glass_icarus | warning notice!

this week shall be the week of reposting, before i dive into research for a thousand paper cranes and forget all such mundane tasks! i may or may not make multiple posts, for the sake of getting this over with faster; feel free to ignore these, particularly if you've read them already. *g* ♥

so, let the spamming commence!

Title: like a whole almond
Fandom: Wild Adapter
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kubota/Tokito
Summary/notes: This was written for

tehlils in this year's Yuletide; the title is borrowed from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XI. Thanks to L for the beta!

"Kubota-san. Kubota-san."

Kubota blinks awake on the Izumo youth group couch. Komiya peers down at him quizzically, clothes rumpled and face bandaged.

"Were you taking a nap?"

Kubota shrugs. "I already beat the latest video game, so I got bored."

Komiya laughs, rubbing his knuckles briefly against the side of Kubota's head. "You're so weird, Kubota-san. And don't sleep on the couch, I have to lock up."

Kubota smiles non-committally. He reaches up with curious fingers, brushing the blood-stained gauze lightly. "Does it hurt?"

"Wh- What- I'm fine!" Komiya sputters, cheeks flushing. Kubota's smile deepens just a little bit. He doesn't get why Komiya seems to be attached to him, but it's kind of cute sometimes.

"That's good."

Komiya rolls his eyes, shoving him over to sit down on the couch. "Yeah, yeah."

Kubota promptly reclaims his spot, nudging Komiya's elbows away from his thighs. "Nice," he says. Komiya's face has gone past pink and is quickly reaching incandescent.

"Kubota-san-"

"You're the perfect height." The perfect height for me to take a nap. Kubota closes his eyes, turning his face toward Komiya's stomach. The couch is much more comfortable with a pillow.

Komiya sighs, curling awkwardly to rest his head in his hands. "Idiot," he says, and Kubota drifts off, wondering vaguely at the thickness of his voice, but not curious enough to pursue the matter.

--

The next time he hears that tone, Komiya is bleeding out at his feet, fingers rapidly turning cold in his hands.
"Kubota-san," Komiya says, breath rattling in his throat. His eyes lock on Kubota's, dark and steady and- for once- completely serious. "I want you to live." His fingers clench once in Kubota's jacket, leaving deep creases in the leather, then still.

Kubota looks down expressionlessly. For the first time, he feels something like regret.

"Okay," he says, a few seconds too late.

--

It's a grey day in Yokohama when Kubota decides to go out for the latest products at Seven Eleven, the overcast skies resembling nothing so much as industrial smog. Possibly, he thinks, this is not an inaccurate assessment. Kubota looks up, debating whether or not to bring an umbrella. Days like this, he wonders if the sun still exists. He fights the urge to wipe his glasses.

The candy section is highly dissatisfying, all combinations of uninteresting flavors or ones he dislikes. As he wanders past the register, he notices that Lotte's has a new vanilla-flavored gum out. Kubota decides he isn't in the mood for sweets, and goes to buy salt ramen instead.

On his way home, he takes a shortcut through a back alley. Seeing a splash of pale skin against the metal of the dumpster ahead, he slows, and stops. There's a stray cat by the side of the road. Kubota leans in curiously, examining the furry, clawed hand. The cat exhales into his hair, apparently asleep.

Kubota stands for a moment, considering. Then he shrugs. This cat is bigger than the last one. It looks strong enough to survive. He hoists it over his shoulder with some effort, the unaccustomed warmth seeping through his body.

--

There's a metal bracelet on the cat's ankle that says Minoru, but when Kubota addresses him as such, he screams and shakes, managing to frighten the neighbor's kid and break Kubota's arm. The snap of the bone reverberates through his body, but all Kubota can hear is the sound of the cat's breath, rasping, unsteady, the flutter of his heartbeat rushing beneath Kubota's own skin. He turns his nose toward the cat's ear, breathing slowly until the cat calms, exhaling with a deep shudder.

"Shouta-kun," Kubota says calmly, tossing the phone to the wide-eyed child. "Call the one labeled Kou-san, please."

When the cat finally emerges from his bedroom, still pink with shame and embarrassment, Kubota merely shifts over on the couch. He relaxes into his habitual slouch, pretending to pay attention to the inane program. After a moment, the cat sits down gingerly and joins him in staring at the television. The news segment cuts to an interview with Saburo Tokito. Kubota blinks once, thoughtfully.

"...Tokito," he says.

The cat's muscles tense. "What?"

"Would you rather I called you Saburo or Tokito?" He keeps his eyes carefully on the television, which is a shame, because the cat seems to be making quite an interesting face.

"Anything but Saburo."

Kubota smiles. "Tokito, then." He reaches over with his good arm and puts the bracelet in his desk drawer, out of sight.

--

Tokito is surprisingly loud; demanding, insistent, opinionated. He fills the apartment in ways that he never did in the days when he was asleep. Within the week, Kubota finds he has a new nickname; within two, he's used to going out at odd hours to buy snacks or games or game controllers. Tokito's definitely stronger than he looks. Kubota finds that he doesn't mind.

--

The first time Tokito's arm twinges, it takes Kubota by surprise; he hadn't considered what pain might be involved in the W.A. changes. Shaking and curling in on himself, Tokito looks entirely unlike the cat Kubota has become accustomed to.

"Tokito?" Kubota stretches out his hand.

Tokito's flinch is more like a full-body shudder. "It's fine," he says. "It'll be over in a minute."

"All right," Kubota replies, after a moment. He turns and picks up his jacket. "I'm going out for a walk. I'll be back soon." Kou-san might not have advice for them, but he does have access to stronger painkillers than they can get over the counter.

When he gets home, his cat is curled up beneath his sheets, a warm silence that Kubota doesn't know how to ask for. He reaches out, but thinks better of it and drops his hand at the last minute. Six weeks of living together haven't completely erased Tokito's wariness, and Kubota has learned the hard way not to try to hold him against his will.

I won't be the one to hurt him.

Still, his fingers tingle, a prickling rush of static want. Kubota rubs his hands together, trying to erase the feeling of the almost-touch, and goes back to the living room. His couch is cold, though, and he lies awake staring at the ceiling for a long time.

--

His uncle stops by a few days later to drop off an unofficial copy of the latest police report, the data both grim and unsurprising: To date, no human exhibiting symptoms of W.A. use has survived. The body in the pictures reminds Kubota uncomfortably of the dead cat he once buried. Closing the file, he goes to take a shower.

He comes back to find Tokito poring over the folder's contents.

"That's-"

"Yeah," Tokito says. "I saw it the other day."

"All of it?"

"I didn't get some parts, but yeah. It has to do with my hand, doesn't it?"

Kubota's hands clench involuntarily. He lights a cigarette to give them something else to do. "Not necessarily."

"Bullshit," Tokito snaps. He holds up his hand next to the photo of the corpse's arm, and Kubota finds that he has to look away. "Don't hide things from me. If this is going to happen to me, I want to know. Even if it's ugly, even if I don't have long, I want to see myself."

"What if I don't want to?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't care about anyone else, but I don't want to see you like that."

"If you hated me being here so much, why did you take me in?"

"I never said that," Kubota says patiently. "I don't mind it at all. But staying with me will only get you hurt."

"...the hell?" Tokito stomps over, yanking at his shirt collar. "Look at me! I'm right here! I am fucking alive, you idiot!"

Kubota looks up at him. "I'm glad to have met you," he says distantly. Tokito snarls, flinging his hands in the air, and stalks out. The apartment door slams behind him, leaving a clap of silence ringing in Kubota's ears.

Kubota lights a cigarette. This, he thinks. This is what happens when you get attached.

--

He finds himself unwilling to stay in the emptiness of the apartment. Wandering outside, he stops in the alley where he first found Tokito. On a whim, he sits down, leaning against the side of the dumpster. The view isn't great from here, but he guesses it's okay as a hiding spot.

"What are you doing here?"

Kubota looks up, surprised. Tokito blinks at him, clutching a plastic bag. "All I saw was you," he says.

"...I'm standing right here, aren't I?"

"I guess you are."

Tokito stares at him. Kubota wonders if there's maybe something on his face. "Tell me," he says.

"Huh?"

"I'm right here. Tell me-" Tokito pauses, flushing, then sets his jaw. "Tell me you need me here."

Kubota stubs out his cigarette. "Yeah," he says. "Looks like I do."

--

Kubota wakes abruptly, the familiar dreams slipping away to leave only vague impressions of cold, darkness. He looks down. Tokito is still asleep beside him, face lax and pale in the moonlight slanting between the blinds. Don't go, Kubota thinks.

"Kubo-chan," Tokito mumbles, frowning. He flings an arm across Kubota's ribs. Kubota smiles. Lying back, he laces his fingers with Tokito's furry ones. Yeah. Guess neither of us is going anywhere.