bumps against the plumpiness of his bottom lip.
“What are you doing?!" Toto squeaks, jumping into the air. He glares at Ron half-heartedly, more embarrassed than irritated. "Are you even listening to me? What’s up with you, Ron? I feel like you’ve been spacing out a lot lately. Maybe the stress of what happened in London is getting to you…”
“The body was found in pieces inside a trash bag, in the dumpster behind a local bakery. There are no footprints, no skin cells, nor any other biological traces that could identify the culprit. Furthermore, there’s a security camera pointed towards the store, but there are traces of tampering in the footage, so any clues there are also gone. The only lead you have is the couple who owns the bakery, so they’re the prime suspects in the case, but there’s no conclusive evidence to incriminate them. Does that cover everything?” Ron smirks when Toto dazedly nods his head. “I can multitask just fine. You’re the one who can’t afford to think of more than one thing at a time.”
“Hey!”
“Don’t worry, I’m not succumbing to stress or anything like that. I have you, after all.”
“Right…” Toto says, in a tone that indicates he has no idea what Ron is talking about. How someone can remain so oblivious is beyond Ron.
They arrive on the scene to a small commotion. Even from this distance, Ron can see a vein throbbing in Amamiya’s temple as she regards the two people in front of her. They’re clinging tightly to each other, so it’s easy to identify them as the couple Toto was talking about.
“And the body?” Ron asks.
“Around the back, come on.”
It is, as expected, a gruesome affair. The body pieces are arranged over a black tarp as the forensic photographers take pictures. Given the state of the body, Ron dismisses his usual way of talking to the victim and instead crouches as close to them as the position allows. He hears Toto shooting off excuses to the other officers, but Ron pays him no mind. Some look at him in recognition, like Ron is becoming well known as Officer Isshiki’s eccentric partner.
“Smiling like that when you’re looking at a corpse makes you look like a creep,” Toto says accusingly. “They’ll end up arresting you on principle, Ron.”
“That’s where you come in, Officer Isshiki.”
Toto seems to have quite a few retorts to that, but he keeps his mouth shut for once and just sighs heavily. As he looks from Ron to the victim, the levity leaves him in the blink of an eye. Lips drawn into a tight line, Toto mutters, “Why do something so cruel…?”
“We’ll have more detailed information once the body goes through the autopsy, but I can say for sure he was dismembered after death. And these wounds, they are too clean…” This wasn’t a careless crime, much less something decided on a whim. “Let’s take a look at the suspects, Toto.”
“You’re already done here?” Toto gasps. He lowers his voice to ask, “Do you already know who did this, Ron?”
“Not yet, but I have a pretty clear understanding of the nature of this crime, I just need to confirm a few things first.” He offers a hand out to Toto and squeezes in reassurance as he pulls him to his feet. “Don’t worry, I’ll share my theory once I get the feeling for the suspects, although I’m pretty confident of what we’ll find.”
Toto makes a sound of acknowledgement, though his brows crease in confusion. Ron smiles to himself when Toto squints at the scene around them, trying to grasp what it is that Ron sees but he doesn’t.
“You don’t need to think that hard,” Ron says, walking ahead of Toto before he can say something in protest. He still hears Toto sputter behind him.
They don’t need to get too close to hear the couple arguing with the police, given all the screaming. Ron tilts his head as he asserts the two of them. There’s nothing remarkable about either of them, they’re the very picture of what you’d imagine the owners of a bakery to look like, including the roundness to their faces and the traces of flour on their clothes and nails. They have some muscle mass to their arms, and an otherwise balanced build. Overall, they seem to live well in a rather cushy life.
Ron thinks back to the precise edges of the severed skin, like all it took was a well-aimed and strong strike to cut through the victim’s limbs and head.
“Do either of you exercise?” He asks. “Maybe working out regularly, or doing extreme sports?”
The husband blinks at him, briefly looking at Amamiya. When she nods her consent, he answers, “We go for walks together in the morning, if that’s what you’re asking?”
As he thought. They’re healthy, with good stamina; just enough strength to beat dough into shape for hours, but certainly not so much that either of them could cut through human bones so cleanly.
The woman, noticing Ron’s gaze, pulls her husband closer to her as she glares.
“Don’t even think my darling killed that person! He would never do that, you hear?! He’s too gentle, he even takes care of any bugs that wander into our home. He could never do such a horrible thing to a human being! We have a vow not to hurt anyone. We’ve known each other since high school, so there’s no way I’d be wrong about him.” She looks up at her husband, her mouth curving into a cooing pout. “Right, darling?”
A vow, huh? Ron hums quietly, the pieces slowly coming into place. Toto glances at him, eyes widening slightly. He’s an open book, really. Ron is more impressed that Toto knows he got what he needed to hear, even though Ron is sure he didn’t make any particular facial expressions to telegraph his thoughts.
Even after months, Ron doesn’t know how Toto understands him so thoroughly—he might not be able to keep up with Ron’s deductions as someone like Elmer does, but he has pried Ron open in a way no one else has before. He clenches his fists inside his pocket, resisting the manic grin and the shiver threatening to overcome him. Ron shifts to the side so Toto is no longer in the corner of his vision.
The man touches his wife’s face adoringly. “Pumpkin, I’m more worried about you,” he says. “What if these people really think you’re a murderer and they end up hurting you? I couldn’t bear it if something happened.”
“Neither of you should be worried about that, like I’ve told you,” Amamiya interrupts. She massages her temple for what feels like the 100th time. “We just need your statement so that we can catch the real culprit. As long as you cooperate—”
They’re back right to the meaningless loop Ron witnessed when he first arrived. Ron studies the couple one more time before turning to Toto with a grin.
“That seems like fun.”
"You’ve got to be kidding me.” Toto winces as he watches his superior trying (and failing) to wrangle the suspects into giving a statement that doesn’t come with several sickeningly-sweet declarations of love tacked onto it. “Amamiya-senpai has been putting up with this for over an hour, I’m surprised she hasn’t snapped yet. I definitely don’t want to be in her place.” Toto blinks up at him. “Why are you staring at me?"
“Munchkin,” Ron says tentatively.
“Huh…”
“Sweetie pie? Sweetheart?”
“...Did you hit your head?”
“I’m just trying out what that couple was doing. Nicknames give off a sense of closeness, and it can be a good way for couples to demonstrate their affection even when they’re simply talking. Don’t you want to be closer to me, Toto?”
“Don’t twist things to make me sound like a negligent lover!” Toto hisses. He seems to remember where he is, because he looks around the scene to make sure no one is watching them, his voice dying out even when there isn’t a single person paying them any mind. He frowns. “It’s just… weird.”
“Hmm, maybe I haven’t found a good nickname yet…”
Ron puts a hand under his chin and hums in thought. Toto gives him a skeptical look, leaning slightly away, as if bracing for physical impact.
“Beloved,” Ron says in English.
“That’s way too much!” Toto yells without missing a beat. His face has gone red, and he clamps a hand over Ron’s mouth. “That’s seriously too heavy! Stop it, my heart is about to give out,” he whines.
How careless, Isshiki Totomaru—speaking in that tone of voice will only succeed in spurning Ron on.
“Why don’t you try it too? It’s actually pretty fun once you get into it. Though in my case I just enjoy that it makes you squirm.”
“Now you’re just admitting to bullying me… Geez, I don’t think that kind of thing suits us,” Toto protests tiredly. He watches the couple still deep in some kind of argument with Amamiya. His face is stuck somewhere between laughing and crying out of sheer secondhand embarrassment. “Do you really want us to act like those two? That’s definitely impossible for me. You already call me by a nickname anyways, isn’t ‘Toto’ fine? At least I like it when you call me that.”
“Then I’ll just keep calling you Toto,” Ron agrees. “In the meantime, you should think of a nickname for me.”
“I’m not doing that,” Toto deadpans. “You’re acting too carefree, Ron. We haven’t even solved the case yet.”
As soon as he mentions the case, Toto’s starts frowning again. Rather than frustrated over the culprit’s actions, he seems to be considering something.
“What’s on your mind?” Ron prods.
Toto hesitates for a moment. “I know people don’t just advertise that they’re killers, but would someone like them really do something like this?” He muses. “They don’t even have a good cover up story, their excuses are so flimsy. Would you really go through the trouble of dismembering a person but then leave the body nearby…? Somehow, it just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“That’s exactly it, Toto. Your detective instincts have gotten even sharper. If we assume one of them did it, this case just doesn’t make any sense. Remember what you told me, there are no fingerprints anywhere near that bag, and the security footage was wiped as well. Why go through the trouble of hiding the body in a trash bag and take all the steps to eliminate any further evidence, but then dump it in a place that links you to the murder? It would be plausible if the crime wasn’t premeditated, but I didn’t get the sense that this was a rush job. Someone else has to benefit from this setup.”
“Someone else… You think this is a frame job?”
“Most likely. And I also believe the real culprit is close to us to make sure things go the way they planned, maybe even inside the police force itself. If it’s someone like that, it makes perfect sense they’d have the knowledge and the connections to pull it off, don’t you think?”
He whirls around to watch the officers milling about. Of course, it’s not like the person they’re looking for will be walking around with a sign declaring themselves to be the culprit. Ron can see the panic building within Toto from the tight set of his shoulders, so he lies a soothing hand between them.
“Just act natural, Toto. Our suspect will reveal themselves, we just need to give them a little incentive.” He nudges him forward gently. “Let’s talk to our suspects.”
Ron barges right in the middle of the ongoing argument. Amamiya turns to yell at him next, but once she registers who interrupted her, she quickly clamps her mouth shut. The couple look wary of him, so Ron goes straight to the point before they get the chance to derail the conversation.
“There’s no need to worry, Amamiya-kun. These two aren’t involved with the murder. Here, for you.” He hands her a lollipop, which she takes with a childish glimmer to her eyes. “I think we should all go back for the day, maybe there’s some evidence we’ve missed. I can at least tell with 100% certainty that they didn’t do it.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Kamoo-sama, but how can you be so sure?”
“Well, Detective Isshiki told me,” Ron informs her cheerfully. He makes a grand gesture towards Toto. “He’ll tell you all about it right now.”
Toto pulls at his sleeve, whispering furiously, “Hey, Ron! We never discussed that!”
“Isshiki.”
“Y-Yes, ma’am!” Toto snaps upright. He glares at Ron one last time before focusing back on Amamiya. “There’s, uhm, reason to believe someone else did it. Like they’re trying to frame these two…”
Amamiya crosses her arms. “That’s not a stupid theory,” she decides, sounding irritated to be forced to admit it. She turns to the suspects. “You two, is there any reason someone would be targeting you? Someone in your past who’s holding a grudge, maybe?”
The couple tenses up. The woman takes a step back, her breathing accelerating. She looks ready to run. It’s the exact look of someone haunted by their past. Ron mentally thanks Amamiya for her choice of words.
“T-There is…” The husband lightly squeezes the woman’s hand before she can speak. They exchange a glance, then she says more firmly: “There’s no one like that, I’m sorry.”
“I see,” Amamiya says slowly. It doesn’t seem like she buys it. “Kamoo-san may have a point, then. We’re not getting anywhere with this. I assume you already finished looking at the scene, Isshiki. Once forensics is done, we’ll go back to the precinct. We can look over the evidence more closely at the office.”
The couple breath a sigh of relief, smiling at each other.
“Do you hear that, love? They’ll let us go!”
“Enough!” The sudden yell stops everyone in their tracks. One of the officers who had been assisting Amamiya is the source of the commotion, and he’s staring at the couple with bloodshot eyes. “A-All you had to do was arrest those pieces of trash! If you’re not going to do it, then I’ll take care of it myself!”
The man raises his gun. A few people take a reflexive step back, while others are rooted in place.
“To the ground, everybody to the ground!” Ron yells. “Toto—”
He turns to his partner, but he isn’t there. Ron whips around and tries to reach for Toto, but he’s way ahead, running at full speed without a single thought. Ron curses, his stomach dropping.
“Toto!”
The gunshot is swallowed by the hysteric screams that arise. For a moment, Ron doesn’t see anything. He can’t move either; his body doesn’t belong to him. It’s like he’s looking into a dream from the outside.
The gun, the blood, and Toto’s body crumpling to the ground.
Ron walks on numb legs. He doesn’t feel the hard ground on his knees, and though he sees that someone is yelling next to him, Ron can’t discern the words. The only thing he knows is Toto isn’t moving and there’s blood, and it’s warm, sticking to his palms.
It’s like the poisoned needle, and it’s Ron taking aim at Toto’s heart, and it’s Mylo Moriarty’s eerie smile. It’s always Toto collapsing into himself. The scenes overlap in repetition. He can’t stop the film from rolling, the screech of it rewinding echoing inside his brain.
The gunshot.
Toto is— Toto won’t move—
“Ron!”
“Kamoo-sama!”
Faces come into focus. Amamiya and Toto both watch him with twin expressions of concern. Toto is clutching at his arm, and there’s a bloody spot around his sleeve. That’s the overall extent of his injury. Ron blinks repeatedly to make sure he’s seeing it right.
“Toto, you…” He tries to reach out for his wounded arm, but Ron’s hands shake so badly, Toto hurries forward to stop him from moving.
“It’s nothing, see?” He moves his palm away with a wince. The injury is ugly and oozing blood in thick droplets, but it’s superficial. “It just grazed me. It hurts like hell, but I’m okay. Amamiya-senpai disarmed the shooter, it’s a shame you didn’t see that. It was pretty cool!”
“Don’t think your flattery will work on me, Isshiki,” Amamiya retorts, although there’s a pleased flush on her cheeks.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Their voices wash over him. Ron stares down at his hands with the intention of regaining awareness of his own limbs, but all that does is bring his attention back to the blood smeared all over his palms. He rubs his thumb and index finger together and watches the thin, bloody line it makes as he spreads his fingers out. Ron wonders how many times they’ll play at this game before someone decides they’ve gotten enough second and third chances.
Ron isn’t a killer, but he might as well have the intent of one, if he’s happy to drag Toto into hell with him.
“Ron…?”
“He looks sick,” Amamiya comments anxiously. “Was he hurt somehow? We should get him checked out—”
“He wasn’t hurt like that,” Toto interrupts. “It was, uh, similar. To other stuff that happened recently.”
Amamiya stiffens, her expression growing even more severe. She sets a supporting hand on Ron’s shoulder. She seems to want to comfort him, but unsure of how to do so. Ron wants to reassure her and thank her for her assistance, but his tongue feels too big for his mouth, and he can’t coerce it into forming proper words. His lips move without a sound—his gaze falls on Toto, pleading for something even Ron himself doesn’t understand.
Toto squares his shoulders—the posture he unconsciously falls into whenever he’s in work mode. Ron smiles fondly at him, even if the little movement sends needles all throughout his muscles.
“Amamiya-senpai, can I leave Ron in your hands?” He squeezes at his own wounded arm. “I still need to get this treated, so I’ll stay behind and wrap things up. Please just get him home.”
Amamiya looks between them. “I mean, I don’t mind, but…”
“I’m counting on you.”
Ron doesn’t catch up until Toto is already on his feet and walking away from him. He’s on his feet in less than a second, even if it makes his head swim. He catches Toto’s wrist in a bruising grip.
“Toto, where are you…” He croaks out. Ron doesn’t have it in him to be horrified by how badly his own voice wavers. “Wait, I’m coming with you—”
“Stay with Amamiya-senpai,” Toto orders gently, but leaving no room for argument. He pries Ron’s hand from him and tucks it back to his side. He spares Amamiya a glance before cupping Ron’s cheek and pulling him down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back, I promise.”
Ron only moves when Amamiya pulls on his arm. He’s half leaning into her, but she never complains even when she has to strap Ron to the passenger seat of her car when it turns out his hands are too unsteady to do it himself.
The ride home doesn’t register in his mind. One moment he’s trying to spot Toto in the group of working police officers, and the next he’s downing a sleeping pill with a mental note to thank Amamiya properly when he’s back online.
Ron might have been dreaming, but when he wakes with a flutter of his eyelids, he has no memories of it. All that’s left is the bitterness of bile in the back of his throat.
“How are you feeling?”
Somehow, it’s not the voice that sparks recognition, but the hand pressed to his forehead. Ron looks up at Toto, only to realize that’s his own ceiling above him.
He doesn’t remember coming home or falling asleep. The day’s occurrences come back to him in bits and pieces.
“Amamiya-senpai stayed with you as long as she could, but she had to go back to the precinct. She threatened to gut me alive if I didn’t take good care of you, she sounded dead serious about it…” Toto retracts his hand and smiles in relief. “You don’t seem to have a fever.”
“I don’t have a cold, Toto.”
“I know that,” he huffs. “You’re always getting sick in some way when you get too stressed, so I never know with you. You have a surprisingly weak mind, Ron. Maybe there’s so much in there, it reaches its limit quicker than the average person? You know, like an overloading computer."
“Your habit of speaking whatever comes to mind never loses its charm," Ron croaks. “People will end up hating you.”
“Don’t be ominous.” Toto presses his mouth into a thin line. “They arrested the culprit, by the way. The couple and the victim, they all went to the same high school as him. The three of them were all part of a ring of bullies back then. Even with clear evidence against them, they never faced any consequences.”
“That makes sense.” At Toto’s inquisitive hum, Ron elaborates: “You don’t just make a vow not to hurt someone for no reason. They grew to regret what they did, hence promising each other not to cause harm to another person again. Well, just because they felt guilty, it doesn’t change the fact that they ruined someone’s life. Our culprit never healed from it, and the wound turned into a need for revenge.”
“I hate cases like this,” Toto whispers.
His fist clenches over his lap. Despite the gruesome murder he witnessed, Toto seems to still have some shred of sympathy for the culprit. Ron can’t bring himself to share in the sentiment. He looks over Toto for a second more. He’s changed into clean clothes after his trip to the hospital. The short sleeves allow for a glimpse of white strips to peek through.
“How’s your arm? Show me.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal—”
“Show me.”
Toto hesitates for a second too long. Ron anchors his palms against Toto’s shoulders and lets his weight pull both of them to the floor with Ron hovering over Toto. His tugs at the sleeve on Toto’s left arm. There’s a roll of pristine bandages wrapped around it, just below his armpit.
“Satisfied now?” Toto asks with amusem*nt.
Ron traces the edges of the bandage with his eyes, then with his fingers, thumb caressing the ridges where the bandage overlaps.
“Not even close to it,” Ron whispers.
He tugs at the other arm to reveal a fading scar. It’s still pink and puffy around the edges, not quite settled into the rest of the skin. The only visible mark Ron has left on Toto.
His heart shudders. He’s overcome with compulsion, a million twisted and senseless desires colliding into something incoherent. But at the core of it, what sinks its claws deep into his rib cage is fear. A looming sense of dread that starts at the pit of his stomach and grows into something nebulous, something monstrous.
Ron leans back onto his knees. He extends his arm out, lifts a thumb and points two fingers straight ahead. He holds a steadying palm under the “gun.” He looks down and over the curve of his thumb, and aims at Toto’s heart. He can see perfectly how the bullet would go through his heart. Ron trembles, his vision losing focus.
“You didn’t shoot me,” Toto says firmly. “You didn’t shoot me today, and you didn’t shoot me on that ship either. I’m fine.”
Ron doesn’t realize how cold his fingertips are until Toto cups his hands inside his palms. They hold each other’s gaze for a long minute. Ron feels himself teetering on the edge of the precipice.
He takes a plunge.
The thuds of their bodies as Ron pushes down on each of Toto’s wrists so they’re spread on each side of his head is muted against the cushioned floor. There’s a question in Toto’s eyes that Ron can’t (won’t) answer.
He bends even further down. The material of the shirt Toto is wearing is light, and he can dislodge it easily with the tip of his nose, tracing a line up Toto’s arm. As soon as the scar reveals itself to him, Ron clamps his mouth around it. Toto breathes harshly through his teeth.
He studies the thin sheen of saliva on Toto’s skin. Once again, his emotions surge, going nowhere in particular. They simply inflate, unable to escape. Ron can’t breathe around it.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what he wants.
A hiss snaps through his haze. Ron realizes he has one hand around Toto’s bandaged arms, fingernails digging into the gaps. Toto has one eye shut, but the other tracks Ron’s every movement. His chest heaves heavily and rapidly. His mouth is open, but not a word comes out of it.
But he says plenty, in all the little tells Ron has memorized with as much zeal as he took his favorite classes at Blue. It’s the hand he lays on Ron’s shoulder, the way he tips his head back—exposing his neck in an action so submissive, Ron feels his teeth ache. It’s the sweet dip of his eyes, their usual brilliance lost in the lustful haze that clouds them.
Most of all, it’s the lopsided smile—if the little, meager curve of his lips can be called that.
Ron presses his forehead to Toto’s chest, and his rapid heartbeat echoes all throughout his bones. He stays there even as he lifts the hem of his shirt. The bones of his hips jut out when Ron thumbs at the indent of its path. Ron splays his fingers over his navel, feeling the give of the soft skin there.
He trails up with a slight hint of nails, marveling at the way Toto’s muscles convulse, the way his back arches slightly—towards him, closer to him.
The bullet scar, when Ron reaches it, is nothing more than what it says on the tin. There’s no flash of understanding, no sudden jump in conclusion and the rush of putting the pieces of a puzzle together. It’s just skin, slightly ridged, and it’s still so warm to the touch.
It’s just skin, but it’s also Mylo Moriarty’s pale eyes staring back at him from the darkness. It mocks him, clear and loud: I almost took what’s yours. I marked him. The cold fire in the pit of his stomach isn’t quite the same he used to feel, moments before blacking out to his syndrome, but it’s a close approximation.
Ron does the first thing that comes to mind: he bites around the scar. He sinks his fangs into forgiving skin hard enough it’s sure to bruise. He presses the flat of his tongue right to the center of the scar. The flesh between his teeth becomes warm, firmer, as blood gathers around the forming bruise.
He continues the rest of the path with his hand, up Toto’s sternum and breastbone. He grazes against a nipple, then follows the movement with his lips. He trails from belly button to chest, making brief stops to nip at the expense of his smooth skin.
He thinks he could swallow Toto whole.
"R-Ron…!"
It’s like he’s been hypnotized this entire time, and someone has just snapped their fingers. Ron comes to, hyper-aware of every part of his body, down to the thrum of his pumping veins. Toto is lying beneath him, shirt hiked up to his chest, his skin raised in goosebumps. He’s panting, face bright red. There’s a defined bite mark on his stomach which is turning purple, and several red lines on his torso and arm.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what he wants.
It comes to him then, the revelation—but of a different kind altogether. The creeping dread, the lingering anxiety.
It wasn’t the bullet, it wasn’t the blood, and it wasn’t Mylo Moriarty.
It’s just how much he’s consuming Isshiki Totomaru’s life. Bit by bit, he devours it like a ravenous beast.
Ron has only ever been afraid of himself.
He falls back, away from Toto. He crumples into himself, hand clutched in his hair.
“I don’t know what you’re freaking out about now, but it doesn’t matter."
Ron can’t get himself to look up. He curls further into himself.
“How can it not matter, Toto? I don’t think I was built for this kind of emotion, I—"
“I know you think I’m naïve, but I didn’t fall in love with some idealized version of you, Ron. I know exactly what you’re like. I know your heart. You do realize I’ve stopped you from killing multiple people, right? There’s nothing you could do that would pull me away from you.”
He hears some shuffling, then a weight settles against his back. Toto’s head falls onto his shoulder, and when he speaks, the sound vibrates along the length of Ron’s spine.
“I want to be by your side. Won’t you have me, Ron?”
“What are you saying?” Ron laughs shakily. “I would go insane without you, Toto. I’m the one who needs you to stay.”
“Then we’re on the same page,” he decides.
“You really are a pure, naïve fool, Isshiki Totomaru.” He bumps his forehead against the side of Toto’s head, all the fight going out of him. He pleads, quiet as a secret, and far more fragile: “Please stay that way.”
*
Insomnia is nothing new for Ron, but he gets the feeling there’s something a little different this time. Restlessness lingers at his fingertips until he chews on them without even noticing, his nails bitten as close to the flesh as it’ll go without bleeding. He paces the cushioned floors, he runs at the treadmill for hours, until he can’t take a single step forward. Ron often falls asleep early in the morning, and only for a few hours.
These days, he often wakes up to Toto’s concerned face. The lines between his brows have been growing worse each passing day, his pleas and complaints varying depending on his mood—sometimes it’s about Ron’s habit of leaving the door unlocked in case Toto comes by, others is about something as mundane as Ron’s slovenly appearance. Mostly, he brushes Ron’s bangs aside and quietly asks if there isn’t anything he can do to help.
Ron’s guilt is an ever-growing beast, gnawing at his heart.
It comes as a relief when Amamiya calls to inform Toto of a new case, and the two of them get wrapped up in preventing a second murder from happening in the course of three days—most of which Ron stayed wide awake. This suited him just fine, sugar and adrenaline serving as fuel even as he felt the telltale signs of sleep deprivation.
Ron insisted on staying with Toto to the very end, even through the wrap-up, though all it amounted to was Toto grumbling at paperwork and squinting at the computer with bloodshot eyes. At the end, Amamiya took mercy on them and ordered them to leave.
They stumble through the door together. Toto hasn’t mentioned going back to his own apartment, and Ron doesn’t comment on it—afraid it might break the spell and trigger Toto into leaving altogether.
The adrenaline crash has come and gone, settled into his veins. He can feel the sway of his body as he stands at the entrance, sure that one more step and he’ll collapse face first into the floor before he makes it to the safety of the cushions. A hand startles him out of his reverie. It settles low on his waist and pulls him forward.
Ron eyes Toto, but he’s looking down at their feet, mouth twisted in concentration. There’s sweat on his bowed neck, a bead of it sliding down his skin. His teeth ache with the phantom of Toto’s muscles dipping beneath the pressure of his fangs. He tries to remember what it tasted like against his tongue, but he comes up surprisingly blank.
Toto’s neck, when Ron licks it, fills his senses with a citrusy sort of tang. He chases that taste behind up to his ear, where the scent of his shampoo confuses Ron’s senses. No matter how he presses his tongue harder against his skin, Ron can’t say for sure what Toto tastes like.
He doesn’t get a chance to sample it further. Toto jumps away from Ron—though not without lowering him to the ground barely a second later, once he sees Ron stumble a step. His face is a ripe red, his hand covering the spot where Ron’s hand had been.
“You’re too skittish, Toto,” Ron criticizes. “I just wanted to know what you tasted like. I was sure it’d be sweet, like black sugar syrup… It seems I was wrong.”
“Do you think human beings are made out of candy?! There’s no way I’d taste like something that absurd…” He sighs, rubbing a distracted finger through the same path Ron’s tongue took. “Also, don’t phrase it like that. It makes me feel like you actually want to devour me, it’s scary.”
“Hmmm…”
Toto narrows his eyes.
“What’s that look for? You’re acting even weirder than usual because you’ve been awake for so long.” He crouches for a moment, watching as Ron blinks sluggishly at him. “You should get some sleep, Ron. I’ll take a shower in the meantime, if that’s okay?”
“Why else would you leave a change of clothes at my place? Go on.” Ron waves a dismissive hand.
Without the urgency of a case pushing him to move, Ron is all too aware of his own body’s condition. An intense headache pounds at his temples, and squeezing his eyes shut against the too bright light just calls attention to how badly they burn.
When the bathroom door closes, he almost startles out his skin. His senses are dulled and slow. Ron puts two fingers to his neck in reassurance that, although his heartbeat is slow and weak, it’s still present.
In the quiet, all the sounds around him are magnified. The constant hum of electricity, his cat’s snores, even the distant chatter of the neighbors. He hears the elevator going down, and the engine of a car as it drives by outside. What should be simple white noise becomes a dissonant orchestra. For no reason in particular, his heart rate spikes, galloping away.
It doesn’t register at first, the whispers. It could be anything, really. Maybe a laugh, or someone’s name being called in broken repetition. Ron recognizes his own state of dissociation before he can place that familiar tone. He huffs to himself. More than scared, Ron is tired of a drowned ghost creeping into the recesses of his mind whenever he lets his guard down.
He sends an apology in Toto’s direction as Ron gives up on sleep. He wobbles to his feet as he follows that voice to the bathroom door. The sound of running water is garbled, like someone is choking on it, speaking through it. It’s not Toto. The light peeking from underneath the door spreads over his feet, flashing crimson for a moment. Ron closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the door.
“Toto?”
There’s no response.
He stood just like this before. Toto couldn’t hear him, defenseless and with no means to escape or communicate. If he were in pain, Ron wouldn’t know. Toto couldn’t scream.
I’ve won, Ron Kamonohashi.
And perhaps he had; Mylo Moriarty had wormed into his psyche, dissected him in more ways than one, changed him in ways that might never be cured, regardless of Doctor Mofu’s efforts.
“Toto?”
Ron is lockpicking his way inside before he can think better of it. Surely there are plenty of good reasons for why he shouldn’t, but he can’t think of a single one at the moment. The sound of water grows louder, and though it’s nothing like waves crashing against the side of a ship, it still sends a shiver down his spine. Ron hesitates on his next step, reality blurring with day nightmares, the edges of a hallucination.
Then, Toto hums to himself—it’s terribly off-key, and he does it quietly, as if embarrassed to let Ron in on his secret. The sound cuts straight through his heart. The shower door opens with a wet bang, and Ron almost gets a fist to the face when Toto screams and flails around to defend himself against the intruder. Ron bears the pain of his fist, as well as the shock of having water drench his clothes within seconds, all for the sake of burying his nose in Toto’s wet hair.
Ron cradles the back of his head, reminded all over again just how fragile and ephemeral a human life is.
“Ron?! I didn’t hear you come in, I could’ve sworn I properly locked the door—” Ron waves a hand with the lockpicking tools in it, which he promptly throws to the side in order to better hold Toto. His voice is muffled against Ron’s chest: “I’m gonna lose all sense of privacy with you around…”
All at once, his world returns to its axis. Even through his exhaustion, Ron is tethered firmly to the earth, all outside noises (whether they are real or not) quieting into utter silence as all of his senses focus on taking in Toto, attuned to the rhythm of his breathing. It’s not so different from what happened back in the hospital, like his body is being put back together after being carelessly scrambled.
Toto is his emotional crutch. Ron is not so oblivious he wouldn’t have taken notice of that by now, but the extent to which he needs Toto is daunting. If he had it his way, Ron would crawl out of his skin and slither his way inside Toto’s instead.
It’s a different kind of madness, but madness it is all the same.
“Toto, do you want to touch me?”
His words seem to make Toto realize just what kind of position they are in right now. His naked body is pressed tightly against Ron, the water glistening on his shoulders as it pours all over him. He nervously brushes his hair from his face, mouth hanging open. He squirms, but freezes entirely right after as their thighs rub together.
He swallows hard. “I, uhm—”
“Because I do. I want to touch you all the time. It’s the only way I can calm down.” Ron grabs his cheeks when Toto tries to look away, forcing his gaze back up. His eyes tremble, flitting all over Ron’s face. “I’ve never been a tactile person, but you make me want to be the kind of person who clings to you as if it’s natural. I’m going crazy, from the very moment you’ve entered my heart, I’ve lost my mind. This is your fault, Toto, so take responsibility.” Their foreheads bump as Ron leans forward just to feel Toto’s breath on his skin. “Won’t you touch me hard enough to hurt?”
“Don’t blame me for every little thing,” Toto protests, but it’s a weak thing.
Even as he shakes with nerves, Toto squares his shoulder in determination as he makes up his mind on something. He shakes his head, and the next he opens his eyes, it’s to reveal the fire that has drawn Ron in from the moment Toto yelled at him to get him to help with his unsolved case. Ron is sure that’s where his heart resides, within the blaze, safe and sound for as long as Toto gazes at him.
“You should forget everything you feel about this just for a moment, Ron. Putting your personal feelings aside and looking at things as they are, that’s your specialty, isn’t it? Then go ahead.” Toto takes a step back, closer to the wall—not only cornering himself, but exposing his body to Ron’s scrutiny. “Deduce it.”
It’s hard not to linger on the sight of his skin. It’s a deadly combination: the jut of his collar bones, the tiny mole on just beneath his rib cage, and his hip bones framing a trail of fine, dark hair. Toto shuffles and coughs into his fist. His hands twitch by his side, holding back the urge to cover himself. Ron smiles gently.
“You’re breathing rapidly, and your heart rate…” Taking his pulse would be quicker, impersonal. But that’s the opposite of what Ron desires. He palms the center of Toto’s chest, thumb running soothing circles on his breastbone. “...It has increased, even more so now that I’m touching you.”
This time, Ron barely feels the water hit him, entranced by the way Toto’s irises all but disappear around the ring of his pupils. “Your pupils are dilated, your skin is flushed. Those could all be due to anxiety or distress. But…”
“B-But…?” Toto gasps.
“You have been staring at my mouth every time I speak,” he points out teasingly, his smile growing when Toto’s eyes immediately snap up. “Do you want to kiss me, Toto?”
“You’re the one who’s supposed to tell…!”
He tips Toto’s head up, angling it slightly to the side. Toto squeezes his eyes shut, lips quivering when Ron blows a deliberate breath to the corner of his mouth. Ron doesn’t continue to narrate his observations, but he marks it all to himself. The way Toto rises to his tip-toes to bring their faces closer, the way his entire body is coiled in expectation. Ron runs his fingertips along the knobs of his spine, wracking Toto’s body with shivers.
“Toto,” Ron calls, for no reason in particular—just to feel the syllables on his tongue.
He admires the droplets on Toto’s eyelashes one last time before dipping for a kiss.
He tastes of nothing but moisture, something Ron carefully catalogs all the same. He feels each ridge of Toto’s bottom lip on his tongue, teasing at the seam of his mouth until Toto obediently parts it in invitation. Toto goes weak in the knees almost immediately, tumbling out of his position on his toes. Ron braces an arm against the wall behind him, a hand clutching at his waist. Toto is caged between his arms, and whether that fact registers in his brain, it’s hard to say when all he does is moan into Ron’s mouth.
Eventually, Toto’s groans grow frantic, his chest heaving dangerously. Ron steps away, watching Toto gasp for breath. He keeps some distance between them, not trusting himself not to kiss Toto into oxygen deprivation—not when his eyes shine from tears, and there’s saliva at the corner of his mouth. Ron stares at the tiles past his shoulder.
He sneaks a glance at Toto, caught off guard when he finds him openly staring at Ron. His eyes are drawn downwards, where his white shirt has gone nearly translucent, clinging to his chest and stomach. His whole body burns hot when Toto licks his lips in reaction.
“You’re so handsome it kinda hurts to look at,” he murmurs contemplatively. “I mean, is it really okay to look this erotic?”
“I can hear you talk, Toto,” Ron chokes out.
He startles, as he often does when he’s caught monologuing out loud.
“Please, just—” Toto pleads incoherently. The clumsy hands clutching at the hem of Ron’s shirt is a better indication of what he’s asking for. Ron pries his fingers away to quickly peel the offending garment off his skin. It’s far too late to be playing coy, so Ron removes his pants and underwear as well, tossing all of it over the shower door.
Toto runs both hands through Ron’s hair, holding back his bangs. His smile is awestruck.
“You really are beautiful, Ron,” Toto says. His expression turns complicated, and though he doesn’t do something as obvious as cover himself up, Ron doesn’t miss the way Toto hunches into himself, as if he wishes he could do just that. “I don’t know if I’m— I mean, there’s nothing much to look at—”
Ron sees the point he’s trying to make even through the incoherence. He clicks his tongue and shoves his way into Toto’s space again. His teeth sink nicely into the ball of his shoulder, distracting Toto from speaking by drawing a yelp out of him. Ron gnaws for one moment longer, just enough so the teethmark will linger for a few minutes. Toto stares at him, wide-eyed.
“I want you, Toto.”
Toto’s fingers entangle in his hair for purchase. They’re gentle at first, caressing his scalp until Ron can’t help but flutter his eyes shut in pleasure. He sucks a mark low on Toto’s navel, until his fingers clench in response. Ron dips a little lower, teasingly close to his groin, and the sudden pull on his hair dislodges him altogether. Ron winces despite himself, and immediately Toto’s grip slackens.
“I’m so sorry, Ron!” He says, appalled.
“It’s fine.” He stops Toto from removing his hands from their rightful place. “I told you, you can make it hurt.”
“I don’t know about this…”
Toto pulls experimentally; Ron tilts his head in the opposite direction to make it really sting. His whole body convulses in a confusing mix of pain and pleasure.
“See? You can do it if you try.” Ron surges up to capture his lips. “You did well, Toto.”
The effect is immediate, Toto seems to melt in his arms at the praise. He grasps whatever he can to stay on his feet, his nails scratching the expense of Ron’s nape. Ron revels in the deep welts that must be left in his wake, biting the inside of his cheek when then water drips from his hair and into the small wounds.
As if in retaliation for the loss of balance, Toto grabs Ron by the waist, manhandling him closer. Ron laughs, delighted at the sudden show of assertiveness—this is just how Ron loves him, with the stubborn pout and the half-glare of someone who refuses to back down. Ron sways with the motion, lets his body crash into Toto with more force than necessary.
The pressure is sweet, and nowhere near enough. Ron thumbs the soft skin below Toto’s belly button, the rest of his fingers splaying open to caress through coarse hair. His knuckles graze the length of Toto’s dick, and his face turns pleading. Ron gently licks the sweet curve of his begging mouth.
“Touch me more.” Ron means to demand it, but he’s in no better state than Toto. His body aches all over, the pleasure pools low in his belly, just out of touch. It makes him desperate. He wants the friction of Toto’s calloused fingers on him, he wants pressure, he wants to be pushed over the edge into the abyss. He wants anything at all, as long as Toto is giving it to him. “Toto.”
Ron pushes a leg between Toto’s, aiming it so that when he moves his hips, his co*ck slides along the slick length of his smooth thigh. He does this a few times, growing impatient, until Toto gets the idea and shifts to the side, then wraps both his hands around their dicks.
Ron is hypnotized by the sight of his dick disappearing inside Toto’s hand. While his grip is firm, the movement is languid, horrifyingly slow. It forces Ron to feel the drag of it, inch by inch. Toto himself isn’t unaffected; his hips twitch restlessly, like he’s holding back the urge to rut against Ron, his shoulders hunched in embarrassment. Ron wants to say that it’s alright, but the words are stuck in his throat, lost to the moans he can’t stop from leaving his mouth.
Toto’s arms tremble and his pace stutters, almost coming to a stop altogether. His breath is harsh and loud within the echoing walls. Ron surges forward and steals the oxygen right out of his lungs in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. He wraps his own hand around Toto’s, pulling at it roughly. Toto keens into his mouth, his back arching off the wall.
Ron mutters a curse, both of them losing the strength to stay upright. They slide ungracefully to the wet floor. Ron pulls Toto onto his lap while pushing his shoulders against the wall, offering just enough purchase for Ron to thrust into, rubbing their dicks together harshly. Toto moans his name in rough gasp.
Ron squeezes the head of his co*ck as he bites around his Adam’s apple. Toto’s voice breaks around a scream. Ron pulls back to watch his reaction, smiling when Toto turns tearful eyes at him.
He strokes languidly as Toto tips over the edge. Toto bites through his already raw lip, drawing blood. Ron pries his mouth open and offers his own fingers for Toto to bite on as he cries through the overstimulation. Ron only stops when Toto’s expression twinges with pain.
“Toto, your hand.”
Even with most of his brain offline, Toto understands what Ron is asking for. He wraps his hand around Ron’s dick again, pumping in tiny little movements that barely count as a tease, but Ron is so close even that sends a shock of pure pleasure down his spine.
“That’s good, just touch me,” he whispers.
Ron thrusts into his fist, teeth gritted. His org*sm builds in the pit of his stomach, piling up until he’s nothing but an exposed nerve, aching all over, desperate for release.
Toto blinks slowly at him, tilting his head as if in invitation. Ron rests his cheek on Toto’s chest, and he immediately lays a kiss on the crown of Ron’s head.
“I love you.”
He whites out for all of five seconds. Ron wraps himself tightly around Toto as he body shakes, senses overwhelmed with the sensual, f*cked out tone to Toto’s voice. He mouths at his collarbone, unable to do anything but hold on.
“I love you more,” he whispers hotly. His grip is bruising on Toto’s hips. “I love you more, Toto.”
He keeps moving for a few more seconds until his entire body protests against the lingering aftershocks. Ron collapses into Toto’s embraces, panting harshly.
“This isn’t a competition,” Toto protests. He runs a hand down Ron’s spine absentmindedly. “...This isn’t what I thought I would be doing after solving a case. Not that it’s an issue, but what came over you? Please don’t tell me murder cases turn you on, I’ll really have to break up with you if that’s a thing.”
It comes to him, suddenly, that he has never told Toto about any of this. He has not admitted that the bandages around his neck feels like Mylo Moriarty’s fingers, lightly choking him every time he breathes in. How it makes him contemplate finding a knife to cut those fingers off of him, how he gravitates towards the blade whenever his mind wanders.
How he can’t look himself in the mirror for too long, as each Moriarty overlaps with his features, and he can’t find himself in the reflection anymore.
He hasn’t told Toto—hasn’t warned him, that his touch might corrupt Toto down to his core.
Toto takes a hold of his cheeks with enough force it might as well be a slap. Ron blinks in surprise as he sees Toto’s expression twisted in anger.
“Stop thinking,” Toto orders sharply. “Stop picturing someone else right now. I don’t care if it’s Mylo or Alice or whoever else. I’m right here, aren’t I?”
Ron sucks in a breath. He looks at Toto—really looks at him.
His burning eyes haven’t changed at all.
The bullet only grazed his arm. The wound healed; all that’s left are two small scars. Toto is whole, his heart beats inside his chest, his voice tickles Ron’s cheek like a kiss.
He’s here, warm and soft—made entirely for Ron, and no one else. Ron closes his eyes, sleep pulling at his eyelids as he finally unwinds from inside out. He leans into Toto’s palms and sighs in contentment.
"You’re right as always,” Ron murmurs. “I have nothing to be scared of with you around, Isshiki Totomaru.”
(It turns out it is in fact that simple.)
