[One Shot] Fervor
So, this is what happens when you watch Rescue and mock it relentlessly with a friend. The fact that Daichi (Nakamaru's character) and Serizawa Naoto (Toma's character from Maou) rival each other in intensity came up. Jokes were made about writing crossover fic which lead to... this. >.>;
I apologize in advance for the utter weirdness of it all and the crazy angst. XD; I have nooo idea what's wrong with my brain.
Also, almost 3200 words. *facepalms* Why, god, WHY?
Title: Fervor
Genre: Crossover... Angst, general fuckery?
Rating: R
Pairings: Serizawa Naoto/Kitajima Daichi (*hangs head in shame*)
Series: Rescue, Maou
Disclaimer: Done purely for entertainment purposes. I only own my warped imagination.
Summary: Daichi and Naoto's paths cross. General angst ensues?
They meet in the bar near Daichi's apartment, the one he goes to when his friends are too busy with their girlfriends to go out for a drink or when he simply wants a moment alone with his thoughts and his worries and a cheap pint of beer.
The bar is run down; a small, dark place that you only frequent when you want to be left alone. It's full of sad people with equally sad memories, but instead of being oppressive, he finds it almost comforting. The bowl of pretzels the bartender places in front of him is almost always stale, and sometimes the mugs look like they haven’t seen a thorough washing in ages, but Daichi can never find it in himself to care.
He finds some sort of twisted pleasure in just how out of place he is here in his off duty clothes, hair neatly trimmed and his boots practically shining against the rough wooden floor.
“Hey, fireboy, what’ll it be?” The bartender flashes him a grin as he pulls a pair of mugs out and starts to fill them from the tap.
Daichi grins and gives a slight nod in the direction of the mugs before the bartender sets one down in front of him. “Thanks.”
“And one for the detective.” He can hear the distinct thunk of the other mug meeting the bar and he turns toward it automatically.
A young man, probably no older than Daichi himself, nods at the bartender before picking it up and taking a long drink. He notices Daichi watching him and gives a slight smile and a nod.
Daichi nods back and turns his attention back to his beer without thinking anything more of it.
--
Somehow, be it similar schedules, or fate, or just good old fashioned dumb luck, the young man is there when Daichi shows up for a drink almost every night after that. He makes small talk with the bartender and the occasional fellow patron if they bother to speak to him, but mostly he’s quiet and keeps to himself.
He always sits on the stool two down from Daichi, and somewhere along the way Daichi starts to wonder about him. He tells himself at first that it’s just to keep his mind off of his own problems and to give himself something to do when he’s drunk besides brooding, but he can’t really deny that he’s genuinely curious about the other man.
Part of him hopes that the other man is curious about him, too.
Daichi knows he’s a cop of some sort, has gathered as much from the little snippets of conversation that he’s caught here and there, but he’s honestly more curious about the sadness that seems to hang around the other man, clinging to the air around him. The lines at the corners of the man's mouth hint that it's an old sadness, and Daichi can't help but feel a certain bit of empathy for him. He tries to imagine what the cause of it could be, but he almost feels a little guilty about it, like he's prying somewhere he's not wanted, so he gives it up entirely and writes it off as something he'll never really know.
--
“Got a light?”
It’s a simple phrase, but it’s the first the cop has ever spoken to Daichi and he’s almost disappointed in himself for not smoking. He shakes his head and gives the other an embarrassed smile. “No, sorry.”
The other man smiles back and shrugs and Daichi is struck by how much younger he looks. “No worries. Bad habit to have, anyway.”
“Just like drinking, eh?” Daichi laughs and lifts his glass to the other in a mock salute.
“Yeah, just like drinking.”
And just like that, the conversation begins, and Daichi and the cop are officially no longer strangers anymore.
--
His name is Serizawa.
He wants Daichi to call him Naoto, but for someone usually so informal Daichi can’t bring himself to call the other by his given name. For some reason Serizawa seems to fit him better, and so Serizawa it is.
He’s a rookie beat cop trying to work his way up the ladder in the hopes of becoming a detective someday. His dream, he lets slip one night when they’ve both drank more than their fill and the bartender is eyeing them warily, is to work in homicide.
He’s as passionate about his job as Daichi is about his, even if he hates all the paperwork and bureaucratic bullshit. They spend most of their time together at the bar eating stale pretzels and drinking low grade beer as they talk about whatever comes to their minds. Sometimes they talk about sports, or the weather, or occasionally girls, but this is mostly just idle chatter to fill the silence, and none of it really seems to matter.
When they talk about their jobs, though, and their worries and fears and the lack of respect rookies seem to get in both their professions, it actually seems to matter. For some reason Daichi can't really articulate why this seems more important than anything else they discuss… it just does. Maybe it’s because for once he’s found someone who gets where he’s coming from and doesn’t think he’s crazy for wanting to be able to do more.
Somehow Serizawa always manages to make him feel better without really doing anything at all. Maybe because Daichi can tell him about how worried he is about his upcoming qualification exam or how he’s not sure he’ll ever have the physical stamina that seems to come to Yutaka so effortlessly, and Serizawa never judges him.
Serizawa rarely offers advice, either, but when he does it’s almost always an offhand comment, like Serizawa understands that sometimes Daichi isn’t really looking for anything more than a willing ear to listen as he vents his worries.
--
"I don't know what to do," Daichi murmurs into his beer one night when he is feeling particularly low and frustrated and this close to throwing in the towel for good, because what’s the use of being a fireman if you can’t even help people?
Serizawa gives him a knowing look and shrugs, his eyes oddly determined. "Do your best. That's all you really can do, isn't it?"
Daichi just nods, and then the conversation turns to the score for the latest Ganba Osaka game. It isn't until he gets home later that he realizes how much more at ease he feels.
--
"Why do you do what you do?" Daichi asks one Thursday night when it's just the two of them in the bar, the other regulars oddly absent. A soccer game is playing on the TV in the corner but they both ignore it, the picture a bit too fuzzy and the sound cutting out too often to really make it worth their time to attempt to pick up what’s going on.
Serizawa laughs and takes another sip of his beer, his lips curling into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes as he meets Daichi's gaze. "It's cool, isn't it, being a policeman? Who wouldn't want to be one?"
Daichi shakes his head a little and laughs softly. For someone trained in interrogation techniques, Serizawa is an awful liar. "If you wanted to be cool there are plenty of other jobs that are less dangerous."
"And what about you?" Serizawa changes the subject, one hand fishing a half-empty pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He offers one to Daichi and Daichi waves them off with a slight smile.
"I get enough smoke as it is."
"I guess so." Serizawa chuckles softly and pulls one out before stuffing the pack back into his pocket. A slight smile lingers on his face as he finds his lighter and lights the cigarette, the smoke curling through the air as he inhales deeply.
"I killed someone."
Serizawa freezes at the soft words, but Daichi misses it and the accompanying wide-eyed look as he stares pointedly down at his lap.
"How?"
Daichi laughs softly but the sound holds no humor. "Most people would ask if I was joking or not before they asked how."
"Sorry," Serizawa murmurs and takes another drag off his cigarette to hide his own discomfort. "Habit, I guess."
"Once a cop always a cop?"
"Something like that."
"It was an earthquake," Daichi answers after a long pause, his hand shaking a little as he takes another sip from his beer, the liquid bitter as it slides down his throat. "I was 6."
"An earthquake? That doesn't really sound like your fault," Serizawa snorts softly, and Daichi can almost swear he sounds slightly disappointed.
"I was playing somewhere I shouldn't have been when it hit and ended up trapped. A ranger heard me calling out for help and found me, but there was an aftershock and everything caved in before he could escape." Daichi's fingers play absently with his watch as he speaks, spinning it around and around his thin wrist. "He didn't have to save me."
Serizawa watches him for a moment before reaching out to hesitantly clasp his shoulder in a gesture of silent comfort. It's not a lot, but for Daichi it's more than enough, and even if the guilt is still there it's somehow not as overwhelming. "I killed someone, too."
Daichi turns sharply, his expression skeptical as he tries to judge the truth behind the other's words. "... how?"
"With a knife." Serizawa moves his hand from Daichi's shoulder and drains the rest of his beer before motioning the bartender for another round.
--
Daichi can't remember exactly how long they've known each other as they stumble up the steps to his apartment. It's been months at the very least, or maybe years, but it could have been weeks or days or even mere hours with the way that the memories seem to run together in his head.
Serizawa is quiet as he trails behind him, the smell of beer and cigarette smoke hanging around him like a cloud. Daichi smiles at him and Serizawa smiles back, and after a few fumbled tries he manages to unlock his door and they both slip inside.
It's dark inside, but they don't bother with the lights. Once their shoes are off Serizawa's lips are suddenly on his and he's kissing him like his life depends on it, like Daichi is the only thing that's keeping him from flying apart at the seams. It's rough and desperate and completely different from every other kiss that Daichi's ever shared with anyone, but something about it seems so natural and completely right that he doesn't try to argue and simply returns it.
The rest happens fast and slow all at once, and Daichi's memory of it later centers on the press of Serizawa's hands against his hips and the feel of the other man’s hair between his fingers, surprisingly soft and supple. The entire apartment seems filled with their harsh breathing and the only thing that Daichi’s brain will register are the places where their bodies make contact.
Time grinds to a halt as they stay like that, Daichi’s back pressed against the wall, kissing and clinging to each other like their very existence depends on it. When Serizawa finally breaks the kiss for much needed air, all Daichi can think is that he wouldn’t mind staying like this forever.
Their eyes meet for a moment and Serizawa tightens his grip on him, his expression hard to read through the dark. All Daichi can catch is a flash of something indeterminate in the other man’s eyes and he thinks that right now he’d do just about anything to take away the other’s sadness, even just for a moment.
They don't bother speaking because there's really no point, and Daichi never even thinks to ask why this is happening. He just grips at Serizawa's shirt as the other pulls him forward and they stumble towards his bedroom. From there he lets his body do the talking much more eloquently than his lips ever could.
--
"You gonna finish this?”
“No.” Daichi pushes his half-empty beer across the bar at Serizawa, frowning a little as he watches the other down it quickly and then motion the bartender forward for another. It’s the only thing the other’s said to him all night.
Normally he wouldn’t worry because they’ve spent countless nights just sitting together, enjoying the mutual silence and not bothering to say much of anything at all; he wouldn’t worry tonight, either, if it weren’t for the hollow look in the other’s eyes and the way he’s going through beer like it’s water.
“You alright?” he asks without really meaning to, his worry getting the best of him as he watches Serizawa finish half of his new beer in one long, breathless gulp.
Serizawa slams the beer down with a sharp humorless laugh. “Peachy.”
Daichi sighs and orders another beer of his own, at a loss for what to do or say here. He and Serizawa have always made a point to take whatever information the other feels like offering and not really pry otherwise. Since Serizawa isn’t really offering anymore, he focuses on drinking his beer, but he makes a point to stay late that night. When the bar closes he takes a taxi all the way to Serizawa’s apartment, where he helps the other inside and tucks him into his bed before catching a cab back to his own place.
--
“I got it!” Serizawa beams at Daichi and whips out his shiny new badge before the other even has time to take a seat at the bar.
“No way!” Daichi exclaims and reaches for the badge, the other’s excitement infectious. He echoes Serizawa’s grin and claps the other on the back while he motions the bartender over with his other hand. “I can’t believe it. Just made detective and your first assignment is homicide! Who’d you have to bang to get this?”
Serizawa laughs and turns the badge around, holding it out for the bartender just for good measure. “They said there was an opening and I just happened to get it. How’s that for luck?”
“Not bad,” Daichi agrees and takes a seat on the stool next to Serizawa, his hand still clasping the other’s shoulder. “This calls for a celebration-give us two of those fancy German beers you keep stashed back there.”
The bartender shakes his head and gives them both a slight smile as he turns to fill their order.
Daichi grabs Serizawa’s hand and pulls it closer to get another look at his badge. “Shibuya? You’re in for quite a commute.”
“I’m going to start looking for a place there. My brother knows some people so he thinks he might be able to help me out,” Serizawa answers, and for a second Daichi can swear he almost looks a bit hesitant.
“Then we’d better drink up tonight.” Daichi lets go of the other’s wrist and claps him on the back enthusiastically. “You never know when you’ll make it back to a hole like this when you’re living the good life as a big shot detective.”
Serizawa laughs, then, and flashes him a smile that actually manages to reach his eyes.
--
Serizawa moves and starts his new life as a big city detective, and after a few weeks Daichi stops going to the bar altogether, letting go of the unspoken hope that the other will be there. He gets transferred to another station on the other side of Yokohama a few months later and moves into a new apartment that’s slightly less cramped and has a nice view of a park.
It’s a small park and a bit on the dirty side, but in the spring it’s full of cherry blossoms, so he can’t really bring himself to complain. It’s better than the view he had of the adjacent building at his old apartment, and he never has problems with his plumbing not working here, so all-in-all he’s pretty happy with it.
Life goes on. Daichi always means to call but never actually does. He would feel guilty, but he's pretty sure that things are the same for Serizawa. Afterall, they're both busy with work and training now. Things change, and people change with them.
Eventually the time spent with Serizawa fades into a pleasant memory, and the other becomes one of those people he knew back when and someone he recalls fondly when he’s drinking alone. He never quite manages to stop scanning the face of the policemen who come on scene with him, though, in the unacknowledged hope that just once he’d see an all too familiar face in the crowd.
--
It’s years later when Daichi flounces into the station, his hair still sleep mussed and eyes heavy as he grabs the morning paper from Yutaka and flops down onto a chair with the intention of reading the latest J-League scores. The familiar face staring back at him from the front page makes him forget all about soccer, however.
Yutaka says something to him, complains that he wasn’t done with the paper yet, but it doesn’t quite register. Daichi can hear him saying something to him but it sounds far off, disconnected as he sits there, staring down at a picture of Serizawa smiling up at him in black and white, that same smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes that Daichi still remembers from all those years ago.
His throat is dry as he skims the accompanying article quickly for information, the words jumping out of the page at him and making his stomach twist painfully. He barely makes it through the first two paragraphs before he throws the newspaper down on the floor and stands, turning quickly on his heel and making his way out of the station as he fights back the urge to scream.
--
The funeral is nice, as far as funerals go, but Daichi only stays long enough to offer up some incense and give a cursory nod to Serizawa’s sister-in-law. The picture on top of the casket is the same one as in the newspaper, and Daichi wonders if they couldn’t have found one that looked a little less formal and posed. The formality of it, combined with the cloying scent of flowers and incense that fills the room, seems all wrong.
He takes a deep breath as he steps outside, finally, and thinks that he’s never been so glad to smell the dirty city air before.
He starts walking after that, without direction or purpose, and somehow ends up on an all-too-familiar street, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his dress slacks as he stares at the door of the bar where they met. He stands there motionless as the minutes tick away and ignores the questioning stares of passersby, looking entirely out of place in the stiff fabric of his dress uniform, surrounded by buildings in varying states of disrepair.
When he finally gathers the courage to go inside he’s shocked to see how little things have changed. It’s the same scuff marked floors and beaten up barstools and stale pretzels and cheap beer as before, and it almost feels like he’s never even been away.
He sighs softly, a far-off look in his eyes as he takes a seat and orders two beers.
The bartender looks like he might recognize him for a moment, but chooses not to say anything. Daichi thinks it’s just as well as he takes the beers, sliding one in front of himself and moving the other down the bar, letting it rest in front of the empty stool two down from him. He stares at the untouched glass as he sips from his own. He thinks about the scent of Serizawa’s cigarettes and the way the other’s nose sometimes wrinkled when he laughed.
He wonders how well he ever knew Serizawa, but when he thinks back to the crowd of faces at the funeral he’s pretty certain that he knew him as well as anyone there. He thinks back to the night that Serizawa told him that he killed someone and wonders why he never asked about it, but he doesn’t really regret it. Thinking back on it, he’s honestly kind of glad he didn’t.
For the second time in his life, he almost wishes he smoked, just to have something to do with his mouth and his hands and to make the lack of conversation seem less oppressive.
In the end he decides that the bar isn’t as great as he remembers it to be, and gets up to leave knowing that he won’t be back again. He only finishes one beer and leaves the other untouched on the counter behind him.
--
It’s a few months later and things aren’t that different, but they really aren’t the same, either.
“You’re really going to apply to be a Super Ranger?” Yutaka asks him, leaning over his shoulder to watch as he fills in the details on the application form. “What are you going to do if they don’t take you? They say it’s hard to get in.”
Daichi taps his pencil idly on the table and looks up at the other, his expression scared and hopeful and determined all at once. “I’ll do my best. That’s all I can do, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Yutaka answers and smiles brightly back at him. “… got another copy of that?”
Daichi nods and smiles back at his friend, the expression reaching his eyes.
I apologize in advance for the utter weirdness of it all and the crazy angst. XD; I have nooo idea what's wrong with my brain.
Also, almost 3200 words. *facepalms* Why, god, WHY?
Title: Fervor
Genre: Crossover... Angst, general fuckery?
Rating: R
Pairings: Serizawa Naoto/Kitajima Daichi (*hangs head in shame*)
Series: Rescue, Maou
Disclaimer: Done purely for entertainment purposes. I only own my warped imagination.
Summary: Daichi and Naoto's paths cross. General angst ensues?
They meet in the bar near Daichi's apartment, the one he goes to when his friends are too busy with their girlfriends to go out for a drink or when he simply wants a moment alone with his thoughts and his worries and a cheap pint of beer.
The bar is run down; a small, dark place that you only frequent when you want to be left alone. It's full of sad people with equally sad memories, but instead of being oppressive, he finds it almost comforting. The bowl of pretzels the bartender places in front of him is almost always stale, and sometimes the mugs look like they haven’t seen a thorough washing in ages, but Daichi can never find it in himself to care.
He finds some sort of twisted pleasure in just how out of place he is here in his off duty clothes, hair neatly trimmed and his boots practically shining against the rough wooden floor.
“Hey, fireboy, what’ll it be?” The bartender flashes him a grin as he pulls a pair of mugs out and starts to fill them from the tap.
Daichi grins and gives a slight nod in the direction of the mugs before the bartender sets one down in front of him. “Thanks.”
“And one for the detective.” He can hear the distinct thunk of the other mug meeting the bar and he turns toward it automatically.
A young man, probably no older than Daichi himself, nods at the bartender before picking it up and taking a long drink. He notices Daichi watching him and gives a slight smile and a nod.
Daichi nods back and turns his attention back to his beer without thinking anything more of it.
--
Somehow, be it similar schedules, or fate, or just good old fashioned dumb luck, the young man is there when Daichi shows up for a drink almost every night after that. He makes small talk with the bartender and the occasional fellow patron if they bother to speak to him, but mostly he’s quiet and keeps to himself.
He always sits on the stool two down from Daichi, and somewhere along the way Daichi starts to wonder about him. He tells himself at first that it’s just to keep his mind off of his own problems and to give himself something to do when he’s drunk besides brooding, but he can’t really deny that he’s genuinely curious about the other man.
Part of him hopes that the other man is curious about him, too.
Daichi knows he’s a cop of some sort, has gathered as much from the little snippets of conversation that he’s caught here and there, but he’s honestly more curious about the sadness that seems to hang around the other man, clinging to the air around him. The lines at the corners of the man's mouth hint that it's an old sadness, and Daichi can't help but feel a certain bit of empathy for him. He tries to imagine what the cause of it could be, but he almost feels a little guilty about it, like he's prying somewhere he's not wanted, so he gives it up entirely and writes it off as something he'll never really know.
--
“Got a light?”
It’s a simple phrase, but it’s the first the cop has ever spoken to Daichi and he’s almost disappointed in himself for not smoking. He shakes his head and gives the other an embarrassed smile. “No, sorry.”
The other man smiles back and shrugs and Daichi is struck by how much younger he looks. “No worries. Bad habit to have, anyway.”
“Just like drinking, eh?” Daichi laughs and lifts his glass to the other in a mock salute.
“Yeah, just like drinking.”
And just like that, the conversation begins, and Daichi and the cop are officially no longer strangers anymore.
--
His name is Serizawa.
He wants Daichi to call him Naoto, but for someone usually so informal Daichi can’t bring himself to call the other by his given name. For some reason Serizawa seems to fit him better, and so Serizawa it is.
He’s a rookie beat cop trying to work his way up the ladder in the hopes of becoming a detective someday. His dream, he lets slip one night when they’ve both drank more than their fill and the bartender is eyeing them warily, is to work in homicide.
He’s as passionate about his job as Daichi is about his, even if he hates all the paperwork and bureaucratic bullshit. They spend most of their time together at the bar eating stale pretzels and drinking low grade beer as they talk about whatever comes to their minds. Sometimes they talk about sports, or the weather, or occasionally girls, but this is mostly just idle chatter to fill the silence, and none of it really seems to matter.
When they talk about their jobs, though, and their worries and fears and the lack of respect rookies seem to get in both their professions, it actually seems to matter. For some reason Daichi can't really articulate why this seems more important than anything else they discuss… it just does. Maybe it’s because for once he’s found someone who gets where he’s coming from and doesn’t think he’s crazy for wanting to be able to do more.
Somehow Serizawa always manages to make him feel better without really doing anything at all. Maybe because Daichi can tell him about how worried he is about his upcoming qualification exam or how he’s not sure he’ll ever have the physical stamina that seems to come to Yutaka so effortlessly, and Serizawa never judges him.
Serizawa rarely offers advice, either, but when he does it’s almost always an offhand comment, like Serizawa understands that sometimes Daichi isn’t really looking for anything more than a willing ear to listen as he vents his worries.
--
"I don't know what to do," Daichi murmurs into his beer one night when he is feeling particularly low and frustrated and this close to throwing in the towel for good, because what’s the use of being a fireman if you can’t even help people?
Serizawa gives him a knowing look and shrugs, his eyes oddly determined. "Do your best. That's all you really can do, isn't it?"
Daichi just nods, and then the conversation turns to the score for the latest Ganba Osaka game. It isn't until he gets home later that he realizes how much more at ease he feels.
--
"Why do you do what you do?" Daichi asks one Thursday night when it's just the two of them in the bar, the other regulars oddly absent. A soccer game is playing on the TV in the corner but they both ignore it, the picture a bit too fuzzy and the sound cutting out too often to really make it worth their time to attempt to pick up what’s going on.
Serizawa laughs and takes another sip of his beer, his lips curling into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes as he meets Daichi's gaze. "It's cool, isn't it, being a policeman? Who wouldn't want to be one?"
Daichi shakes his head a little and laughs softly. For someone trained in interrogation techniques, Serizawa is an awful liar. "If you wanted to be cool there are plenty of other jobs that are less dangerous."
"And what about you?" Serizawa changes the subject, one hand fishing a half-empty pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He offers one to Daichi and Daichi waves them off with a slight smile.
"I get enough smoke as it is."
"I guess so." Serizawa chuckles softly and pulls one out before stuffing the pack back into his pocket. A slight smile lingers on his face as he finds his lighter and lights the cigarette, the smoke curling through the air as he inhales deeply.
"I killed someone."
Serizawa freezes at the soft words, but Daichi misses it and the accompanying wide-eyed look as he stares pointedly down at his lap.
"How?"
Daichi laughs softly but the sound holds no humor. "Most people would ask if I was joking or not before they asked how."
"Sorry," Serizawa murmurs and takes another drag off his cigarette to hide his own discomfort. "Habit, I guess."
"Once a cop always a cop?"
"Something like that."
"It was an earthquake," Daichi answers after a long pause, his hand shaking a little as he takes another sip from his beer, the liquid bitter as it slides down his throat. "I was 6."
"An earthquake? That doesn't really sound like your fault," Serizawa snorts softly, and Daichi can almost swear he sounds slightly disappointed.
"I was playing somewhere I shouldn't have been when it hit and ended up trapped. A ranger heard me calling out for help and found me, but there was an aftershock and everything caved in before he could escape." Daichi's fingers play absently with his watch as he speaks, spinning it around and around his thin wrist. "He didn't have to save me."
Serizawa watches him for a moment before reaching out to hesitantly clasp his shoulder in a gesture of silent comfort. It's not a lot, but for Daichi it's more than enough, and even if the guilt is still there it's somehow not as overwhelming. "I killed someone, too."
Daichi turns sharply, his expression skeptical as he tries to judge the truth behind the other's words. "... how?"
"With a knife." Serizawa moves his hand from Daichi's shoulder and drains the rest of his beer before motioning the bartender for another round.
--
Daichi can't remember exactly how long they've known each other as they stumble up the steps to his apartment. It's been months at the very least, or maybe years, but it could have been weeks or days or even mere hours with the way that the memories seem to run together in his head.
Serizawa is quiet as he trails behind him, the smell of beer and cigarette smoke hanging around him like a cloud. Daichi smiles at him and Serizawa smiles back, and after a few fumbled tries he manages to unlock his door and they both slip inside.
It's dark inside, but they don't bother with the lights. Once their shoes are off Serizawa's lips are suddenly on his and he's kissing him like his life depends on it, like Daichi is the only thing that's keeping him from flying apart at the seams. It's rough and desperate and completely different from every other kiss that Daichi's ever shared with anyone, but something about it seems so natural and completely right that he doesn't try to argue and simply returns it.
The rest happens fast and slow all at once, and Daichi's memory of it later centers on the press of Serizawa's hands against his hips and the feel of the other man’s hair between his fingers, surprisingly soft and supple. The entire apartment seems filled with their harsh breathing and the only thing that Daichi’s brain will register are the places where their bodies make contact.
Time grinds to a halt as they stay like that, Daichi’s back pressed against the wall, kissing and clinging to each other like their very existence depends on it. When Serizawa finally breaks the kiss for much needed air, all Daichi can think is that he wouldn’t mind staying like this forever.
Their eyes meet for a moment and Serizawa tightens his grip on him, his expression hard to read through the dark. All Daichi can catch is a flash of something indeterminate in the other man’s eyes and he thinks that right now he’d do just about anything to take away the other’s sadness, even just for a moment.
They don't bother speaking because there's really no point, and Daichi never even thinks to ask why this is happening. He just grips at Serizawa's shirt as the other pulls him forward and they stumble towards his bedroom. From there he lets his body do the talking much more eloquently than his lips ever could.
--
"You gonna finish this?”
“No.” Daichi pushes his half-empty beer across the bar at Serizawa, frowning a little as he watches the other down it quickly and then motion the bartender forward for another. It’s the only thing the other’s said to him all night.
Normally he wouldn’t worry because they’ve spent countless nights just sitting together, enjoying the mutual silence and not bothering to say much of anything at all; he wouldn’t worry tonight, either, if it weren’t for the hollow look in the other’s eyes and the way he’s going through beer like it’s water.
“You alright?” he asks without really meaning to, his worry getting the best of him as he watches Serizawa finish half of his new beer in one long, breathless gulp.
Serizawa slams the beer down with a sharp humorless laugh. “Peachy.”
Daichi sighs and orders another beer of his own, at a loss for what to do or say here. He and Serizawa have always made a point to take whatever information the other feels like offering and not really pry otherwise. Since Serizawa isn’t really offering anymore, he focuses on drinking his beer, but he makes a point to stay late that night. When the bar closes he takes a taxi all the way to Serizawa’s apartment, where he helps the other inside and tucks him into his bed before catching a cab back to his own place.
--
“I got it!” Serizawa beams at Daichi and whips out his shiny new badge before the other even has time to take a seat at the bar.
“No way!” Daichi exclaims and reaches for the badge, the other’s excitement infectious. He echoes Serizawa’s grin and claps the other on the back while he motions the bartender over with his other hand. “I can’t believe it. Just made detective and your first assignment is homicide! Who’d you have to bang to get this?”
Serizawa laughs and turns the badge around, holding it out for the bartender just for good measure. “They said there was an opening and I just happened to get it. How’s that for luck?”
“Not bad,” Daichi agrees and takes a seat on the stool next to Serizawa, his hand still clasping the other’s shoulder. “This calls for a celebration-give us two of those fancy German beers you keep stashed back there.”
The bartender shakes his head and gives them both a slight smile as he turns to fill their order.
Daichi grabs Serizawa’s hand and pulls it closer to get another look at his badge. “Shibuya? You’re in for quite a commute.”
“I’m going to start looking for a place there. My brother knows some people so he thinks he might be able to help me out,” Serizawa answers, and for a second Daichi can swear he almost looks a bit hesitant.
“Then we’d better drink up tonight.” Daichi lets go of the other’s wrist and claps him on the back enthusiastically. “You never know when you’ll make it back to a hole like this when you’re living the good life as a big shot detective.”
Serizawa laughs, then, and flashes him a smile that actually manages to reach his eyes.
--
Serizawa moves and starts his new life as a big city detective, and after a few weeks Daichi stops going to the bar altogether, letting go of the unspoken hope that the other will be there. He gets transferred to another station on the other side of Yokohama a few months later and moves into a new apartment that’s slightly less cramped and has a nice view of a park.
It’s a small park and a bit on the dirty side, but in the spring it’s full of cherry blossoms, so he can’t really bring himself to complain. It’s better than the view he had of the adjacent building at his old apartment, and he never has problems with his plumbing not working here, so all-in-all he’s pretty happy with it.
Life goes on. Daichi always means to call but never actually does. He would feel guilty, but he's pretty sure that things are the same for Serizawa. Afterall, they're both busy with work and training now. Things change, and people change with them.
Eventually the time spent with Serizawa fades into a pleasant memory, and the other becomes one of those people he knew back when and someone he recalls fondly when he’s drinking alone. He never quite manages to stop scanning the face of the policemen who come on scene with him, though, in the unacknowledged hope that just once he’d see an all too familiar face in the crowd.
--
It’s years later when Daichi flounces into the station, his hair still sleep mussed and eyes heavy as he grabs the morning paper from Yutaka and flops down onto a chair with the intention of reading the latest J-League scores. The familiar face staring back at him from the front page makes him forget all about soccer, however.
Yutaka says something to him, complains that he wasn’t done with the paper yet, but it doesn’t quite register. Daichi can hear him saying something to him but it sounds far off, disconnected as he sits there, staring down at a picture of Serizawa smiling up at him in black and white, that same smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes that Daichi still remembers from all those years ago.
His throat is dry as he skims the accompanying article quickly for information, the words jumping out of the page at him and making his stomach twist painfully. He barely makes it through the first two paragraphs before he throws the newspaper down on the floor and stands, turning quickly on his heel and making his way out of the station as he fights back the urge to scream.
--
The funeral is nice, as far as funerals go, but Daichi only stays long enough to offer up some incense and give a cursory nod to Serizawa’s sister-in-law. The picture on top of the casket is the same one as in the newspaper, and Daichi wonders if they couldn’t have found one that looked a little less formal and posed. The formality of it, combined with the cloying scent of flowers and incense that fills the room, seems all wrong.
He takes a deep breath as he steps outside, finally, and thinks that he’s never been so glad to smell the dirty city air before.
He starts walking after that, without direction or purpose, and somehow ends up on an all-too-familiar street, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his dress slacks as he stares at the door of the bar where they met. He stands there motionless as the minutes tick away and ignores the questioning stares of passersby, looking entirely out of place in the stiff fabric of his dress uniform, surrounded by buildings in varying states of disrepair.
When he finally gathers the courage to go inside he’s shocked to see how little things have changed. It’s the same scuff marked floors and beaten up barstools and stale pretzels and cheap beer as before, and it almost feels like he’s never even been away.
He sighs softly, a far-off look in his eyes as he takes a seat and orders two beers.
The bartender looks like he might recognize him for a moment, but chooses not to say anything. Daichi thinks it’s just as well as he takes the beers, sliding one in front of himself and moving the other down the bar, letting it rest in front of the empty stool two down from him. He stares at the untouched glass as he sips from his own. He thinks about the scent of Serizawa’s cigarettes and the way the other’s nose sometimes wrinkled when he laughed.
He wonders how well he ever knew Serizawa, but when he thinks back to the crowd of faces at the funeral he’s pretty certain that he knew him as well as anyone there. He thinks back to the night that Serizawa told him that he killed someone and wonders why he never asked about it, but he doesn’t really regret it. Thinking back on it, he’s honestly kind of glad he didn’t.
For the second time in his life, he almost wishes he smoked, just to have something to do with his mouth and his hands and to make the lack of conversation seem less oppressive.
In the end he decides that the bar isn’t as great as he remembers it to be, and gets up to leave knowing that he won’t be back again. He only finishes one beer and leaves the other untouched on the counter behind him.
--
It’s a few months later and things aren’t that different, but they really aren’t the same, either.
“You’re really going to apply to be a Super Ranger?” Yutaka asks him, leaning over his shoulder to watch as he fills in the details on the application form. “What are you going to do if they don’t take you? They say it’s hard to get in.”
Daichi taps his pencil idly on the table and looks up at the other, his expression scared and hopeful and determined all at once. “I’ll do my best. That’s all I can do, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Yutaka answers and smiles brightly back at him. “… got another copy of that?”
Daichi nods and smiles back at his friend, the expression reaching his eyes.