Chapter 5: A Shy Proposal
The quiet after was different this time.Softer. Choso’s breaths came in slow, deep pulls, his forehead resting against the sweat-damp skin of Yuji’s collarbone. The tension had melted, leaving behind a hollowed-out, warm ache. Yuji’s fingers, now still, were curled loosely against his lower back.
The lamplight seemed to pool around them, a private golden world. Yuji shifted, his movement gentle, and reached for the crumpled blanket on the couch back.He draped it over Choso’s bare shoulders, tucking it around him.
“Hey,” Yuji murmured, his voice rough but soft. He hooked a finger under Choso’s chin again, lifting it until their eyes met. “You with me?”
Choso nodded.Speech felt like a distant concept. He was raw, every nerve ending singing a quiet, satisfied note.Yuji searched his face, his thumb brushing over Choso’s bottom lip. “That what you needed?The… pretending?”
A slow blush heated Choso’s neck, creeping upward. It was embarrassing, giving voice to that secret, childish want. But Yuji’s gaze held no judgment, only a focused curiosity.“Yes,” Choso managed. “It was.”
A smile, small and genuine, touched Yuji’s mouth. “Good.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. “You know I don’t actually think you don’t know anything, right?You’ve seen way more of the world than I have. Probably the weirdest shit, too.”
A faint huff of laughter escaped Choso. “A century of weird shit.”
“See?” Yuji’s smile widened. “But here, you don’t have to be the oldest.Or the strongest. You can just be…” He trailed off, his eyes drifting over Choso’s face, his exposed throat, the blanket slipping from one shoulder. “Mine.”
The word landed not as a claim, but as a fact.Simple and undeniable. Choso felt something in his chest twist, a sweet, sharp pain. He pressed his face back into Yuji’s neck, inhaling the scent of him—clean sweat, cheap laundry soap, something uniquely Yuji.
They sat like that for a long while, the clock on the wall ticking faintly.Choso’s legs were going numb, but he didn’t want to move. He was floating, unmoored from the weight of his own history.
“You’re getting heavy,” Yuji whispered, but there was no complaint in it.“C’mon. Bed.”
Choso made a sound of protest, a low grumble.
Yuji laughed, a quiet rumble against him.“My legs are asleep, old man. Humor me.” With a grunt of effort, he maneuvered them both upright, keeping the blanket wrapped around Choso. He stood, pulling Choso up with him, holding him steady when his knees wobbled.
The walk to the bedroom was a short, shuffling journey. Yuji guided him, an arm firmly around his waist.The bedroom was dark, the sheets cool when Yuji pulled them back. He helped Choso out of the ruined lace panties and the oversized shirt, his touches clinical now, efficient. He found a clean pair of soft cotton boxers and a fresh t-shirt, dressing Choso with a focus that made his throat tighten.“You don’t have to—” Choso started.
“I know,” Yuji interrupted, pulling the shirt over Choso’s head. “Get in.”
Choso slid under the sheets.Yuji disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of water running, then returned. He climbed in beside him, his body radiating a solid heat. He didn’t immediately reach for Choso.He just lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
The space between them felt vast, charged with the echo of what they’d done on the couch. Choso stared at the profile of Yuji’s face in the dim light from the streetlamp outside.
“Thank you,” Choso said into the darkness. The words were too small, but they were all he had.Yuji turned his head on the pillow. “For what?”
“For not making it a joke.”
Yuji was silent for a moment. Then he turned onto his side, facing Choso. He reached out, his hand finding Choso’s under the covers, lacing their fingers together.His palm was calloused, warm. “It wasn’t funny,” he said, his voice low.“It was… intimate.”
Choso’s breath hitched. He squeezed Yuji’s hand.“Can I hold you?” Yuji asked.“Just hold you. Like this.”
Choso nodded, then realized Yuji might not see it. “Yes.”
Yuji moved closer, slotting himself against Choso’s back, his chest to Choso’s shoulders, his knees bending behind Choso’s. He wrapped an arm around Choso’s waist, his hand splaying over his stomach. His nose nudged the nape of Choso’s neck.“Sleep,” he murmured, his breath a warm gust.
It should have been impossible.Choso had spent decades sleeping lightly, alone, always ready. But cocooned in Yuji’s heat, anchored by his weight, the decades of vigilance seeped away. The solid thump of Yuji’s heartbeat against his back became a lullaby.
Just as he was drifting, Yuji spoke again, his voice slurred with near-sleep. “Tomorrow,” he mumbled.“I’m making you breakfast.Pancakes. The kind with the blueberries that get all burst and syrupy.You’re gonna eat all of them.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a plan.A promise.A tiny, domestic future laid out in the dark.
Choso closed his eyes, a foreign and fragile hope blooming beneath his sternum. “Okay,” he whispered back.
And for the first time in a hundred years, he believed, completely, in the certainty of a morning.