Catch-22, chapter 12

Catch-22

Long time no see! We’ve been pretty lax about posting chapters, so we thought we’d make it up to you… this update we’ve got two of them and then an extra little present as an apology. If you’re coming from a Livejournal link, please click here to check it out. Enjoy and see you in Chapter 14!

Ch. 12. Tabula Rasa

As Cross went about making preparations to leave, Komui stuck close by him the whole morning long. Trailed along behind as Cross gathered up what passed for his luggage; sat in the bathroom while Cross showered (until Cross, finding this a terrible waste, invited him in); leaned on him a little as he got dressed; even offered to comb his hair. But at long last, the time for him to go away still, inorexably, crept up on them. Komui curled his hand into his zhu ren’s as he followed the other man down the hallway toward the entrance to Headquarters, not willing to give him up until the very last possible second.

Cross found all of this comforting, more comforting than anything he had ever known. He found himself almost as unwilling to go as Komui was to let him, even though he knew he didn’t have any other choice. Of course, having any real choice in the matter or not, Cross was still invariably himself and so he proceeded to spend a full hour at the main entrance of Headquarters for a smoking break before he left. His arm was wound tightly around Komui’s waist, and his lips found Komui’s own at least as often if not more so than they ever found the end of a cigarette.

“You know,” he murmured down to the lovely, shattered creature who loved him as only broken things could. “I wasn’t sure I wanted this, back in China… but now, Little Bird? I’m glad that I broke you.”

Komui just blinked at him for a moment and then smiled a little, politely, the smile of a person who didn’t precisely understand what was being said.

“Zhu ren knows what’s best for me,” he said, because it was true.

Luckily for all parties involved, Reever was not hungover from the night before as he accidentally stumbled across the couple in the hall. He wasn’t sober either. In fact, the alcohol from last night seemed to have yet to wear off. That didn’t stop him from drinking more, because rum was what was for breakfast after all, but the fact was that he was decently inebriated so hearing Komui say that Cross, his owner, knew what was best for him didn’t bother the new Supervisor as much as it should have.

Oh, it bothered him plenty. Just not as much as it might have. Several images flashed through his mind at once, most of them violent and involving General Cross and crucifixion, made him want to reach out and strangle the smug General or better yet, reach out into the past and strangle General Cross from three years ago so everything could be okay again–

“General Cross, you’re going to be late for your carriage,” he grumbled in the way of greeting.

Komui blinked, glancing over in Reever’s direction at the sound of his voice, and smiled again warmly. Then he looked back toward Cross.

“Zhu ren… does that mean you’re going away now?” he asked quietly, a prickle of apprehension in his voice.

“No, it doesn’t, Little Bird,” Cross offered reassuringly back. “The Supervisor was only reminding me of the time. I can stay a little longer.” Glancing over his shoulder at Reever, he suddenly smirked a little and then turned his attention back on Komui.

“Little Bird, give me a goodbye kiss, won’t you? I’m going to miss these pretty lips.”

Obediently, heedless of everything around him save his zhu ren’s desire, Komui leaned forward to press himself against Cross’s body and his lips against the man’s own. One hand steadied him against Cross’s chest as he let his eyes fall partway closed, languid.

Reever, at that moment, felt with no degree of uncertainty that he was about to be sick. A wave of nausea hit him, and he knew it had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol he had been consuming. Just… just… That sight. Komui kissing Cross that way, without thought or protest or– or– personality. There was nothing that spoke of Komui to Reever there. Just– He was standing right there. He was watching them and Komui still–

A horrible thought gripped Reever. That, perhaps, this was what Komui wanted. That Komui had changed. Willingly. Learned or had given in so that this was what he wanted. That he would rather be with the enigmatic Cross Marian than… than… well, Reever wouldn’t really blame him for the last part except Cross was cruel and horrible and evil and without conscience or feeling and–

“Stop it.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He felt braver than he was. That much he blamed on the alcohol. “Stop it! You self-centered, spoiled, sorry excuse for a human being, forget one of the most important ranks of the Order! You may have taken him away from us for the last three years but he’s still our Supervisor! I’m temporary and he’s someone everyone looks up to and you’re just… Stop demeaning everything he is and go on your fucking mission!”

Cross didn’t say anything for the duration of the rant, only regarded Reever with a sort of disinterested irritation, the sort of response one would give a persistent moth or fly.

Komui pulled away from Cross a little and looked back in Reever’s direction with a slightly distressed expression, not quite sure how to interpret this development. He’d told Reever yesterday about — about how zhu ren had all his insides and it was goodbadhappywonderfulhorrible and Reever had been sad and he’d been sad too because… because he wasn’t quite sure why, but Reever had — had– Was he angry at zhu ren now? Did he… did he want zhu ren to go away and not come back, because zhu ren made him sad?

“…Reever?” he voiced the other’s name uncertainly.

“What?” Reever half snapped back out of sheer frustration. He didn’t know what to say to Komui. He barely knew what to feel about Komui. None of this made any sense and Cross wouldn’t tell him what was going on because he was Cross and Komui seemed in no state of mind to tell anyone anything and God why couldn’t Reever have just gotten a nice girlfriend who wasn’t involved with any extremely powerful, psychotic generals? Because at least then if she was going to break his heart she’d have the decency to do it in a simple, clean, straightforward way. Like dying. Dying was nice and neat and horrible but at least Reever would know what to do and feel. This… Not that he wished for Komui to be dead, that was an awful awful awful thought but he–

…just wanted things to be okay again.

“Don’t use that tone with Komui,” Cross chided lightly, gently petting the back of Komui’s head. “I don’t appreciate you being harsh with my things, Supervisor.”

“He is not one of your things!”

“Oh? Is that so? have you asked him?” Cross smiled slowly, deliberately, twisting his hand in Komui’s hair to pull his head back enough to croon sweetly into his ear. “Mmm… who do you belong to, Little Bird?”

“I belong to you, zhu ren,” Komui murmured back easily, eyes politely downcast. He could not have said why his heart began to pound so fast as he spoke the words.

“Me, correct?” Cross smiled, grinning lazily. “Not that pathetic excuse for a person over there?”

Reever felt his heart stop.

Komui didn’t understand why, but he really, really didn’t want to say it. It was true, after all — he was Cross’s thing, not Reever’s. There should have been no reason to hesitate. And yet… it made the hole inside him ache, just a little bit.

He remembered he had used to blow Reever kisses on rainy days.

Fleetingly, he remembered one particular rainy day.

And he didn’t think Reever was pathetic; but what zhu ren said was usually right.

His expression was sad as he shook his head a little, pulled forward inorexably.

“I don’t belong to him.”

“Mm, I love you, Little Bird.” These words were whispered near inaudibly directly into Komui’s ear. Reever couldn’t hear them, but he wasn’t so slow that he couldn’t read them off Cross’ lips.

Everything felt cold.

Komui’s eyes trailed back down toward the floor as they stood there.

Zhu ren. Loved him. And Reever…

Komui, you…

I love you, Komui.

Slowly, his arms slid around his middle, hugging himself.

“…Zhu ren?” His voice was a little breathless, one hand trailing up toward where the hole inside his chest was.

“It hurts right here,” he said softly.

“Don’t worry,” Cross soothed, kissing the top of Komui’s head gently. “When I come back I’ll help you feel nothing at all again.”

Komui nodded slowly, and because it hurt and that bothered him, turned to lean close against Cross’s chest once more.

By then Reever was already gone. The twitch in his hand had gotten to the point where it was all he could do not to shake. He’d just… spend the night in the liquor cabinet and deal with everything in the morning.

If God was merciful, there wouldn’t be a morning.

- – -

“Tapp!” a half awake, half coherent, extremely hungover Reever was grumbling/shouting in the general direction of the door. “Turn off the lights!”

“Um, uh… um… Su-Supervisor, th…the lights aren’t on. I just… just opened the door be… cause… I got these forms and–”

“Then close the door! Your voice sounds like nails, you know that? Like nails getting driven into my skull so just get the hell out of my office!”

“…but the forms really–”

“Now!“

The door shut quietly again and Reever rolled over, shoving his pillow over his head as though to further protect him from imaginary light.

It was another hour before he found it in him to peel himself off the floor of his office. He knew he had to get back into gear because all the work he had been missing was beginning to catch up with him. More than that, actually. It was practically on top of him and he was merely pretending to be too drunk to notice. He’d have to get some of it done today, but not with the headache he had.

Thankfully, some things never changed and Reever knew just the person to call on. They… argued from time to time these days, but so did Reever and everyone. Jerry always forgave him. Sighing, he found his little safari hat and pulled it on, over his eyes almost, and started on the perilous journey through well-lit hallways to the cafeteria.

“Oh, Reever!”

Jerry’s smile was a little bit strained as he greeted the other man walking into the kitchen, but that was fairly par for the course these days too. The chef seemed happier than usual to see Reever, however, undoubtedly owing to his unusual visit yesterday that had not involved demanding any alcohol.

“What can I do for you this morning?” he asked cheerily, tossing some pancakes one-handed as he spoke. “How was the pie? I must say, I had a little taste and I rather thought I’d outdone myself…”

“It was…” Uneaten. Because of… Reever frowned, pressing his hand against the side of his head. “I’m sorry, Jerry. We got sidetracked and didn’t quite manage to get through much of it. If you’ll forgive me enough to make it again, I’ll eat the whole thing in front of you, I swear.”

“We?” Jerry raised a slightly perplexed eyebrow at him, glancing away for a moment to take the pancakes off their heat and check on some scrambled eggs. “Was it for sharing with the Science Department? Ah well, I know how you boys get distracted. That’s really a waste of good food, you know, though,” he said, wagging a finger at Reever briefly.

“No, it was for Komui and–” The words were out before Reever remembered that he was the only one who really knew that Komui was back, the only one who really… who… He grimaced at himself but there was no taking the words back, really.

“…Komui came home last night.”

There was a sudden clatter as Jerry dropped his spatula on the floor.

“R–Reever? Did you just say–”

He turned around to stare at the other man, even pulling down his ever-present sunglasses a little to look directly at Reever, expression comically astonished.

“Komui-tan is back? And he hasn’t even come to say hello?” The chef wore a very offended pout as he reached down to retrieve his spatula, walking over to toss it into the sink with the other dishes to be washed.

“But I suppose he must have been worried sick about Linali,” he continued as he turned back, smiling sadly for a moment. Then his expression turned enthusiastic. “So how is he doing? Still our cute Komui-tan? Oh, three years gallivanting around the world with a General, he must have such an adorable tan~” Admittedly, beyond the fact that he’d missed his friend the Supervisor a great deal, Jerry had his own ulterior motives for being happy Komui was back — hopefully this would improve poor Reever’s mood enough that they could convince him he didn’t really need to drink so much.

“He…” Reever suddenly felt the need to sit down so he did exactly that, headache no more forgiving now that they had moved on from morning pleasantries to the subject of his alcoholism. “No, Jerry, he’s not, he’s… He barely knows who I am anymore.” Those words felt awful to Reever to say, felt like he was telling a small child that there was no such thing as Santa. He was already miserable. It wasn’t right to make Jerry miserable before he really had to be. And who knew, maybe Jerry, like the coffee, would make Komui more like his old self again, even for a little while.

But Reever was very lonely where he was. He didn’t really have anyone anymore.

An eyebrow raised from behind the sunglasses, and as Jerry rummaged through one of his supply drawers to find another spatula, he glanced back at Reever for a moment with a shrewd gaze.

“Reever? Whatever do you mean? You two aren’t having a fight, are you?”

“I wish,” Reever muttered. “Do you think you could… get me some of that stuff you give me for hangovers? Possibly mixed in with a bottle of hard liquor of your choice?”

Jerry tossed the pancakes and some of the scrambled eggs onto a plate, sprinkled salt onto the eggs, drizzled a bit of butter and syrup over the cakes, and went over to hand the plate to the Finder waiting at the far window. He grabbed a little blue bottle off one of his shelves as he headed back.

“I would be quite happy to give you some hangover elixir,” he said, hooking an arm under one of Reever’s to pull him to his feet, “I will not be mixing any liquor into it, and then while you’re drinking it,” and he waved a finger at the other man as he ushered Reever toward one of the kitchen’s back rooms, “I am going to put up the self-service sign outside and you are going to sit down and tell me just what’s been going on between you and Komui-tan and General Cross.”

“I have a rule where I don’t discuss Komui or General Cross while I can still see straight,” Reever muttered, but in such a way that it was fairly clear that he wasn’t going to resist. “Can I at least get something after? I have to work today, and I have to be medicated to work.”

“Rules are made to be broken,” Jerry replied cheerfully, ushering him to an overstuffed chair in a little sitting room that was part of his own private quarters before heading back toward the door. “And I imagine you’d work better if you could actually think straight.” He walked out before the other man had a chance to reply.

Jerry returned a few minutes later holding two glasses — the smaller of the pair held a slightly noxious-looking blueish/greenish goo, a mixture of raw eggs, vegetable puree, spring water, and the secret ingredient, an alcohol-repellent concoction of rare Chinese herbs (the recipe had been one of the very last Jerry had received from his master in his days as a chef’s apprentice, and they guarded their secret tradition diligently); the other was tall, clear, and bubbly, full of lemon-lime soda to wash the hangover cure down with. Jerry plopped both glasses down onto the little coffee table next to where Reever was sitting, and proceeded to plop himself down in the opposite chair.

“So! Drink up. And then fess up,” he requested with a wide smile.

At this point, Reever was so used to knocking back Jerry’s hangover cures that the taste was beginning to grow on him. He drank both anyway, out of habit if nothing else. He took his time with the soda, pulling off his hat to leave atop the coffee table, stalling as he tried to figure out where to even start.

“Well, you know at all how Komui got to be Supervisor here?” Reever finally sighed. The beginning was the hardest part, really. After that, bit by bit, the entire story simply poured out of him in no specific order. Reever wasn’t a terribly good storyteller and so he recounted specific events rather than the succession of them, but somehow he managed to get through it all. He might have started crying between talking about the last night Komui spent with him before leaving for China to seeing him again for the first time yesterday, but there was no way for Reever to pause the story at that point. He just kept talking and talking, increasingly sober and increasingly miserable until finally he ran out of events to talk about and buried his face in his hands to sit perfectly still. It was a game, almost. To see how long he could sit there and not break down, feeling his tears trickling between his fingers stubbornly anyway.

“…I never even imagined.”

Jerry’s voice was very quiet. In awe, almost, as he rose to walk over behind Reever’s chair and lay a hand on the other man’s shoulder, squeezing just a little. He’d often wondered over the past three years, just what could have been awful enough to drive alcohol-hating Reever Wenham to drink, what it might have had to do with Komui’s abrupt departure. He’d thought they had fought, perhaps. Broken everything off, been too vicious to bear, said things to each other that couldn’t be forgiven. Never had he even dreamed…

Komui hadn’t been entirely honest with him, either. Jerry had known that at some point he and Cross had been lovers and it had somehow ended badly, but… The first time they’d met, Jerry had been rather impressed with him, complimented him on what must be a very great genius indeed to be recommended to HQ by the Order’s most elusive General. Komui had just smiled a little wryly and mentioned that, well, it hadn’t hurt that he’d done a few favors to get on Cross’s good side.

Komui-tan. You silly boy.

He rubbed Reever’s back quietly.

“Just let it all out, sweetheart. You don’t have to put on a strong face in here. Not for me.”

“I don’t want to let it out,” Reever whispered, because his voice would crack if he spoke any louder. “I just want a drink, Jerry. Please. Then I can get back to work and… I don’t know. Live today. And I’ll figure out tomorrow… tomorrow.”

Jerry moved to crouch down in front of him, at what would have been Reever’s eye level if he had looked up; placed a hand softly on the side of his face, atop Reever’s own fingers, and stroked it a little.

“Sweetie… isn’t that what you’ve been doing for the last three years?” he said gently.

“Yeah, well–” Reever’s breath came in all wrong and he choked on it, trying his best to bite back a sob. He nearly managed it. “Let’s hope I can do it for another three years because I really don’t see how else I’m going to keep…” Getting out of bed. But Reever didn’t finish his sentence. It sounded too pathetic even in his own mind and instead he found himself gripping a handful of his bangs and tearing at them as he finally gave in and just let himself cry.

With a small, sad smile on his face, Jerry leaned forward and gathered up Reever in his arms for a hug, continuing to stroke his back soothingly. It might not have been much, but it felt like a little step in the right direction.

Because Reever hadn’t gotten a great deal of sleep and was still emotionally drained besides, it wasn’t very long before his tears tapered off to little trembling breaths and quiet sniffs. He felt wordlessly, bonelessly tired.

“…thanks,” he finally murmured when he felt coherent enough to speak again. “For everything, Jerry. For putting up with me. God knows it can’t be easy…”

“I’d have to say it’s not,” Jerry chided him gently, still rubbing his back, “but some things are worth putting up with. You know I’m always here for you, don’t you, dear?”

He stayed there a moment longer before pulling back at last, giving Reever a gentle pat on the side of the face as he looked the other man in the eye, tilting down his sunglasses.

“Listen to me a minute, all right?”

He took Reever’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I know things look all messed-up and horrible and wrong right now, but… we have him back. And General Cross is gone, for a good long while. Isn’t it at least a place to start?”

“Y-you…” Reever shook his head, swallowing. “You haven’t seen him, Jerry. He just… like we were never together and… The way he talks, thinks it’s… most of it doesn’t make sense and what does it’s like talking to a child and… I feel like I’ve failed him somehow.”

“You didn’t fail him, Reever. What could you have done?” Jerry sighed. “I daresay there aren’t very many people in the entire Order who are a match for General Cross. Though I may have to start testing how high a dose of laxatives he can take in his food without being poisoned,” the chef mused with a speculative gleam in his eye.

Turning his attention back toward Reever, his expression sobered again.

“And as for Komui-tan… Well, he’s been with the General for three straight years. Don’t you think some time away from him might be a help? Komui-tan has always been a very strong human being. We’ve never had a tragedy that he hasn’t eventually been able to bounce back from. It just might take some time and patience on our part.” Jerry smiled gently, a little sad. “And in the meantime, I guess we’ll just have to look after him.”

“I… You’re… absolutely right, Jerry,” Reever managed, feeling marginally better if nothing else. It was… worlds better to hear the things he secretly hoped for spoken by someone else. “He was happy to have your coffee yesterday. Almost like he… hadn’t changed at all.” He sounded a little conflicted here, as though he wasn’t sure whether to be sad or happy and settled on slightly uneasy instead.

“…and Jerry?”

“Hm?” Jerry raised his eyebrows at the other man.

“I’ll wash all your dishes and pots and pans and scrub all your storerooms for a month if you put laxatives in General Cross’s food when he gets back.”

“I’ll take that bargain,” Jerry replied cheerfully. “But I already have plenty of help to keep my kitchen clean, so in return instead, how about you try to drink half as much each day as you normally do,” he continued, smile turning a bit pointed.

That, too, would be a place to start.

“Nnnnnnnnnngh,” Reever protested. “Two thirds. Unless you actually poison him. Then I’ll consider half.”

“Well, I might be in a wee bit of trouble if I actually managed to kill a General, but I can ‘accidentally’ triple the laxative dose,” Jerry offered happily.

“I didn’t say you had to kill him. As long as he’s violently ill the euphoria might curb my alcohol needs,” Reever responded almost cheerfully. He was still a little too exhausted to manage the proper enthusiasm required but he seemed less in utter despair than he had been when he first came in.

“Well, I’m sure I can manage a couple good solid days of everything coming out both ends, as it were,” Jerry offered with a distinctly evil smile. “Do we have a deal, then?”

“I suppose we do,” Reever smiled faintly back. “Throw in a couple meat pies here and there to keep me mostly sober and who knows, I might start having money to spend on things not alcohol again.”

“All right!” Jerry gave the other man a poke on the nose. “I’m holding you to it, Reever Wenham, do you hear me? No matter how cranky you get.” He smiled again as he rose from his place, offering the other man a hand up.

“And just you remember that this is for Komui-tan’s sake too. He’ll need you sharp. Now, that said…” He glanced back toward the kitchen speculatively. “I haven’t gotten to exercise my Chinese culinary skills in far too long.”

“Do me a favor and keep it in your metaphorical culinary pants for now, Jerry? I’m sure he’s had enough Chinese food the past three years,” Reever sighed, though he gratefully took Jerry’s hand to help drag himself rather unwillingly back on his feet.

“Cook him, like… Italian or something.”

“Oh, I know! I’ll fix up some blanquette de veau!” Jerry clapped his hands together delightedly. “He always did love French.”

“…sounds good,” Reever nodded, suddenly wondering… where had Komui’s beret gone? And then the world seemed a little bit more off its axis.

Jerry picked up the pair of glasses and led them back out into the kitchen proper, humming to himself as he made up a mental list of just what to cook to welcome Komui home.

“Where is he, anyway?” the chef wondered as he set the glasses atop the dirty dish pile. “Still with Linali?”

“Actually I don’t… don’t know. Last I saw him was yesterday, with the General and… um.” Reever stumbled over his words, looking at once uncomfortable. “I’m going to go look for him, Jerry. I’ll drag him down here to say hi when I find him.”

“Sounds lovely! I’ll be waiting! Now shoo,” and Jerry ushered him over to the door cheerfully, “I’ve got cooking to do.”

Komui, meanwhile, having spent the majority of the previous day huddled in Linali’s room talking to her and missing zhu ren terribly, today had migrated out of the infirmary and, more on instinct than anything, found his feet leading him to what had been his own room for the nine years he had lived here. He’d tried the door and discovered he’d left it locked; rummaging around in his bag, miraculously he’d managed to find the key, buried at the very bottom of a pile of clothes and other odds and ends.

After a shower and a change of clothes — zhu ren would not have been pleased with him if he let himself get all dirty — he’d then had to turn his attention to the matter of what exactly to do all day without zhu ren around to decide for him. For a while he’d just curled up on the bed and laid there, and tried not to feel too empty or scared or worried or — or anything, and after a while longer decided that this wasn’t working and zhu ren hadn’t told him what to do, besides not to change, so it really wouldn’t matter if he just picked out something to do for himself.

And his conversations with Linali had gotten him thinking a little…

Damp hair still hanging loose around his face, he’d quietly let himself out and padded down to where he remembered his labs were.

It took three rather depressing hours before Reever finally managed to locate Komui.

First, he had gone to Linali’s hospital room only to find out Komui had left some time ago. He’d checked Komui’s bedroom next, then Linali’s. He had checked his own bedroom, just in case. When all of those places yielded no results, he had even checked his office out of habit. By the end of hour one, Reever was feeling as though he’d lost his touch. He was always the one who could find the Supervisor, no matter what. But it had been a long time. Perhaps he was just rusty.

Next he had checked the ‘usual’ places. He’d checked the library and the bathrooms and circled outside to the training grounds. He’d gone back to the infirmary, in case Komui had stopped in again, but no one had seen him there since the last time Reever had checked. He’d looked in on his former team in the Science Department and none of them had even known that Komui was back. At the end of it all, Reever had even stopped back in the kitchen to see if Komui had come by for lunch.

He left with a bottle of something that promised to be 120 proof.

When hour two passed, Reever realized he wasn’t rusty. He was making rounds like he always used to. It was Komui. Reever didn’t know how Komui thought anymore, didn’t really know Komui at all. He didn’t have that understanding of Komui that helped him predict the former Supervisor’s whereabouts any longer, because, well… Komui wasn’t really Komui anymore.

It was this distressing thought that made him give up his search and go back to his office, planning on drinking and signing the day away as usual. Maybe Jerry was wrong about everything after all.

Before he really had a chance to get into it, though, a rather nervous looking Johnny knocked on his office door and poked his head in.

“Um… uh, u-um… Supervisor? Th-th-there are… sounds coming f-f-f-f-” Johnny had to stop and get his stuttering under control. “From… the… Su-su-s-Komui’s l-labs, and, uh, I… th-th-thought you should k-know.”

Hour three was just rolling over into hour four when Reever finally found his set of the keys to Komui’s labs and let himself into the one where the sounds Johnny had heard were originating from.

“Komui?” he called uncertainly as he let himself in. “You in here?”

“Hm?” A familiar figure peeked out from behind a standing chalkboard on the other side of the room. Komui’s considerably lengthy head of hair was loose and hanging over his shoulders, and little sprinkles of chalk dust stood out vividly here and there among the black locks.

“Oh, Reever? Where have you been all day?” he said with a smile. Actually getting up and doing something had improved his mood considerably. Granted, his incompetent attempts at research weren’t likely to be of actual use to anyone in the Order, but since he was stuck here anyway, there didn’t seem any harm in playing around by himself just for fun.

He hoped Reever wasn’t here to be upset at him again. Seeing Reever upset was… hard. Especially since nothing he’d done seemed to help much at all.

“I just had a thought, so I figured I’d come up here and see how it would pan out,” he said with a vague gesture at the chalkboards and lab tables scattered around the room. This particular lab was used not for experimentation or construction, but mainly for theoretical research; right now the chalkboards were mostly covered with equations, diagrams of atoms and molecules that looked to belong to human and Akuma respectively, and Komui’s standard jumbled mismatch of English and Chinese notation. It wasn’t, really, any more nonsensical or harder to read than his notes usually were, though a few of the scattered references to things like ‘opposite time/dimensional vibration’ and ‘non-Euclidean genetic geometry’ were a little arcane.

“Oh, that’s–” Reever stopped himself to frown a little, realizing how far he’d let his Chinese slide as he discovered he could only read perhaps a third of all the hanzi Komui had scrawled in between his English notes. That wouldn’t do; if Komui got– When Komui got better, Reever would have to be on top of his game if he wanted to be able to prevent things like giant robots destroying all of his meticulously-filed research from happening. He’d, well, he supposed he could cut into his drinking time a little and start learning Chinese again.

…God, what he wouldn’t give for another Komurin right about now.

“–interesting,” he finished as neutrally as he could. “What are you working on?”

Oh, good! Reever wasn’t upset. Or didn’t seem to be. Komui felt a little silly showing off his half-baked and undoubtedly useless equations, but nevertheless, gave his nose a slightly abashed scratch with one chalk-covered hand and obligingly attempted to explain.

“Well, it occurred to me,” he said, gesturing at the relevant chalkboards as he spoke, “that since a large part of the reason the Akumas’ poison is fatal to humans is that their genetic structure vibrates on a different dimensional plane and creates a logic vacuum, it would be possible to resist its effects if the victims themselves were temporarily capable of operating on the same plane.” Which, going against most conventional theories of the nature of physical beings and the universe, was an idea that any sane scientist would have considered flatly impossible and thrown out from the very start; but from the roundabout, furiously-scribbled math and the diagrams sketched over a couple of the boards… Komui had gotten maybe halfway there already.

“The… what?” Reever gawked. He’d stopped following at the words ‘logic vacuum’. “All of our efforts on antigens and antivenoms have been based off our findings on parasitic-type Innocence. What you’re proposing is… is…” He tried to read the notes again, brain ticking at the possibility of what Komui was suggesting. It was certainly an unorthodox approach, but it appeared to have basis at the very least.

“…brilliant.”

And for a moment Reever sounded seventeen again, giving Komui that wide-eyed, awed look of reverence reserved for children gawking up at their heroes and idols and objects of inspiration.

Komui blinked at him for a moment with sincere surprise. Perhaps Reever hadn’t realized how truly crap he was at all this yet, but…

“Um… really?” He smiled a faintly nervous sort of smile and absently began to chew on one chalk-covered thumbnail as he glanced back toward the board he’d been working on last. “Didn’t think it would come to much. But the idea seemed neat. Still trying to work out a cross-transitional pattern for the frequency of the Akuma blood compounds, though, which it’s entirely possible is, uh. Impossible.” He walked back over to the board in question, about half of which appeared to be written upside down, perhaps originally from the other side before flipping over. “In fact, I’ve probably fudged a crucial equation somewhere and the whole thing is just a little fancy knocking around my head. But that’s life,” he concluded cheerfully, turning to pick up a piece of chalk again and muse over a half-finished formula on the board.

“Uh, well, once you’re closer to getting done I’ll call in all the boys and we can double-check everything for you. Not sure how we’d… test this all, though.” Reever scratched the back of his head at the thought, frowning just a little. “But that’s kind of getting way ahead of ourselves. Still it’s all– Do you mind if I stay and look this over? Actually, I’d have to go grab my dictionary, but I’d… love to read your notes.”

“Sure, go right ahead.” Komui smiled again a little abashedly, not really sure why Reever was so interested in his rubbish, save perhaps to laugh at. Reever had an awful lot on his plate to waste time with mere entertainment, though. Well, maybe Komui had come up with one or two ideas that the Science Department could reshape into something workable. “Actually, if you’re going out anyway–” He felt a little guilty for asking, but seemed to remember doing so often in the past — “Could I maybe persuade you to grab some coffee… and, um, a sandwich or something?” he added as it occurred to him all of a sudden. “I think I may have missed…”

….when had he last eaten? He certainly had sometime in the last three days. He glanced down for a moment, trying to tally on his fingers how many meals he had not eaten, but it was all a little fuzzy next to more important concerns like zhu ren being gone and Linali being in a coma and Reever being… Reever.

“Um… food,” he concluded in a slightly nonplussed tone, blinking a little.

“I could,” Reever sighed, though a little fondly. “But you’ll owe me for the scolding Jerry’s going to give me when I ask him for food for someone who’s been gone three years and hasn’t dropped by to say hi yet.” Then he managed a smile, because, well, running errands for Komui wasn’t exactly one of his favorite pastimes, but he was the guy who’d give his right arm to get to spend all the time he normally used drinking to track down Komui with piles of papers.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t get yourself into any trouble, and no giant robots,” he warned firmly.

Komui had the grace to look embarrassed at the words, scratching at his nose with a single chalk-dust covered finger again. “I don’t think injection via giant robot would be a very good delivery vector for an antivenom anyway,” he said, blinking for a moment. Then he frowned a little unhappily as he glanced away.

“I should come say hi… Well, I guess there’s a lot of people I should say hi to…” He sighed a little wearily. The very thought was exhausting, and honestly a little scary. It had been so long since he’d been around anyone important besides zhu ren… and now here to a castle full of kind of important people all at once? All of whom kind of knew him, and most of them probably secretly thought he was an incompetent ass and had just never felt free to say it for fear he would make their lives miserable. The very idea made him want to just… curl up and hide in the lab until zhu ren came back.

Blinking the thought away, he smiled again, awkwardly, and looked back toward the board he’d been working at. “…But if I interrupt myself now I’m going to forget my whole whereabouts here… I guess I should try to finish it.” Since Reever seemed to find it interesting and all. And, well, so did Komui.

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” Reever reassured, and then quietly let himself back out.

Just outside the door, he sank down against the wall and just sat for a little while, tried to catch his breath. Odd how everything hit him all at once the moment he was alone. He took comfort in that he’d managed to hold it together in front of Komui, and that it had been much easier to do so than he’d initially expected. Everything could be okay. It had been tried and tested and found true. Everything could be okay, and so everything would. Somehow. Eventually.

And when Reever stopped wanting that drink again some ten minutes later, he let himself get up and go to the kitchen to put in that order for Komui, figuring he could get his dictionary while Jerry cooked.

When Reever returned to the cafeteria with his pile of Chinese dictionaries in hand to collect his coffee and sandwiches, Jerry handed him a cart.

The kind you pushed, like… street vendors had.

It was piled with food. Reever spent a full minute doing visual inventory of everything Jerry had prepared in the, what, twenty minutes he had been gone?

There was French consomme, baguettes, fresh strawberry crepes, and Caesar salad (tossed just right with not a drop too much of dressing and homemade croutons, Jerry was more than happy to point out) served with a pot of just-brewed coffee that smelled like it could keep a small army awake for days. Komui’s favorite.

“Uh, thanks,” Reever managed when he was done gaping. “For the sandwiches.”

For the sake of sport, Jerry asked if Reever would like him to slip a few aphrodisiacs into the coffee, just to see if he could still make the cute little Australian blush.

It worked, and Reever felt himself turning red right around the ears and ducked off, grumbling to himself about how Jerry had a memory like his mother and was never going to let that joke go.

“Komui, I’m back!” he called once he was in front of the lab door again, as he lacked the free hands required to knock. “You’re going to have to let me in! Jerry got carried away again!”

“Ummm, just a second!” came the slightly hurried reply from inside, followed by the scratch of rather furious-sounding blackboard scribbling. Komui appeared at the door at last wearing a couple new chalk streaks in his loose hair that made him look rather like an old man, and didn’t even stay long enough to glance over what Reever had brought inside, rushing back over to the chalkboard muttering mathematical formulae under his breath.

“So multiplying the function of both sums would… if that was reciprocal… wait– no– …. wait… Carry the three… Forty-two? Then that would be…”

He frowned at the chalkboard, wiped something out with his finger. Scribbled, frowned again, wiped again. Wrote down a few notes a little more slowly.

“….Ah!! Exorcist blood!”

He leaned out from behind the chalkboard again with head tilted to one side to look questioningly over at Reever.

“By the way, where’s Allen?”

“Probably getting a cold chill down his spine,” Reever offered skeptically, raising an eyebrow at the monologue he’d just walked in on. “And as soon as I mention that you’re looking for him, he’ll probably go into hiding since he scratched up his arm two weeks ago and hasn’t gotten it properly fixed yet. Last I checked, though, he was out on a scouting mission and due back either tomorrow or the day after that.”

“Really?” Komui frowned. “Well, that won’t do. Someone should fix him.” He didn’t bother suggesting himself, as they both knew the Exorcists all hated his horrible drills and it was a miracle he hadn’t managed to destroy any Innocence yet out of sheer incompetence. There was a reason he wasn’t Supervisor anymore, after all. Or much of anything else. Any of anything else, really, except zhu ren’s thing.

“…that looks really good,” he noted with eyebrows raised in surprise, his gaze properly alighting on the food cart for the first time. “And un-sandwich-like.” And he realized he could smell the coffee from here. Oh, bliss. He needed to go say hello to Jerry, he was being terribly rude… but what if Jerry actually hated him too? Komui knew he deserved it, but the thought made him feel a little sad all the same. It had been gracious of zhu ren to tell him the truth, though. Zhu ren always knew what was going on in his insides and whether it was bad. And inside the inside of his insides. And inside those insides too…

He shook off the thought after a moment and managed to bring his mind back to the present, which was full of food, and full of Reever, which was really very nice. Glancing down at his powder-covered hands, he set the piece of chalk down in its blackboard tray and went over to one of the lab sinks to see if he couldn’t get himself in a fit state to eat.

“The medical staff’s been shorthanded since we had that quarantine problem a few months back. You should give them a hand,” Reever suggested, seeing how work seemed to keep Komui at least occupied and stable. And, well, the Supervisor’s techniques had always been so haphazard that his instability would probably barely be noticeable. Allen certainly wouldn’t be able to tell any difference.

“…you mind if I have one of these strawberry things?”

“Go right ahead,” Komui beamed, wiping damp hands on his pants and grabbing a chair to drag over next to Reever and the food cart, which he then proceeded to plop himself down into. He fished around in his pocket for a moment before producing a black ribbon, with which he proceeded to tie back his still chalk-streaked hair.

“Don’t think medical staff is probably a very good place for me, though,” he said, a shade of self-deprecation surfacing in his smile as he reached for the salad. “I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone. Or be underfoot while people are busy.”

“Why do you think you’d hurt someone?” Reever asked quietly, abruptly wishing the crepe in his hand was actually a bottle of alcohol. “And… underfoot? One, you’re assuming we have enough staff for you to be under the feet of and, well… underfoot? You’re… you’re Komui Li. You’re an honor to work with, provided you’re actually willing for once.”

“I, um…”

Reever just… kept saying it. Like he really honestly believed it. That Komui was someone to be looked up to, someone who… did a good job at things, maybe.

Maybe he… maybe he even really did believe it.

I love you, Komui.

He didn’t… want to make Reever unhappy, so he just smiled with the faintest bit of discomfort. “…Thank you. That’s nice of you.”

Then he looked down to start in on his food feeling a bit of a liar, and wished zhu ren was here to make everything work right so Komui wouldn’t have to fumble through and mess things up the way he always did. Without his insides it was hard to… to understand things right, kind of.

“Why do you sound like you’re humoring me?” Reever frowned rather in a rather good-natured way, crossing his arms over his chest. “Trying to skip work you’re not even assigned yet? Maybe as Supervisor I can do stuff to help motivate you. Like withhold your coffee rights until you’ve strapped Allen to a bed and fixed his arm. Or invented a new giant robot. Or designed an even shorter skirt for Linali’s next Exorcist uniform. Hm. That sounds like a good idea, actually. And once you’re good and used to actually doing your job, well, I’ll be able to give you your coat back with confidence that I’ll finally get some time to shave around here.”

“…Do you really think I should do that?”

Komui sounded faintly amazed and more than a little worried as he murmured down toward his food. He picked up a baguette, broke it open, and began to spread butter on it with a rather troubled expression.

“Work?” Reever asked back, sounding rather surprised. He passed the crepe from one hand to another, not quite ready to eat it yet. He was almost done with wishing it was alcohol, but not quite. “When don’t I think you should work, Komui? Come on.”

There was a rather doubtful and guilty and overall rather un-Komui-like expression on Komui’s face as he glanced away, hands slipping down to wring together in his lap, feeling of a sudden rather tense.

“They already removed me from my post,” he said in a small voice. “I don’t want to make any more messes.”

“…removed you?” Reever echoed. The crepe really wasn’t going to get eaten any time soon. “Komui, no one removed you from anything! Do you want me to go find my transfer notice? I still have it. Jesus, I mean– It’s temporary, Komui! It was supposed to be temporary! Not three fucking years! I don’t want this job. It’s yours and you were damn good at it so–” Reever stopped to slap his hand against his forehead, grimacing.

“…damnit. I’m sorry, I just–…” Need a drink. “…sorry.”

“I–” Komui, looking rather rattled by the outburst, vaguely shook his head a little, gaze meeting Reever’s for a moment before he glanced back down again. “It’s okay.”

He paused for a moment, wishing he didn’t have to continue. He was just making Reever all unhappy again. He wished he could stop doing that.

“That… was just a last kindness to me, to save face for everybody,” he said quietly, smiling a slightly nervous smile down at the floor. “They didn’t really expect to see me back.” Zhu ren had made that very clear.

“T-to save face?” Reever’s voice shook with disbelief. “We… we all expected you back, Komui. Everyone. Especially me, don’t you remember? I promised to wait for you. Would’ve been harder if I had the imagination to even humor the idea of… of…” Being with someone else. Anyone else. Reever couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Because… because Komui didn’t seem to remember at all. “Still. I waited. Three years, Komui. And I guess some of the guys might have stopped waiting but not me or Jerry or Linali and Tapp and Johnny miss you and 65’s been dusting your room for you every week.” The last bit had bothered him all this time. It felt like Komui was dead, almost, and that they were keeping up his room out of respect or denial or… something other than waiting. But it was 65’s way of waiting, he supposed. They all did their waiting in very different ways. Like Reever. He just drank the time away.

“They want you back, Komui. I’m a crap Supervisor. They all… they all want you back.”

“…Really?”

Komui still looked guilty, yet — touched perhaps; a small, slow smile of an entirely different sort passing across his face as he continued to stare at the floor. He was quiet for a long while with his hands still folded up in his lap, one gripped atop the other.

“I wanted to come back,” he said softly.

He remembered, he most certainly, definitely, had. Before. Something. (The hole in his chest gave a single painful stab.) He wasn’t entirely sure how he was meant to feel about it now. Only that… the thought made something ache a little.

He licked his lips briefly, trying to sort out his thoughts as he spoke them, a note of contemplation joining the sadness in his face.

“It… It hurt to be away. Now it hurts to be back.” He smiled a small, rueful and rather unhappy smile. “A bit of a catch-22, I guess.”

“We… have a lot of those, don’t we?” Reever sighed softly, thinking back to their conversation back when, and finally giving up on the crepe. He set it back down. “I think we broke the other one, though.”

“I told you, I can hardly be happy when you’re not happy,” Komui replied with another rueful little smile. The words came naturally to his lips, though a moment later, he couldn’t quite recall where from.

But… they were certainly true. Seeing Reever unhappy was… was…. It was– bad.

“Yeah, well, you can’t really say you’d be happy even if I was, could you?” Reever asked back, sounding a little more bitter than he’d intended to.

Komui looked up at him, very slowly. Smiled widely at him, another sad, meek, apologetic, self-deprecating smile, and glanced away and pulled his legs up against his chest atop the chair.

“I don’t– know.”

He leaned the side of his face against his knees, and kept smiling that helpless smile. “Maybe I don’t even know what happy looks like to know whether I was or not.”

He didn’t… really know anything any more.

Well.

He never had.

It wasn’t his place. He had zhu ren to know things for him. Like whether he was happy or not.

“…sure you do.” The words came slowly. Jerry was all wrong. It was the alcohol that let him speak, think, function. Right now, all of that was hard. Because he couldn’t stop thinking about all the stupid, stupid things that he couldn’t do anything at all to help. Was thinking of all the things Cross might have done to Komui, of all the things he used to have with Komui but didn’t anymore. Think of all the things that might’ve been different if only he’d refused the job, told the Head Generals they were out of their minds. Quit. Taken Komui with him. Something. Anything. All those infinite possibilities of the things that he could never have done but now knew that he should have.

“Happy is easy to remember. Like when you bring Linali her favorite ice cream and she kisses you on the cheek. That’s happy.”

Komui appeared to give this idea serious consideration for a moment or three. Then he smiled again. It was a small smile. There was no special hidden meaning behind it, no sad squint of the eyes or guilty tilt of the eyebrows or too-wide nervousness. It was just a smile.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “That’s what that was.”

He felt fairly sure zhu ren would agree.

“Mmhm. And. Kissing you for the first time,” Reever offered offhandedly, prodding the crepe he had set down for lack of anything better to do. “That was pretty awkward. But happy, I think. Maybe. I was happy.”

Komui looked at him for a moment, looked away again. Thought back. Found what he thought he was looking for, probably. It all had a strange unrealness to it now; a crystalline too-perfectness, like a dream. Like something that had happened to someone else.

“I felt…”

He thought about it.

“Nervous. Mad at you.” Another small smile surfaced on his face as he gazed down on the floor tiles. “…Happy, I think.”

“Mad at me?” Reever asked with a little, startled laugh. “Why were you mad at me?”

Komui closed his eyes briefly, smile widening. The memory felt the littlest bit more real, somehow.

“You were making me embarrassed.”

“Psh,” Reever dismissed with a rather broad, fond smile of his own. “You started it. So, really, you were making yourself embarrassed if anything. And I was embarrassed too, mind you. At least you know what was going on. Me, I just… I don’t know, actually. Don’t really remember what I was thinking. The kissing bit, that kind of took care of me trying to think.”

“Well, I was thinking that I wished you’d get the idea so I wouldn’t have to resort to drastic measures,” Komui replied with perhaps a faint hint of a very familiar pout.

He paused for a moment.

“That’s funny,” he murmured mostly to himself, shifting a little in his place as he continued to gaze downward thoughtfully. “…It’s clearer when I talk about it.”

“What’s clearer?” Reever asked, feeling his chest constrict a little bit. Almost. The old Komui… He drew in a little breath, held it a second. It was okay. There was progress. Things would be okay. Reever found himself finding something rather funny as well.

You’d think, he thought to himself a little bitterly, that after three years of waiting I’d be a more patient man.

“…Um.”

Komui’s head sort of drifted to one side a little, expression still thoughtful. Loosely-bound, chalk-dusted black hair shifted around his shoulders.

“Well, all my… stuff is still in my head, mostly, I think, but it doesn’t… fit together right… I know it doesn’t,” he frowned, looking a little unsure of himself. “Like that shouldn’t be… hard to remember. That’s…”

Zhu ren would be very unhappy with him. Zhu ren didn’t want him to change. Not his hair, not anything.

“…shouldn’t have to think so hard about it,” he mumbled, guilt prickling at the hole in his chest where the rest of his insides should have been.

They were just… just memories, right? They were already in his head. …Probably. He wasn’t going to change.

He never wanted to make zhu ren unhappy.

“…it’s been a long time,” Reever offered weakly, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand as though to check whether or not his stubble was still there. “Memories fade when you don’t use them. Maybe the memories just need more thinking about. It’s a little hard for me to remember too.”

…but that was probably the alcohol on Reever’s part. He briefly humored the idea that Komui’s excuse was much better than his. Years upon years of psychological and physical and emotional abuse had done this to Komui. And as for himself, well, years upon years of substance abuse was what made him the way he was. At least with Komui it had been mostly unwilling.

Komui looked up at him for a moment, with some surprise.

“Really?”

His eyes drifted back down toward the floor again after a moment, expression gradually smoothing out into a blank.

“But it was like… something that didn’t even happen to me. Until I said it out loud,” he mumbled. Dark eyes turned on Reever’s face again.

“…Do you do that too?”

“…if I’ve been drinking,” Reever sighed rather honestly with a little shake of his head. He looked tired. “But everyone’s different, Komui. It’s okay. We’ll… we can sort through things together, if you’d like. We share a lot of memories, you know. Nine whole years of them.”

“You should probably… maybe not do that, then,” Komui mumbled in return, blinking down at the floor and continuing to look a little vacant for a moment. He shook his head a little and blinked again, and nudged a hand underneath his glasses to rub at his eyes.

“…That would — be nice.”

He looked back up at Reever again for a second, and then smiled — a slightly forced smile, but a smile nonetheless — an offering of sorts. It made him a little uneasy; but… they were all already in his head, weren’t they? He hadn’t dreamed them up or put them in there?

He hoped zhu ren wouldn’t be unhappy with him.

“I’m glad you agree.” Reever smiled faintly back. He eagerly ignored the bit about his drinking. Komui would have a right to nag about his alcoholism when he was Supervisor again and not a moment before. “Anything specific you’d like to remember or are you just going to let me ramble? I’ll go on for days.”

“Um.”

Komui curled his arms around his knees, laid his head back on them. Stared quietly at the far wall for a while longer, perhaps in thought.

“There was… a day. In the rain.”

His voice was quiet. Something, perhaps, like reverent.

“I used to blow you kisses when it was rainy outside,” he murmured.

Swallowing, Reever went very, very still and slowly clenched his hands, dropping his gaze to his lap. Yeah. He remembered the rain too. It was one memory that persisted. Into his dreams, into his semi-lucid drunken stupors. Always. It was always with him. It was all that kept him going and yet at the same time the only thing that made it so hard. But there really hadn’t been… a great deal of kiss-blowing that day. Just kissing. Painful, farewell kissing.

“…blow me kisses?” Reever asked quietly, turning his gaze back up to look at Komui with confusion. “I remember rain too, just… you never blew me kisses, did you? We just… kissed, really. Nothing to stop us from the real thing.”

“In China,” Komui said quietly. “Every rainy day. Except, I stopped because… I couldn’t think of why I was doing it.” His voice slipped back down into a mumble as he blinked at the floor.

“But… we did, didn’t we?” he said after a moment, one curled-up hand resting against his mouth, a faint sense of wonder in his voice.

“Y..yeah,” Reever managed, voice cracking a little. Komui had missed him, right up until he… forgot. It kind of made Reever want to laugh, kind of made him want to break down and cry. He seemed to settle on a quiet, almost delirious laugh as he wiped away the few tears that had escaped with the back of his hand.

“Yeah,” he forced out, voice a little stronger. “We… used to all the time.”

“I remember,” Komui murmured, the images coming more easily now that he was seeking them out. Kissing. Pressed together, cuddling. Sharing their bodies.

“It was nice.”

His voice was a little wistful.

He paused for a moment as he curled up tighter in the seat, gaze slipping further downward.

“I’m sorry I made you unhappy,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, well, you can’t be really miserable unless you’ve been really happy,” Reever shrugged easily. He’d never really blamed Komui for anything. He blamed himself ceaselessly sometimes, but Komui was always the victim. A moment of silence passed that might have been hesitation before he held out his hand with great uncertainty.

“…am I allowed?” he finally asked, taking the words from memory without meaning to. He made a vague gesture that might have meant he would have liked to hold Komui.

Komui looked up. Stared at Reever’s hand in blank silence for a few moments. Felt the hole ache a little, where his insides should have been.

Zhu ren was going to be so unhappy.

But… Reever was right here and he was unhappy too, and… and so was Komui, and… he couldn’t bear the thought of being here all by himself.

Stretching out his legs a little, he placed his hand in Reever’s, and made to rise.

And found himself suddenly quite lightheaded and stumbled forward into the other man’s arms perhaps sooner than Reever might have intended.

“…Um.” He blinked at the other man’s chest for a moment in startlement.

Reever said nothing, only wound his arms around Komui tightly and held on as though he never intended to let go. He tried not to hold his breath, tried not to pretend that this was anything but what it was. He tried not to be too happy, because it hurt more when everything came crashing down again. The years had beaten all the optimism out of the man, so trying wasn’t hard. It didn’t take much to convince himself not to pretend there weren’t years and worlds standing between them, not to pretend that Komui didn’t feel different in his arms, not to pretend that Komui wasn’t reluctant and didn’t really remember much of what they had once shared at all.

It was what it was.

Reever suddenly frowned as the thought gave him a chill. He didn’t really know why.

“…I love you,” he whispered, hoping those words would melt the chill away. They didn’t.

Komui, for his part, held on tightly as well. Because… it felt nice. And also because, well, he wasn’t entirely confident he could keep standing up otherwise.

“Um… could we maybe… sit back down?” he requested after a moment, a little breathless. “I feel kind of… dizzy.”

Reever blinked away his thoughts and considered this request for a moment.

“Mmm… no, actually. You haven’t eaten since you got back, have you? And obviously I can’t be trusted to feed you,” Reever sighed, glancing at the second failed attempt at having a meal with Komui. “I think right now is an excellent time to get reunited with Jerry. Come on.” And then Reever switched his grip on Komui to pick him up (distressingly noting that Komui felt a lot lighter than he remembered) to carry him off to the cafeteria.

“Ack–” Komui squawked in a rather undignified fashion as he found himself entirely off the ground, clutched bridal-style in Reever’s arms; he wrapped his own around the other man’s neck with some reluctance. “You don’t have to… carry me places…” he mumbled, looking profoundly embarrassed.

“No, I really don’t,” Reever agreed readily enough. “But I’d rather carry you while you’re conscious than after you pass out from lack of food and promptly become dead weight. Come on, then. If you’re good I’ll talk in Australian for you later.”

Komui looked at him for a second and then smiled vaguely, relenting to rest the side of his face atop Reever’s shoulder.

“Reever?” he said as they headed toward the door.

“Hm?” Reever asked back as he coaxed the door open with an impressive combination of knob-jiggling and foot-nudging.

“Say something in Chinese,” Komui asked with a faint smile, looking perhaps the slightest bit mischievious.

“…damnit,” Reever swore, almost pouting. Then he drew his lips into a thin line and sighed. “Don’t make fun. My Chinese needs studying, okay?“

A helpless grin spread across Komui’s face as he tried not to laugh and, very graciously, made no reply at all.