Archive of Our Own ^beta

The light above the mirror gives everything in the bathroom a yellow tint. Kita sits on a stool just outside the tub, careful to make sure water doesn't spill onto the floor. Lining each bottle on the floor beside him as Aran washes himself, he waits for him to look up, expectant.

Moments before, Kita had walked past the kitchen towards the living room, silence creeping into the air. He stopped just short of the entrance, seeing Aran on the couch, leaned over, elbows resting just before his knees. He didn’t seem to notice Kita until he called out a greeting, blinking a few times before turning his head to smile softly in response.

“It was quiet today,” Kita began.

After a pause, Aran startled, “I’m sorry, I missed what you said.”

“It’s okay,” Kita smiled, “I was just saying today was pretty quiet.”

“Yeah,” Aran agreed, “I’m sure you didn’t mind it.”

Smiling a bit wider, Kita said “It was nice, yes.” Studying Aran a bit, he continued, “Your hair has grown out a bit.”

Aran smiled then, shaking his head slightly, "You would notice. It's just barely gotten longer."

"Of course I noticed," Kita says, "You're usually quick to keep it short."

Kita only received a hum in agreement, looking at Aran again - the tension in his shoulders, the glazed look in his eyes. “Let me wash it for you,” he prompted.

Aran looked over at Kita with caution, as if he’s caught onto something. Shaking his head, Aran spoke up again, “You really don’t need to, you’re probably tired and-”

“Aran,” Kita interrupted, reaching a hand out towards him, “Indulge me, won’t you?”

Now, Kita nods once Aran glances over at him, grabbing each bottle one by one. He allows himself to focus on the feel of Aran's hair against his palm, the smell of the conditioner, the quiet splash of the water. His fingers find their way to Aran's scalp, careful to stay there for a bit before gently bringing them through to the ends. Aran was right; it hadn't grown much, so the process isn't long, but Kita takes his time.

When they first moved in together, Kita noticed all the care that went into Aran's hair routine, how methodical it seemed. He asked once, what the process was, and Aran gave him a playful look before telling him to watch. So Kita did, a few times until he felt confident enough to offer his own hand, one summer wash day. When he finished, Aran inspected his hair closely, before simply nodding.

But the next time around, Aran wordlessly passed the conditioner over to Kita - one of many routines they would learn to expand to fit the other.

Tonight, they don't speak, Aran letting his eyes slip closed. The tension in his shoulders gives him away, but rather than say something Kita simply reaches for the small cup sitting under the stool. He turns the water on, filling it up and notices Aran instinctively move forward from where he was sitting, tilting to face the ceiling.

Kita raises the cup above Aran's head, palm against his forehead to keep the water from flowing down. He smiles a bit to himself at the way Aran's face remains still at the touch before letting the water run through his hair. Continuing the process a few more times, Kita watches Aran's shoulders fall a bit before getting back on the stool.

Touching Aran once to prompt him backward, Kita rubs some cream between his hands before starting with one side of Aran's hair. This is the part Kita usually enjoys the most, taking note of the scents and textures. He's careful, going in sections and repeating the steps with oil. Soaking a cloth in warm water, he passes it gently over Aran's forehead, down the sides of his face.

He places a hand on his jaw, and that's when Aran finally opens his eyes. Kita stares for a bit, thumb reaching to brush along the cheekbone, before whispering, "Beautiful."

A moment after, a tear falls down. Turning his face away from Kita’s palm, Aran looks down before Kita can say anything.

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Kita starts.

“No, I was doing fine I don’t-” Aran whispers, “I don’t even really know what’s wrong, and-” he trails, bringing a hand up to swipe at his face.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Kita says softly, “Just let me be here.”

After a pause, Aran just nods, lifting his head up to look at Kita.

“Thank you,” Kita breathes, reaching out to Aran once again.

"You don't need a reason for emotions! If you're happy, you're happy!"

Aran had told him this once, walking back home from practice. Kita had laughed at the time, endeared at the thought of letting himself feel, no logic or explanation behind it. It seemed simple, yet Kita was baffled at how Aran arrived at this truth so young. The sky had been a blend of oranges and pinks that evening, Kita looking up, pensive, long after they had gone their separate ways.

Months later, Kita learned that this truth did not restrict itself to bubbling laughter or the subtle warmth that settled into the chest some days. Other times, it meant walking back into the room hours later to see the other still lying in bed. Whispered confessions of dread and guilt after long moments of quiet.

There isn’t always a reason for the hush that settles into their home, the tension in Aran's shoulders. It's not a common occurrence, but Kita learns to pick up the signs - when Aran seems a bit too quiet, a little more distracted than usual. Mutters that same truth back to Aran, that there is no need to find the words. Just a hand and a shoulder and a body to hold.

Once dry, Kita lightly grabs Aran’s wrist and leads them towards their room, carried by their memory of the house as the sun has long since set. As Aran sits on the edge of the bed, Kita reaches to turn on the lamp, a brighter white light piercing through the room. Noting the chill, he searches for lotion, rubbing it into his own hands before turning towards the bed.

He goes slowly as Aran bows his head, tears continuing to fall, crumbling with the gentlest of touches. Setting the lotion back down, he brings both hands to cradle Aran's face, lifting his head up and swiping under his eyes. Bending forward to kiss his forehead, he suggests that Aran get his clothes to sleep while Kita changes too.

Once dressed, Kita lays against the headboard, waiting for Aran to finish before reaching a hand out. Aran scrunches his brow before his face relaxes, a small smile on his lips while leaning into Kita's arms.

Fingers lightly running down his back, Kita lets Aran settle into the crook of his neck. Hears another "I'm sorry" and shakes his head before Aran can continue. "You know better than that," Kita says, letting him settle back down, "Just come back to me when you're ready."

There's no reply, and after a few beats, Kita feels moisture on his neck, his collarbone. He lets his mind wander as he lightly scratches Aran's back, the occasional sniff the only sound that fills the room.

Being away from the city, their house is usually still - aside from the occassional visit from old teammates or family, it usually seems like their own bubble away from the fast pace that surrounds them outside. On nights like these, though, the silence seems amplified, making Kita's thoughts echo louder. He thinks back to similar days, of held bodies, reversed roles. Slightly different methods with the same goal - to remind the other of comfort, call them home.

Kita held this secret for as long as Aran held his, since they agreed to lead the team together. That year, they memorized each others' brave faces, and where their cracks were. Kita remembers the first time he had fallen apart in front of Aran, sometime after their last game. The fear that crept in, the embarrassment, because if Kita had one thing to offer it was always stability, a stoic glance, careful eyes.

But Aran, sitting beside him on the locker room bench, didn't seem to think it was strange at all. He waited until Kita glanced up at him again before he smiled and said, "Thank you," which shocked Kita enough to laugh until all the tension eased off his body.

It's this moment that Kita thinks of when he is brought back to the present moment, Aran moving from where he's been lying to sit up and look at him, streaks down his face and tired eyes.

"I'm going to wash my face," Aran states, before climbing out of the bed carefully. When he's far enough away, Kita finally lets himself breathe.

He gets up to head to the kitchen, thinking Aran might need some water before bed. Reaching for a glass, he tilts the pitcher, working mindlessly. He hears the sound of water flowing into the glass, realizing a moment too late when it goes from pouring to spilling, water spreading over the counter. Blinking as he puts the pitcher down, Kita takes a step back, only to notice the slight tremor in his hands.

On another day, Aran would likely have noticed as well, took Kita's hand into his own as he lightly kisses each knuckle. Murmured how it's okay while already moving to wipe up the mess, making some joke like "The floor was looking a bit dirty, how considerate of you Kita," letting Kita smile and bring up whatever was on his mind when he felt like it.

But on this day, Kita simply takes a breath, reaches for a new glass, and pours, willing the image of Aran's tear-stained face out of his mind.

Hearing the faucet turn off in the bathroom, Kita moves to mop things up, careful as he carries the glass with him to the room. Aran is already back in bed when he returns, glancing up when he hears the door open slightly. Noticing the glass in his hand, Aran gives a small smile.

"Thank you," Aran says, reaching out to grab the glass so Kita can join him on the bed.

"Of course," Kita sighs out, as Aran drinks, "Do you need anything else?"

"No," Aran mumbles, setting the glass on the nightstand before turning fully to face Kita, "Just tired."

Kita scans Aran's face, before saying, "You look good."

"Thanks to you," Aran laughs, laying down.

Moving to lie beside him, Kita pauses suddenly, "I didn't get to clean up the bathroom."

Aran looks carefully at Kita now, at his face and his posture, before suggesting softly, "Tomorrow?"

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Kita lets himself rest on the mattress. Laughing to himself how even now, Aran sees him fully, he reaches out to turn off the lamp beside them.

"Yeah Aran," Kita whispers, "There's always tomorrow."